Chapter Eleven Douglas
“ W ickstaff.” I don’t look away from my screen, moving numbers on a spreadsheet with one hand while I push the cordless “office” phone under my chin.
“Hey, Douglas! I’m ready to make you the happiest accountant in the whole IAC!”
It takes me a moment to place the voice under the onslaught of loud American enthusiasm. It’s Neilson, from the New York office, and he’s wrong. Most accountants in any field are probably happier than me. Unless Neilson has something to siphon my constant thoughts of Georgia and my constant self-loathing for thinking of a woman I’ll likely never see again, I’m going to stay miserable.
Never see her again.
You might.
You could be invited to her wedding. Her wedding to some other man
I involuntarily clench my fist, and it slams down on the side of my desk. My laptop jumps several inches to the right.
“Just like you wanted! So, what do you say?”
What do I say to what? Has he been talking this whole time?
“Bad connection. Can you repeat that?”
Neilson gives an impatient sigh. I can tell he wanted a big reaction and hates having to give his performance a second time. “I told you I owed you—and you really came through for us last week.”
My eyes dart to the corner of my screen. A week? It’s only been a week of this mental and emotional torture? I thought it had at least been a month! Actually, it’s been eight days since I left New York.
I tune back in quickly, not sure how long I can use the “bad connection” pretense.
“I always deliver, that’s why the New York branch is the happiest branch!” Neilson boasts.
Well, I don’t know about that, but I just make a grunt that could indicate agreement.
“Don’t know about that, huh? Well, you’ll get to find out, Wickstaff! I see that you requested a transfer to the New York Branch in 2017 and again in 2021. Both times, they got rejected, but this time, I pulled the right strings. You’re finally going to get the transfer you wanted.”
“Wh-what?”
Remember when I said I’ve thought about moving to Pine Ridge a few times over the years? I was telling the truth, obviously. It was tempting to leave Scotland and the overwhelming memories behind, put miles between my clan, Nicola’s clan, and myself. I inquired about a transfer twice.
Inquired.
Not requested.
At least, I didn’t intend to request it! I’d just filled out a request for information—hadn’t I?
“I was unaware they’d been rejected,” I say stiffly.
Neilson lets out a startled laugh. “Well, it’s 2024 and you’re still sitting on the wrong side of the Atlantic, aren’t you? If you think it’s going to take three years to approve a transfer, then the UK branches are more backed up than I thought!”
Oh, this man is coming off as more and more of a patronizing, glad-handed idiot by the second. My hackles are rising. My tusks itch with some ancestral bloodlust.
“No offense!”
Yeah. That doesn’t work, laddie. “I’m happy with my current position. I prefer remote work. I’m a solitary individual, which is why I’m an excellent, ruthlessly accurate accountant. I don’t let distractions or soft spots for colleagues interfere in my tracking of expenses or making necessary adjustments to proposed project budgets.” By the time I finish talking, my voice is nothing more than a low growl with a Scottish brogue.
Neilson chuckles nervously, something of the danger he’s in finally penetrating his thick skull. A brassed-off Orc an ocean away is still a threat.
“Mr. Wickstaff, you’re an excellent and valued member of the team at IAC. We’re just trying to keep you happy and thank you for your dedication. Twenty years with the company. You’ll still be able to work remotely, just coming into the city a few times a year. You could even stay in—let me see here, your recent expense account says you were in... Pine Ridge! Pretty little place in the mountains, right? Near the Binghamton Airport? You could even live there.”
More inane chatter bypasses my attention. I figure the fact that I get more done than any other accountant in my division has caught his notice. (When you’re an antisocial Orc with inhuman stamina and a penchant for escaping your troubles by delving into the solid, reassuring steadiness of numbers on a screen, you tend to be productive.) I must’ve either saved him trouble or money during the audit. Maybe both.
I test the waters. “I have forty weeks of paid holiday leave accrued. I’m not losing that?”
“Nope.”
“I get 28 days paid holiday leave each year. It’s mandatory with the UK branches. What about the US branches?”
“Erm. Well. We’ll keep you at the same annual paid time off.”
His voice is wavering. He might wriggle out of this soon.
Do I want that? Why am I asking like I’ll accept?
Because New York means Pine Ridge, and Pine Ridge means Georgia, and Georgia is never, ever going to be mine...
Unless...
Unless I let myself really start over. New city, new country, new chance to be happy. To learn how to make her happy.
I want that so much it leaves me lightheaded—and apparently light in the brains, as well.
I wish I could blame alcohol, but I haven’t touched a drop in days. “Salary?”
“The same.”
“Cost of living is higher in New York.”
“I meant it’ll be the equivalent. Not the exact same.”
“Dangerous terms to mix up with an accountant, laddie.”
“Laddie! I love it. Love that accent. What do you say, Doug? Do the Edinburgh and London branches give you this much love? Come on, big guy. You’ll love the Big Apple once you take a bite!”
All I want to do is bite a certain Georgia—my Georgia peach. Oh God, it’s pathetic, isn’t it?
“I’d need time to put my house in order.”
“We’ll handle all relocation expenses. It’d be great if you could start by the third quarter.”
The first of July. That’s weeks away. Plenty of time to get things in order.
I don’t have much to arrange, honestly. Even my clan won’t worry about me. I’ve been adrift for so long in a sea of sadness and seclusion that it won’t matter if I’m thirty miles away or three thousand.
“I’ll do it. Send me the paperwork.”
“Is this how you Scottish guys get when you’re excited?” Neilson’s voice is amused and a little shocked.
“D’you want a seven-foot man in a skirt squeezing you hard and squealing in your ear, then? Because I s’pose I could stop by your office when I land,” I hint, playful maliciousness in every syllable.
Ah, the nervous gulp is a sweet sound. “I was just—uh—admiring how composed you are. It’s an asset. Really.”
“Glad you think so. I don’t think I’ll be changing.”
When I hang up after a few more details, I close my laptop. Think for a bit.
I don’t think I’ll be changing.
Not for him. Not for work.
But what was it Georgia said? Oh, I can remember every word near perfect. I hear her voice in my head.
There’s a part of him that was always lonely and angry before. It’s gone now.
She was talking about her brother and how he changed when he fell in love.
Really, truly fell in love. Not just cared about someone enough to make a go of it. Not when he married someone suitable and convenient, someone ready to partner up and move on in life.
Could I be a man like that? Less lonely? Less angry?
Only if I fall in love.
Don’t fall into a trap, Dougie. You’re already sliding, thinking that there could be a chance, and she hardly knows you.
But for the first time in eleven years, it feels like there’s a chance that I could be happy again. Maybe truly happy for the first time.
Time for a dram.
I toast an empty room in a silent house. “To a second shot at love—if I’m fool enough to take it.”