Chapter 22
Long Story Short
Raven
Every instinct in me is screaming that this is a waste of my time. The things I’ve gathered about him so far don’t exactly scream valuable business opportunity. It’s actually more like walking red flag.
Curse Steven for making me handle this. He could’ve dealt with it himself, but no, apparently I’m the picture of responsibility these days. Lucky me. When I get back I need to have a sit down with him about my roles and responsibilities.
After giving myself a quick be-a-responsible-adult pep talk, I’m good to go.
Maybe Mike-n-Ike just has terrible email etiquette.
Maybe he had an off day when he sent those delightful passive-aggressive messages.
Maybe his entire personality isn’t actually insufferable, and his bad attitude is just the unfortunate byproduct of a bad mattress situation. Stranger things have happened.
Once I'm satisfied that I’ve sufficiently worked through my frustrations with Mike-n-Ike, my mind drifts to more… interesting matters.
Specifically, that kiss.
Epic kiss number two.
I thought maybe the first one was a fluke. A side effect of a little alcohol and the perfect storm of bad decisions. But nope. Turns out it wasn’t just a lucky shot. It was him.
My stomach flips just thinking about it, and I have to resist the ridiculous urge to smile to myself like some lovesick fool. But, that kiss is definitely going to live rent-free in my mind forever. Definitely a core memory.
The thought of texting him flickers through my mind, just to see what he’s up to tonight. But the second that thought forms, I shove it back down where it belongs.
Down girl.
As if the universe is testing my willpower, my phone buzzes on the seat beside me. Speak of the devil.
Kane.
Just his name on my screen is enough to send a little rush through me, which is absurd.
He’s asking how my meeting is going. I don't know why, but something about the fact that he’s checking in sends my pulse skittering.
I stare at my screen, trying to figure out what the adult version of myself would say to his response that I just got.
I take a deep breath, gripping my phone a little tighter as my brain stops working for a solid three seconds. Would I like a demonstration?
He thinks he’s the hottest thing since sliced bread. Which, to be fair, he kind of is. And that’s exactly why I need to get a grip.
This man is a disaster waiting to happen, and I refuse to be his next casualty. That would, without a doubt, become the disaster of the century.
Decision made. Kane is going under the summer’s epic fling category. He's just a perfect distraction, nothing more. I’ll enjoy his company, have some fun, and keep things light. No strings. No mess. Just a little heat to brighten my stay here.
I just need to keep my head in the game and my heart far, far away.
Now that he’s thrown down the gauntlet with his bullseye bet, I can’t help but smile. There’s nothing quite as satisfying as proving someone wrong. Especially when that someone has an ego the size of Scotland. Watching his face when he realizes he’s underestimated me is going to be so worth it.
I might be able to ignore my feelings for Kane, but what I can’t ignore, are all the strange things that keep happening to me lately.
No matter how hard I try to write them off as coincidences, they just keep piling up.
The tingling in my hands, for starters. Then we have the dreams. Vivid, and way too real.
All those memories that suddenly feel like I’m live-streaming them in HD are starting to freak me out.
And let’s not forget the flickering lights. That’s normal, right? Probably just faulty wiring. Scotland is old, after all.
There’s also the persistent feeling that I’m being watched. I keep telling myself it’s paranoia, but deep down, I don’t really believe in coincidences.
I sigh, shaking my head at Kane’s text. If only bullseyes and inflated egos were the only things I had to deal with right now.
The Uber pulls to a slow stop in front of the diner where I’m supposed to meet Mike Wazowski. The driver looks at me in the mirror with his eyebrows raised, clearly waiting for me to get out.
“Do you mind if we just sit here for a few minutes?” I shift my gaze back to the diner.
He nods, smiling. “Aye, take yer time.”
I lean back against the seat, blowing out a long breath as I scan the small restaurant through the window. It’s probably just nerves, but I need a second to clear my head.
For someone who was so insistent on this meeting, Big Mike didn’t want to meet in his office. Oh no. He insisted on keeping it casual, claiming he didn’t want things to feel too formal since I’m technically on vacation.
From the outside, the place looks like one of those small, locally-owned diners that probably serves the best damn pancakes in town. Too bad I’m not planning on eating a full meal, since I’ve already got dinner plans. The last thing I need is to be too stuffed to enjoy whatever place Rachel picks.
Oh my God. I don’t actually know what this guy looks like.
“UGGGHHH. This is why I meet people in their office.” I mutter to myself, fumbling for my phone.
My stress level is officially at DEFCON 1.
I roll my eyes, still scanning my phone, when a sharp knock on the window makes me jump.
My phone launches out of my hand, vanishing into the dark void between the seats. I slap my palm over my chest like a jump-scare victim in a bad horror movie.
Whipping around, I’m ready to cuss out whoever did that, but instead, I freeze.
There's a man outside my window. And not just any man—the kind of stupidly attractive that should come with a warning label. His attempt at an apologetic smile only makes him look more dangerous. Figures.
He's got that golden-boy thing going. His dirty blonde hair is tousled, his jawline is outlined by stubble like he practiced in the mirror. It's the kind of look that gets people to trust you without question. Which makes me trust him even less.
Deep, piercing blue eyes catch mine, and I can see a spark of amusement there like he's already won some game I didn't agree to play.
They shouldn't be that distracting, but paired with his broad shoulders that are currently stretching his suit to its limits…
he looks like the type who spends too much time in the gym.
Maybe he just wrestles Highland cattle for fun. Either way, it works, and I don’t hate it.
His grin widens, as if this is the funniest thing that’s happened to him all day. Can’t say the same.
“So sorry, love.” His voice is effortlessly smooth, and laced with an accent that could charm a nun. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
What the actual hell is happening right now?
The Uber driver glances at me in the mirror, looking confused. “You alright? Do you know him?”
“Oh! I'm fine, sorry. Thank you!” I reply quickly, willing my voice to sound steadier than I feel. My heart is still hammering against my ribs, and I’m about two seconds away from dissolving into a puddle of embarrassment.
Rolling the window down, I hear him repeat himself. “So sorry, really. But are you Raven?”
The sound of my name coming from his mouth sends a flicker of unease through me. How does he know who I am?
My brain finally kicks into gear as the missing pieces snap into place.
“Uh-yes, that’s me,” I stutter, still trying to catch up. “Sorry, you just caught me off guard… are you Mike?”
“Yeah.” He flashes a sheepish but confident smile. “I saw you sitting here and thought it might be you, so I figured I’d come check.”
The Uber driver raises a skeptical brow but keeps his thoughts to himself. Same, buddy. Same. I thank him for waiting and slip him a little extra money for the trouble. I step out of the car, and take a steadying breath, following Mike into the diner.
The cozy atmosphere does nothing to settle the odd mix of adrenaline and unease still buzzing in my veins. Mike leads us to a booth near the window, and I set my bag down beside me, pulling out my phone to fire off a quick text to Rachel.
Me: If you get the bat signal, call immediately. Just in case.
Hitting send, I look up to see Mike smiling. “I took the liberty of ordering you a glass of wine,” he gestures toward the table. “I told the waiter to bring it once you arrived. Don’t worry, you didn’t keep me waiting long.”
Umm. Excuse me?
I was early, but sure, let’s go with that. My brain flips between irritation and politeness. I was also about to mention I don't drink, but that’s not entirely accurate anymore. So instead, I mutter a polite, “Thank you.”
There’s no way I'm drinking during an interview. I’m here to get through this meeting, not play along with whatever vibe Mike is throwing out.
When the waiter arrives, I ask for a glass of water. He nods then leaves us alone again. I shift my focus back to Mike, keeping my expression neutral.
“I’m still terribly sorry about scaring you earlier.” His voice is smooth, but something about his tone doesn’t match the words. He doesn’t actually sound sorry. If anything, there’s a subtle edge beneath his practiced charm.
There’s something intense about him, nothing outright creepy, but it’s enough to send a quiet warning through my gut.
“That’s okay.” I smile, keeping my tone light and easy. “So, where would you like to start?”
I’m not here to be rude, but I am on vacation. And between his emails and this meeting, I feel like I already have a solid read on him.
His smile stays tight, but his eyes narrow slightly. “Oh please, I insist we talk business after we order. That way, there won’t be interruptions.”
I nod, keeping my face pleasant, but internally, I'm rolling my eyes.
His type is so predictable. Control freak, ego central, everything by-the-book, barf. I’d bet good money he’s calculated this down to the second, including a time limit for how long he thinks we should chat. My first impression of him was spot on.