“I don’t know what that is,” Cassie admitted.
“An old Scots custom. Especially around these parts. Winter can be long and lonely in the Highlands.” Janet shifted on the bed, turning to face Cassie. “On New Year’s Eve, family and friends bundle up and go visiting, hopping from house to house to share food and drink and wish their neighbors a happy new year.”
“That sounds nice.” Cassie rolled to her side, tucking a palm beneath her cheek and smiling at Janet.
“It’s cold as hell, is what it is. But that’s what the whisky is for. They don’t say ‘drink yer jacket’ for nothing. Da had always been a grand one for the tradition. Tall and dark, he was considered lucky.” Janet lifted an eyebrow, again with a devilish quirk so like Logan’s it was unnerving. “Superstition holds redheads make unlucky first-footers.”
“What?”
“It’s true. And redheaded females are the unluckiest of all.” Janet made a sound of good-natured disgust. “So there’s my brother in his ridiculous outfit, with Mam and me hovering behind.” She broke off, chuckling. “The look on our neighbors’ faces when they opened the door to see us standing on their porch. Old Hilda Heyworth threw a tin of shortbread at Lo’s head, and maybe we redheads aren’t so unlucky after all, as it was a wee bit of New Year’s luck he didn’t end up in hospital.”
Cassie nodded, eyes wide. “I’ve heard about Miss Hildy’s shortbread.”
“I’m not surprised.” Janet made a face. “The stuff is infamous. Anyway, Mam laughed so hard, I thought we’d end up needing to take her to hospital instead for a busted gut.”
Heart squeezing, Cassie wished she could see the memory that brought such a brilliant twinkle to Janet’s eyes.
“It was the first time we’d heard Mam laugh—really laugh—since Da died. And all from one of Lo’s silly pranks. I wished there were some way he could do that all the time. It wasna a conscious thing then, but looking back I know that’s when the idea first came to me. If he could help people find the laughter in their life, find a way to laugh at themselves…” Janet shrugged.
“You’re a good sister, you know,” Cassie said.
Janet made a very Gaelic tsking noise in the back of her throat and turned back to stare at the ceiling.
“Really, Logan is lucky to have you. And your instincts were right, Shenanigans is a big success. But as far as I can tell, Shenanigans was doing really well. Why did Logan want the television show so badly? Why was it so important?”
“Somehow he got it into his head that a show on the telly, especially one in the States, would legitimize his choice. Make it okay that he didn’t carry on the family legacy.”
Cassie digested that. In a twisted, male-logic kind of way, she could see how it made sense. A few pieces of the puzzle slid into place, but there were things about the man she was pretty sure she was in love with that she still didn’t understand. “One more question. What does Logan have against marriage?”
Janet looked at her, face thoughtful. “I think this is where I’m going to play the sister card,” she finally said, patting Cassie on the knee and sitting up. “If you really care to know, you’re going to have to ask my brother about that yerself.”
But Cassie didn’t ask him. Not on the drive back to Inverness, nor on the plane ride home. Part of her was afraid of the answer and wished she’d never had that awful, stupid conversation with Logan. But another part of her was glad she did—glad he’d made his feelings clear. Whatever this was between them, whatever they had, it wasn’t serious. Maybe she did love him, and he might even love her. But it wasn’t going to last—not forever, anyway.
That question, at least, had been answered.
CHAPTER 26
BACK IN CHICAGO, an unspoken truce settled between Cassie and Logan as they eased into the same routine they’d established before leaving for Scotland. And if sometimes Cassie felt like she was tiptoeing around a baby elephant they’d brought back with them, she chose not to mention it. Just as she chose not to ask why a man who enjoyed celebrating monthly anniversaries was so averse to the idea of marriage.
He wanted to live in the moment? Fine. She could do that. They had a good thing going, she should enjoy it. Stop worrying about a happily ever after and embrace her happy for now. Determined to do just that, Cassie pushed the trip with Logan, both the good and the bad, to the back of her mind. Right now, she needed to focus on other things—like her upcoming live interview with the vice president of the Chicago Public Library’s board of directors.
A few nights before St. Nicholas Day, on a rare evening when she and Logan were both free at the same time, they sat huddled on the couch in front of the TV, eating plates of Korean beef tacos (takeout, of course) when a commercial for Logan’s show came on. “Tomorrow night’s the last episode of your mini-season, right?” Cassie asked, dipping the end of one tortilla in plum sauce.
“Aye,” Logan said around a mouthful. He swallowed and leaned forward to set his plate on the table. “That reminds me, I probably won’t be home ’til late.”
Cassie tried to ignore the giddy bubbles fizzing inside her at his use of the word “home.” “Big party, huh?”
Logan swigged the rest of his wine and nodded. “The crew wants to go out and celebrate.”
“Are you getting a second season then?” she asked, setting her own plate aside.
He shrugged and stood. “We need to see how the ratings compare.” Logan gathered up the remains of their dinner and headed for the kitchen. He returned with the bottle of wine, refilling both their glasses before settling back down next to her.
“Thanks.” She forced a smiled and took a sip. They hadn’t talked about what would happen if his contract didn’t get renewed. Like the marriage discussion, she had filed it away in the I’ll worry about this later section of her brain. She took another sip of wine. The way things were going, that section would need more shelf space soon.
“Always happy to help get you a wee tipsy.” He winked at her. “I think I’ll pick up a bottle of Glengoyne whisky.”
“Ugh, no. I’ll stick to wine, thanks.” Cassie grimaced, she’d had her fill of the stuff at Edinburgh Castle.
“Not for you, hen.” Logan pulled her feet into his lap, tickling her for a second before beginning to rub them. “The lads on set have been boasting how nothing beats their Kentucky bourbon.” He made the same tsking noise his sister had. “I’m thinking I have to prove them wrong. Besides…” he raised one of his devil brows, “… a wee dram may help convince them to grant me the renewal contract.”
Cassie laughed, her smile genuine this time. “You are shameless.” Her laugh ended on a sigh, and she groaned with appreciation as he continued to massage her feet, his thumbs circling her arches with firm, confident strokes.
“Completely,” he agreed, taking an ankle in each hand and spreading her legs, his touch firm and confident as his fingers moved up her calves and thighs.
“Don’t forget to leave your shoes out,” she murmured.
“Pardon?” He paused, hands hovering at the hem of her pajamas.
“When you get here tomorrow night, make sure to set your shoes out for St. Nicholas.”
“Who?”
Cassie rolled her eyes at the comical look of confusion stamped on his face. She wiggled out his grasp. “I told you about this. Friday is St. Nicholas Day. You’re supposed to leave your shoes out and he fills them with presents.” Cassie loved this holiday. Passed down from her Belgian grandparents, it was a tradition she looked forward to every year.
“Och, right. Now I remember.” Logan leaned back against the couch.
“Do you?” Cassie asked in a voice laced with skepticism.
“Certainly.” His tongue danced over the word, and Cassie knew he’d done it on purpose, thickening his brogue to distract her. “But remind me again. What sorts of gifts does this Nicholas fellow leave in people’s shoes?”
“Mostly sweets and trinkets—little things, really. You can’t fi
t big packages in someone’s shoes, after all.” She glanced down at Logan’s sizable feet. “Unless that someone happens to wear anchors.”
“Big shoes mean a big package?” he asked, a wicked gleam in his green-gold eyes.
“Very big.” She nodded, feigning seriousness.
“Verra big, you say?” He lowered his voice to the husky, rolling burr that never failed to make her toes curl. “Well then, lass,” he said, reaching for her with a naughty chuckle that made her shiver with anticipation, “I’ll be needing you to help me unwrap it.”
* * *
The post-production party was held in a banquet room at the same hotel where Second Studios had put Logan up to stay. Things got under way in a civilized manner, with a catered dinner served around six. Logan and his crew started the celebration with champagne, but quickly moved to the bottle of single malt Highland whisky he’d procured. Not to be outdone, one of the lads ordered a bottle of Kentucky bourbon. A bit of friendly competition ensued as he and the boys talked smack and traded stories while trying to see who could drink whom under the table.
Which meant by eight o’clock Logan and his crew were fairly blootered when Bob and Bob arrived on the scene, one producer holding a bottle of Black Label and the other carrying a bottle of Single Barrel. Before long, Johnnie Walker and Jim Beam were duking it out, and everyone had moved past tipsy to become completely trollied.
Logan closed one eye and steadied himself as he focused on clinking his shot glass against the others raised in the air. It might have been their twentieth toast or their fiftieth. The Bobs had told him not only had they renewed him for another season, but his show was taking over the entire time slot. Seems Kitty Lippy Girl was bowing out. She’d signed a multimillion-dollar deal with a home shopping network for a line of cat spa products.
If he were sober, Logan might have found the fact he’d beaten the mental missy and her fancy feline by default a little disturbing, but at the moment, he didn’t give a fig. The show was his. That was all that mattered. He had another season ahead of him, which meant a reason to stay in Chicago. An excuse to stay with Cassie.
As Logan attempted to pour another round, he contemplated the next step in what he now felt comfortable calling his career. He steadied himself against the table and stared down at the amber liquid filling his glass. How was he going to fill a full hour of television every week? Maybe he could change the show’s format, mix things up …
One of the Bobs leaned heavily against Logan. “We need to talk about the shhhhow,” he slurred, smiling, his face cherubic in its sozzled state.
“I was just thinking about that,” Logan agreed.
“Oh, good.” Bob straightened and beamed. After a beat, he leaned on Logan again. “We need to talk about your shooooow.”
Sober Bob shook his head and turned to Logan. “Now that it’s just you in that time slot, we need to focus on the original problem—raising your appeal with the female market.”
“Nottaproblem,” cherubic Bob proclaimed. “My wife finds him veryveryvery appealing.” He teetered against Logan, staring up at him with his baby owl eyes. “Tol’ me, ‘Scots are hot.’ Says she looooooves your accent.”
“My girlfriend does too,” Logan confided, and then lowered his voice conspiratorially, “she especially loves the kilt.”
“Kilt?” Bob blinked again. “What kilt?” His question came out in an odd chirping noise, reinforcing the baby owl image.
Logan snickered, his own inebriated sense of humor finding the whole thing massively entertaining. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened the Shenanigans app. Nettie had shown him how to access the archives, including a hidden file that contained any videos they’d uploaded but never posted. It took his soused brain a few tries to remember the password for the private page, but he finally managed to get it open. “Here,” he said, holding out the phone in front of him so both Bobs could see the screen. “Watch this.”
* * *
While the crew secured her wireless mic, Cassie mentally reviewed her interview notes one more time. She’d practiced with Anita during hair and makeup, but was still feeling nervous. Ever since she woke up this morning, a sense of foreboding had hung over her. It was probably because Logan hadn’t come back to the apartment last night. He’d warned her he’d be out late, and she figured he was sleeping off his hangover in the room Second Studios provided for him.
Still, she missed waking up next to him. And selfishily missed his coffee. Cassie hoped he remembered to put out his shoes, she was looking forward to celebrating with him tonight. Hopefully, there would be a lot to celebrate. She skimmed the crew surrounding the sound stage and spotted a handler prepping her guest.
“Ready, Mr. Valentine?” She shook the man’s hand again. She’d only had a brief moment to introduce herself in the green room, and now it was showtime. The floor manager gave her the signal the booth had cut to commercial, and Cassie led her guest over to their spot on-set. She settled in across from him on the plush chairs, giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the studio lights.
Here we go. On Dave’s mark, she slid into action, addressing the camera. “Today on ChiChat I’m delighted to be sitting down with Chad Valentine, vice president of the Chicago Public Library’s board of directors.” Soon, she was in the flow, and as the interview progressed, the shadowy fear that had been plaguing her all morning began to fade.
While the vice president described how the literacy initiative aligned with the board’s own community outreach goals, Cassie did a subtle check-in with Dave. He raised a finger, then bent it at the knuckle. She had thirty seconds ’til transition. Her guest paused, and Cassie deftly shifted the conversation to wrap-up. “And now let’s hear what our viewers think. Tiffany, what are people saying on social media?”
From her perch on an adjacent set, Tiffany took over, teeth gleaming in her on-camera smile. “On Facebook, Donna from Rosemont wants to know if suburban schools and libraries will be launching the same program. Sarah from Edgewater says her son is in one of the pilot programs and seems to be enjoying it … and what’s this?” Tiffany paused, her smile stretching even wider.
Cassie’s stomach lurched, her spidey senses were going haywire. There was something devious about Tiffany’s smile …
“Several viewers on both Facebook and Twitter want to know if that’s our very own Cassie Crow in a video surfacing early this morning.” Tiffany addressed her via the camera. “Cassie, can you enlighten us?”
Cassie’s pulse twitched in her neck. She shifted on her seat, trying to shrug off the unpleasant tickling of sweat beading between her shoulder blades. “I’m not sure I know what this is about…”
“Well, let’s find out, shall we?” Tiffany nodded at the camera. “John in Calumet was helpful enough to provide a link; let’s take a look.”
Several of the studio’s screens shifted to display the video currently streaming for ChiChat viewers. Cassie sat glued to her chair, face frozen in horror as she watched herself appear in the doorway of a room in Edinburgh Castle.
Oh, no. Not this. Not now.
Across from her, ironically in the seat once occupied by a rapper who became hysterical after watching his video replay in this same studio, her esteemed guest also watched the screen. His eyes widened as vacation Cassie pulled Logan fucking Reid toward her and kissed him. The kiss was bad enough, as it progressed, Cassie realized the video had been edited so it appeared as if Cassie thought Logan was actually a time-traveling Highlander. She looked like a horny lunatic.
Snickers from the crew filled her earpiece, and Cassie stifled a groan, a wave of nausea rolling through her as she watched Logan, in all his kilted glory, slide his hands down her hips and grab her butt in high-definition detail.
“Oh my,” Tiffany interjected, eyebrows raised in mock surprise. “Maybe this isn’t safe for our younger viewers.” The screens shifted focus, the video disappearing. For once, Cassie was grateful to see Tiffany’s face.
She
dredged up the courage to meet her guest’s eyes. His face, however, did not make her feel grateful. Cassie swallowed hard. She didn’t need her spidey senses to tell her she was screwed.
* * *
That night, Cassie trudged up the steps to her apartment building, dodging the swirling eddies of snow. The winter twilight was as dark and depressing as the gray-black sludge lining the sidewalks. She should have heeded the warning she’d felt this morning heading down these same steps.
She’d hoped today’s interview would get some attention, and boy, had it ever. But rather than raise the city’s awareness of the campaign to get Chicago’s youth interested in reading, Cassie had earned insta-fame as the “Kilt Girl.” Which was totally unfair since she wasn’t even the one who’d been wearing the kilt.
Even more unfair were the months of work that had been undone in a matter of minutes. The credibility she’d slowly built with each interview, the relationships developed with each school visit, each meeting … gone in a flash. On the “L” ride home, Cassie had received an email from Therese. Her boss had scheduled a meeting for Monday morning. Nothing specific had been mentioned in the email, but Cassie bet Therese was having second thoughts about continuing the segment.
Already the internet vultures were circling, creating memes and GIFs with startling alacrity. Since the debacle aired on ChiChat, the video had been viewed close to a million times. Cassie knew this tidbit because Tiffany was generous enough to stop by her desk and tell her. A million views. A million people thinking Cassie was some fluff-brained female who’d read one too many romance novels. Which was something else to thank Tiffany for. The new princess of pop culture’s extended coverage of the escapade had included pics of Cassie’s desk, man-titty covers piled high, accompanied by the question “While youth literacy is a serious concern, is this how we plan to raise our city’s reading rates?”
Getting Hot with the Scot--A Sometimes in Love Novel Page 27
