Chapter 7
LENA
“And what happens if Narissa’s posts don’t stop?” I asked, staring at the laptop screen that displayed a meeting room back in the Houston office.
“Then we’ll workshop with legal and probably escalate to a cease and desist,” Cynthia said.
She was Kincaid Energy’s PR manager, and her bark truly was as bad as her bite.
“But I want to hold off and give us a chance to spin the story to our advantage. Narissa hasn’t hesitated to employ her own legal counsel in the past, and that always makes things messier on our end. ”
“She’s certainly…having fun with it, isn’t she?” Nancy, the secretary holding down the fort for me in Houston, said diplomatically.
“She usually does,” I agreed ruefully. I’d been Weston’s assistant through that whole ill-fated relationship…
and all of the aftermath. As far as Narissa was concerned, there was no statute of limitations on living up to her role as a woman scorned, and I would bet money she celebrated when her pettiness impacted Kincaid Energy’s bottom line. Luckily, it didn’t last long that time.
I lifted my arms off Pete’s giant office desk and reclined into the stately chair behind me.
It was giving throne vibes, which felt very on-brand for a castle.
“But eventually, she’ll get bored and move on to someone else for a while.
” Until Weston caught her attention once more, and then we’d be off to the races all over again.
Cynthia nodded.
“Weston said you were focusing on the jealous, unhinged ex-acting-out angle. Is that still the plan?” I asked.
“We’re fronting that very lightly. I think I’ve only given permission to the team to drop that to one tabloid. I’m actually far more invested in this Braeburn Summer Festival idea. I want us to redirect the conversation.”
I nodded. “I figure it’s exactly the kind of positive press you can milk to overshadow Narissa’s posts.” And me opening my mouth to Tess in a public place where anyone could overhear.
“That’s the plan. I’m gonna need you to be my eyes and ears on the ground. Please take photos of Weston interacting with the public there.”
“Will do,” I said. “We’ve got the first meeting with the committee next week. Once all the funeral stuff is out of the way, I’ll loop you in on the progress.”
“Sounds good,” Cynthia said.
I glanced at my checklist. “Feel free to pop off now. I think we’ve covered my current concerns. The rest of my agenda is just stuff for Nancy.”
Cynthia gave a little wave and gathered her things before leaving the conference room.
“A summer festival for positive press sounds better than that Bolivian alpaca farm idea,” Nancy muttered.
I laughed. “Has Arnie gotten to you too?”
“This elevator needs a lock, I swear. The man is relentless.”
My lips twitched. “He likes to come up after he’s eaten lunch. That’s when he says the ideas really spark.”
“Lord,” Nancy said, rolling her eyes.
“Weston and I are always conveniently rushing off to an important meeting about that time,” I said. “The café down the street also happens to put out their fresh beignets about then. I consider it my reward for saving Weston from Arnie’s incessant chatter.”
“Noted,” Nancy said. “I’ll have to start taking a late lunch.”
Shuffle. Shuffle.
I frowned, glancing around the office and trying to spot the source of the noise.
It was a sizable room on the ground floor, filled with heavy wooden furniture and plush maroon carpeting.
A family crest and tartan was framed in gold on the wall above a truly colossal stone fireplace.
Was something stuck up in the flue? No, the sound didn’t seem to be coming from that direction.
“All good?” Nancy asked.
I turned back to the computer in time to see Nancy flip the page of her notebook. “Sorry, thought I heard something.”
“Must be strange, rattling around in a place like that. I looked it up, you know. I still can’t really wrap my head around someone I know living in an actual castle.”
“Yeah, I’ll admit that it’s quite the change, compared to my tiny condo,” I said, laughing. “Like, don’t get me wrong, it’s updated and modern.”
“So no creepy dungeons?”
I smirked. “Not that I’ve found. Some of the rooms even have heated floors.”
Nancy hummed, impressed.
“But there’s also winding staircases and turrets and pictures of old men in kilts on the walls. This morning, I half expected to be woken up by a guy with bagpipes instead of my alarm.”
Nancy laughed, and I was reminded again of how lucky I’d gotten with the pick from the secretarial pool. She was efficient, understood my sense of humor, and so far, I hadn’t had to tell her anything twice.
“Okay, let’s get into it,” I said, getting back to my list. “You got the notes from last week’s board meeting?”
“Typed up and filed.”
“Good, can you flag the section on the energy summit in Norway and get it to logistics? They’re going to need to start planning Kincaid’s involvement for later this year.”
“Who’s the point on that now, Gleeson?”
“Not anymore, he’s out. Send it to Dench and cc me when she responds.”
Nancy nodded. “Anything else for the Tokyo trip in September?”
“Yeah, can you reconfirm the off-grid site visit? Weston will want to see that in action.” I made a note for myself to prepare Weston a one-pager on our solar initiatives.
“On it,” Nancy said, making her own notes.
“Can you follow up with me when you get a response?”
She nodded.
Shuffle. Thunk. Shuffle.
I glanced at the window, then away again.
“Your Scottish ghost back?”
“Ha! Maybe. Also, I’m also sending through some documents on the Scottish seabed rights to the legal team. So please keep an eye on the general inbox and ping me as soon as a response comes through. I want to get Weston on a call with them ASAP.”
“Busy week,” Nancy said.
I gave her a wan smile. Kincaid Energy was a billion-dollar empire. They were all busy weeks. “Any questions?”
She shook her head.
“Perfect. Keep me looped in via email. Call me with any emergencies. I’ll check in tomorrow.” I reviewed my list one more time. “Okay, I think that’s it,”
Shuffle. Thunk. Shuffle. Thunk.
I waved and ended the call, jumping to my feet.
Thunk. Thunk! THUNK!
I darted to the window, peering out at the estate garden. Rows of neatly manicured hedges stared back at me. Then POP! I startled as a scruffy head appeared out of one of the hedges—
—and then I laughed. It was only a pony. One of those tiny Shetland ponies by the looks of it. This one had the kitchen scrap trash can stuck on its muzzle.
Judging by the buttercream smeared up its dark brown coat, the rascal must have gotten into the leftovers from last night’s impromptu party.
I knocked on the window, hoping it might scare the pony into shaking the trash can free, but no such luck. I sighed and headed for the locked door next to the fireplace, exiting into the garden. It was warmer out here than inside, and the scent of peat and rain lingered pleasantly.
“Hey,” I said. “C’mere.”
The pony trotted away from me through the hedges, and I surged after it, down gravel paths lined with rose bushes and past beds of flowers interrupted by the occasional moss-covered statue.
It had rained recently, and the dew soaked through my shoes.
It would have been quite a lovely walk, if I hadn’t been chasing down a pony who thought this was all a grand game, and who proved to be very good at ducking out of reach.
I rounded the end of a weathered bench and finally latched onto the trash can, yanking it free to find a mouth of giant buttercream-frosted teeth smiling back at me. “Gross.”
The pony neighed, shaking its long mane and going straight for the trash can again. I held it out of reach.
“I think you’ve had more than enough.”
The pony answered by bopping me in the legs. Hard.
“Ow! Hey!” I complained. It was stronger than it looked. “Why don’t you go back home? Shoo. Go on!” Callum had mentioned that Lochbrae grazed sheep and cattle, with some working horses, but why the hell was there a pony in the garden?
Was the area not fenced to keep the working animals in and the wild animals out?
“There you go,” I said, waving it off. “You’re free. Now back to your family.”
The pony darted a few feet away, then looped around, galloping straight for me.
“Ah!” I shouted, stumbling back through a hedge. My foot slid exactly wrong on a wet patch of grass, and the next thing I knew, the trash can flew out of my hand, pinging off one of those stone statues, and I was twisting through the air.
Flying?
No, definitely falling.
Oomph. I landed hard on my stomach, skidding across grass, slick mud caking the side of my face.
My breath left me in a rush, and I struggled for my next one.
In the hazy vision that followed, all I could see was that demon pony trotting over to nibble at the plastic clip I used to hold back my hair.
“Get off!” I groaned, feeling a muzzle at my back as I tasted dirt. It was on my tongue and inside my nose and gritty between my teeth. Note to self: close your mouth next time you eat the ground with your face.
I finally caught my breath and propped myself up on my elbows, and a pair of buttercreamed horse lips came right for my head.
“Oh, hell no, tiny pony!” I redirected that muzzle, but the thing was relentless, trying to gnaw at my hair like it was a sack of straw that had just been dropped in front of it with one direction: feast.
“No, horse!” I said. “Leave my hair. Ugggh.”
The thing chuffed, stomping its short legs while making a sound that could only be described as disgruntled. Then it came for me again.
“Stop, horsey. Down. Sit! Yes, sit. Why won’t you listen?” My arm ached as I fought off the beast. Commands clearly weren’t going to work on it, so I did the only thing I could.
I rolled.
And I kept rolling.
That was how Weston and Callum found me—covered in dirt in the garden and fighting for my life against an equine that barely came up to my waist.