Chapter 24
ALISTAIR
The Fragile Balance of Hearts
I’ve been staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror for the past fifteen minutes.
I didn’t go so far as to time this pathetic episode of self-reflection with my watch, but I know it’s been too long.
Far too long spent trying to convince myself I’m completely in control, trying to erase the memory of her lips on mine.
Total failure on both fronts.
— Get it together, McKenzie, I mutter to my reflection, which stares back looking anything but convinced.
Today matters. The official presentation of the boutique renovation plans is happening in front of investors, local press, and—of course—Keira. They’ll all be there, expecting the professionalism and confidence I’m known for.
The problem is, I don’t feel professional. I don’t feel confident. I feel like a teenager before his first date—nervous, awkward, and obsessing over a kiss.
A kiss that never should’ve happened.
A kiss that changed something in me.
I splash cold water on my face, hoping it’ll wash away the doubt. We’re adults, for God’s sake. What happened in that barn was an anomaly—a moment of madness born from adrenaline and absurdity.
Nothing more.
So why the hell can’t I stop thinking about it?
My phone buzzes on the counter, pulling me out of my thoughts.
MARTHA
The first guests will arrive in 30 minutes. Miss McGregor is already here, setting up her models in the conference room.
I type a quick reply.
ALISTAIR
I’ll be there in 10 minutes.
Then I take a deep breath, straighten my tie one last time, and brace myself to face the woman who’s been occupying every one of my thoughts for weeks.
The first thing I notice when I step into the conference room is that Keira is wearing a dress. Not her usual professional suit, but a navy-blue dress that hugs her curves perfectly while still being entirely appropriate for the setting.
She’s also very clearly making an effort not to look at me.
— Morning, Keira, I say, aiming for casual.
— Morning, she replies without lifting her eyes from the models she’s meticulously arranging across the large table. I hope these placements work for you.
— They’re perfect. Need any help?
— No, thank you. I’m almost done.
Her voice is polite. Neutral. Completely stripped of the emotion that pulsed between us in that barn. She’s clearly decided to act like nothing happened.
It’s probably the best approach. The most reasonable. The most professional.
So why does it disappoint me so much?
— All right, I say, stepping back slightly. I’ll have Martha bring them in, then.
She nods, still focused on her work. I’m already at the door when she finally looks up.
— Alistair?
I stop. My heart picks up a little too fast.
— Yeah?
— Your tie is crooked.
I glance down and see that, sure enough, it’s shifted slightly to the left. I adjust it, a little awkwardly.
— Thanks.
— You’re welcome. The McKenzies can’t afford to look careless, can they? she adds with a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
— No. Appearances matter.
— They always do, she murmurs before turning back to her models.
I leave the room with the uncomfortable feeling we weren’t talking about ties at all.
The presentation goes exactly as planned. The investors are impressed, the journalists scribble enthusiastic notes, and even my father looks moderately satisfied—which, for him, is the equivalent of wild enthusiasm.
Keira is, as always, brilliant. She explains her vision with clarity and passion, detailing how the renovation of the McKenzie boutique will honor its historical legacy while creating a modern experience for visitors. Her presentation is flawless.
And yet, something nags at me.
It’s only when she unveils the main model that I understand what’s been pulling at my attention from the start.
Subtly woven into the walls, the counters, the displays—I recognize familiar patterns.
Symbols I’ve seen recently, carved into that old barrel marked with Archibald and Elspeth’s initials.
But that’s not all. Those symbols are intertwined with others—ones I recognize as belonging to the McGregors. Together, they form a harmonious design. Almost imperceptible if you don’t know what to look for, but undeniably there.
Keira didn’t just design a modernized McKenzie boutique. She created a space that honors the shared history of our families. That celebrates the past we’ve only just begun to rediscover.
This isn’t just a professional project for her. It’s something sincere. Authentic. Deeply personal.
Our eyes meet briefly as she wraps up, and I wonder if she can read on my face that I understand what she’s done. Something in her gaze tells me she can.
Applause breaks out around us, snapping me back to reality. My father steps forward, shakes Keira’s hand with rare approval, then turns to me.
— Excellent work, Alistair. Miss McGregor is as talented as you said.
— Thank you, Father, I reply automatically.
— I do have a few suggestions, of course, he adds, turning back to Keira. Nothing major. Perhaps we could discuss them over dinner tonight?
— That would be an honor, Keira answers politely, though I catch the faint tension in her smile.
— Perfect. We’ll expect you at 7:30.
With that, he moves off to speak with one of the investors, leaving us alone in an uncomfortable silence.
— Sorry about that, I say at last. You don’t have to accept.
— He’s your father—and technically my future father-in-law. Refusing would be… strange, wouldn’t it?
— Probably. Still.
She shrugs.
— It’s part of the arrangement, isn’t it? Family dinners, public appearances. It’s what I signed up for.
Her tone is so pragmatic it hits somewhere deep in my chest.
— About our arrangement, I start, not entirely sure where I’m going.
— Yes?
— I was thinking that maybe—with the project progressing and the positive response today—it might make sense to… extend it.
She looks at me, surprised.
— Extend it? Beyond the three months we agreed on?
— For the sake of the project, I add quickly. Continuity would be beneficial. And our families seem to have adjusted to the idea.
It’s the weakest excuse in the history of weak excuses, and I’m certain she sees right through it.
— For the sake of the project, she repeats slowly.
— Exactly. Not to mention Maggie has stopped trying to set you up with other men…
Silence settles between us—heavy with everything we’re not saying. With that kiss we’re pretending to forget. With glances that linger a second too long. And with the sharp flicker of jealousy that just hit me at the thought of her with someone else.
— I suppose it could be considered, she finally says, and relief floods through me.
That’s the exact moment Martha walks in, looking concerned.
— Mr. Alistair, I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s something you need to see immediately.
— What is it, Martha?
— It’s about the renovation project. One of the investors has just submitted an alternative proposal to the board. They’re reviewing it right now.
— What? What alternative proposal? From who?
— From William Fraser, sir.
I go still.
William Fraser is one of our investors—and a long-time rival who’s tried more than once to insert himself into our projects. He even managed to acquire shares in the company through… less-than-transparent means.
— How was he able to submit a proposal? The project wasn’t open to competition.
— Apparently, several board members suggested it would be wise to review other options, Martha explains, uncomfortable. Your father is with them right now.
I turn to Keira. Her expression has closed off.
— I have to go, I say quickly. We’ll talk later.
She just nods, and I follow Martha out, my mind spinning between professional concern and personal frustration.
The board meeting is already underway when I arrive. My father sits at the head of the table, listening as William Fraser presents his vision with an unreadable expression. Behind him, images of a completely reimagined boutique scroll across the screen.
— Ah, you’ve finally joined us, Alistair, my father says as I enter. We were just discussing the future of our boutique.
— I can see that, I reply coolly. I didn’t realize we’d opened the project to other proposals.
— The board felt it was prudent to explore multiple options, my father explains with a polite smile that fools no one. William put this together in record time.
William Fraser—a polished man in his fifties—nods at me.
— I hope you don’t take offense. Business is business, after all.
— Of course not, William, I say evenly. I’m just curious how you managed to prepare such a detailed proposal so quickly.
— I already had a few ideas in mind, he replies vaguely. When your father contacted me—
— When my father contacted you?
I turn to my father, who at least has the decency to look mildly embarrassed.
— It was simply a precaution. In case the project with Miss McGregor didn’t meet expectations.
— And you didn’t think to inform me?
— You seemed distracted lately. I thought it best not to add to your concerns.
I clench my jaw to keep from saying something I’ll regret. Instead, I sit and gesture for William to continue.
What I see does not sit well with me.
His design is radically different from Keira’s.
Where she created a space that celebrates history while embracing modernity, William proposes a complete transformation—an ultra-modern, clinical white environment that erases nearly all traces of McKenzie heritage.
And completely ignores the shared history with the McGregors that Keira honored so subtly.
— As you can see, William concludes with obvious satisfaction, this approach would position the McKenzie distillery as a leader in innovation. No more dusty folklore—this is about delivering an immersive brand experience for a younger, wealthier international clientele.
Dusty folklore.