8. Locke
LOCKE
“I’m not nervous,” Isla insisted.
“You’ve been wringing your hands together and picking at your trousers for the last half hour.”
Her hands stilled. She huffed at me and stuffed her fingers under her thighs. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” I checked my blind spot and changed lanes. “If anyone should be nervous about this lunch, it’s me.” It would be my first encounter with Dougal MacRae since he’d practically thrown me out of his office. The pressure was officially on.
Isla shot me a wry grin. “Yes, you should be nervous, Mr. Let’s-Show-Up-In-A-Helicopter. What the hell were you thinking?”
“It was simply an offer,” I said, groaning as she giggled at me. “I thought we could cut the travel time down by a couple of hours. That’s all.”
Isla clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “You were trying to be showy. Admit it.”
“I was being practical,” I argued, even though I knew she wouldn’t believe me. When I’d suggested we take my helicopter earlier, Isla’s eyes had almost bugged out of her head.
“Your precious little Bentley is practical enough,” she assured me, shifting uncomfortably on the leather seats.
“I’m already afraid to touch things. I can’t even imagine what the helicopter is like.
And just so we’re clear, Dad hates shows of wealth like that.
He’s done well for himself on the business front.
He’s sharp, he’s savvy, but he’s still the kind of guy you’ll catch down at the local pub, watching footy with the guys and drinking shit beer. ”
“Okay, great,” I said. “That’s the kind of information I need. I don’t want to come off too—”
“Flashy,” Isla said. “Yeah, Dad’s not the kind of man you’d ever find dripping in designer brands.” She eyed my suit, which was relatively toned down for me. A simple navy. No bells or whistles. Just classy enough for lunch with my future father-in-law.
My stomach dipped. I couldn’t ever remember being this anxious for a meeting. “What else?”
“He’s definitely a get-your-hands-dirty kind of guy.
Like he’d stop a business meeting, go down to the distillery floor, and roll his sleeves up to help if he noticed that something had gone wrong.
” Isla chuckled. “I mean, to this day he still talks about mopping up spilled mash with his mates or wrestling leaky barrels when my granddad was still in charge.”
So I was dealing with the kind of man who valued hard, hands-on work. Understood. “What does your dad know about this lunch so far?”
“Not much. I didn’t want to wind him up before we’d even gotten there. As far as he’s concerned, this is the catch-up he’s been asking me for.”
My stomach sank. “He doesn’t know you’re bringing anyone?”
She shook her head. “If you actually want him to show up, it’s better that he thinks it’s going to be just me. And for the love of God, try not to insult his footy team again.”
I filed that one away as priority number one, determined to make the most of this lunch. “Okay, nothing too flashy, show a good work ethic, and no footy trashing.”
She grinned. “You’re on a roll, Lord Poshpants.”
I smirked at her. “That’s Fiancé Poshpants to you.”
“Ah, yes, how could I forget?” Her expression shifted from amusement back to the anxiousness from earlier. She released a heavy breath.
“You must be a little happy to see him,” I prompted.
“It’s not that I’m not happy. I love my dad. It’s just that things are complicated between us.” She turned her head, looking out the window as the cityscape appeared in the distance. “We don’t get each other.”
“Is that since your mum passed?” I wondered.
“No,” she mused. “It’s been like this for a long time. As far as our relationship goes, I’ve always thought it worked best with a lot of distance between us. Preferably an ocean.”
“And now that you’re not so far apart?” I asked. As a son with complicated relationships with my own divorced parents, I appreciated how difficult this must be for her.
Isla buzzed her lips together. “I don’t know exactly how to navigate our relationship right now. But you know what they say, fiancé.” The corner of her mouth twitched as she looked at me. “Fake it till you make it.”
We parked near Princes Street, and Isla led us through the city center to a lowkey restaurant called the Crooked Banner.
There were seven Michelin-starred restaurants in Edinburgh, and I knew for a fact this wasn’t one of them.
Would I have been taking Dougal somewhere more upscale if we’d gone with my selection?
Yes. But I’d enlisted Isla’s help for a reason, so I put those worries to bed and trusted her to have made the right choice.
Inside, the light was low, the furnishings were simple, but at least the staff seemed friendly and attentive.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” Isla said as the hostess led us to a round table in the back corner of the restaurant.
“It doesn’t look like much, but the food here is incredible.
This is where Dad brings clients he actually likes.
” She thanked the hostess as we sat down and picked up our menus.
“Dad loves the lamb rack with herb crust. I’m ninety percent sure he’s going to choose that.
Don’t copy him—he’ll see that as pandering—but go ahead and decide now what you want.
He likes a person who orders promptly. He says it tells him something about their ability to commit. ”
“So you’re saying I should know what I want before he sits down?” I asked, scanning the menu. Thankfully, it wasn’t too extensive.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. They actually use MacRae whiskey in some of their dishes, so if you can order something with the whiskey sauce, that would be great. You can mention how incredible it is and win some extra brownie points with Dad.”
“Aye, whiskey sauce, got it.” I flipped the menu over to peruse the drink selections.
“That’s him now,” Isla whispered to me, her eyes pinpointing someone by the door. Tension coursed through me, and I steeled myself from Dougal’s reaction, praying that Isla’s presence was enough to get him to hear me out one more time.
I reached out and squeezed her forearm, stroking my thumb against her skin. “We’ve got this.”
I heard the slight intake of breath as her gaze landed on the place where I held her. She nodded once, sucked in a steadying breath, then lifted her hand to flag Dougal down. “Dad! Over here.”
He spotted her, saying something to the hostess, then strode across the restaurant, the smile dropping from his round face as he laid eyes on me.
“What the bloody hell is he doing here?” he blustered, the hairs of his mustache ruffling.
Dougal was a sturdy man with a head of thick, brown hair streaked through with gray, and a deep, booming voice.
He wasn’t physically intimidating to me at my size, but he was loud, and I glanced around awkwardly as other diners turned our way.
“Dad,” Isla began patiently. “This is Locke.”
“It’s good to see you again, sir,” I said.
“I know exactly who Mr. Fraser is,” Dougal grumbled, beyond displeased. “What I want to know is what he’s doing here—at my flaming lunch with my daughter?”
I bit my tongue to keep from wincing. Maybe we should have given him the heads-up. “Sir, I—”
Dougal pointed a stubby finger at me. “I’m not interested in talking to you again. And tell your ruddy secretary to stop calling my office.”
Isla jumped to her feet, grabbing Dougal’s hand before he could march away in a huff.
“Dad, wait,” she said, taking his hand in both of hers.
Very carefully—very deliberately—angling her hand to show off the engagement ring.
I saw Dougal notice it. Frown. Shake his head.
When he lifted his chin, I couldn’t tell if he was flabbergasted or murderous.
“You know Locke from business,” Isla continued.
“But I’m here to introduce him as my fiancé. ”
“Fiancé!” Dougal glared at me like I was the gum he’d peeled off the bottom of his shoe. “You’re marrying him?” He started spluttering again, turning as red as a beet. It was so bad the waiter rushed over with some glasses of water.
“Things are pretty serious, Dad.” She released his hand and sat back down.
“But it’s your choice. You can either sit and have lunch with us or you can walk out of here.
” She looked up at him, those big brown eyes wide.
“I’d just hate the idea of my dad not even trying to get to know the person I want to share the rest of my life with. ”
Oof, she was laying it on thick. And it was working.
Dougal’s mouth opened, a disgruntled growl escaping as he glared at me, but his expression softened when his eyes returned to Isla.
He finally sat down hard, leveling me with a stare like a knife.
“You’re sure you want him?” he asked. “You could do so much better.”
She chuckled, shaking her head. “Of course he’s the one I want.” My chest clenched strangely hearing her say that. “And I’d like you two to get to know each other better.”
“Meaning what?” Dougal asked suspiciously. “That we’ll be spending more time together?”
“Yes,” she said simply. “Marriage makes us a package deal. You know how it is. So if you want me in your life, you get Locke too.”
Dougal lifted his water glass. “Fiancé,” he muttered, taking a sip. I worried Isla hadn’t done enough to convince him, but maybe I’d underestimated how badly he wanted more of Isla in his life. He sighed heavily. “Fine. A toast to the happy couple.”
“You need a better drink than water for a toast,” Isla said. She looked around for the waiter. “Should we order?”
“Yes,” Dougal said as I caught the waiter’s attention. He hurried over with a notepad.
“Can I get you started with something to drink?” the young man asked.
“Actually, I think we’re probably good for food too,” I suggested casually.
Dougal nodded in approval, ordering the lamb rack; Isla got a Cullen skink, and I settled on the chicken Balmoral. “I’ve heard they have an incredible whiskey sauce here,” I said, catching Dougal’s eye across the table.
He grunted.
“So, Dad,” Isla said, “what’s been going on? The Rovers looking strong for the new season?”
“If we’d just get rid of that pish manager,” Dougal said. The drinks arrived, and he scooped up his pint, taking a long swig. “All he has them doing is going backward. It’s all possession, possession. It’s like the whole squad’s forgotten they have to shoot to get goals.”
I gave Isla a flat look. I’d basically said the same thing to Dougal in our last meeting, and he’d taken my head off for it.
She worked to hide her grin behind her water glass. “Well, I saw some of the fans calling to sack the board. I bet you’ll see movement in management before the season really kicks off.”
“I cannot tell you how good some fresh energy will be for the squad. But the board’s being cheap as usual.”
“Sometimes a fresh start is all something needs to revitalize it,” I agreed. “A little investment, a little—” Dougal glared at me, and Isla gave me a look that said tone it down. “What do you think Scotland’s chances are of making it to the World Cup?”
Thankfully, our food arrived quickly, and I didn’t have to stumble through that conversation for long.
“How is everything?” our waiter asked, stopping the table to top up our water.
“Amazing.” I smiled up at him, completely sincere. The food was as delicious as anything I’d ever had at a Michelin-starred place. “The whiskey sauce is incredible.”
The waiter dipped his head. “I’ll let our team in the kitchen know that you enjoyed it. They’re always happy to hear that.”
Across the table, Dougal puffed up in his seat, pleased. “You know, they use MacRae whiskey for that sauce,” he said, pointing his fork at me the moment the waiter walked away.
I feigned ignorance. “You’re kidding?”
“Aye,” he said. “I’ve been back in the kitchen myself to see them at work. Only MacRae’s.”
Isla nudged me gently under the table, hiding her smile behind her napkin. I took a hearty bite of chicken slathered in sauce. “Well, that explains it. You can really taste the quality.”
“I’ve been told it retains its smoothness when it cooks down,” Dougal said. “Keeping that bold, smoky flavor without overpowering the dish.”
Isla nudged me again, giving me a discreet head nod; this was the moment. We’d softened Dougal up a bit, so it was time to enact the next phase of our plan.
“Speaking of bold, sir,” I began. “I wanted to ask you about the distillery property again.” Dougal stiffened, but I plowed on. “I know our last meeting didn’t end well, but I want you to know I’m still serious about my offer.”
“Not sure there’s anything to talk about,” Dougal said, sipping his pint.
“Dad,” Isla said softly. “Come on. By the sounds of things, you hardly let Locke finish his pitch last time.”
“That’s because I can tell someone’s worth by how they treat a man’s footy team.”
Isla rolled her eyes. “You can’t base this decision on a conversation about the Rovers. Dad, please. This land is important.”
He exhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing in my direction again. But then he nodded slowly and leaned back in his chair, ready to hear me out.
“What I’d like to do,” I explained, “is transform the old distillery into a luxury hotel and spa.”
Dougal’s finger tapped the side of his glass. “And why does sleepy little Braeburn need a hotel? If you put in a factory, the workers will come. If you put in a hotel, who’s visiting?”
“The inn stays pretty busy,” Isla argued.
“And the inn has…what, ten rooms?” Dougal said. “You’re talking about a luxury hotel.”
“The right sort of hotel doesn’t just respond to traffic.
It creates it. The resort itself will be the draw that Braeburn needs to get more people coming to the area.
And once they’re there, I know they’ll fall in love with the place, which will only lead to more traffic and more need for the hotel.
Braeburn has the potential to grow, Mr. MacRae, and I’d like this property to grow with it.
Not only will it provide jobs to local community members, it will facilitate Braeburn’s ability to support more tourism, bringing more revenue to independent businesses in town. ”
Dougal tipped his head back and forth. It wasn’t a no, but he clearly wasn’t fully on board, either. “There are pros and cons to both offers. I have a duty to the town to see the property go to the project that will bring the clearest benefits.”
Isla pursed her lips. “If you’re really serious about wanting to do what’s best for Braeburn, why don’t you let the town council be the deciding vote?” she said. “Why don’t you let the people who actually live in the community decide what would serve them best?”