“I let Paddy name the restaurant, and he loves that dish,” he explained. “The medieval decor is a nod to my past.”
“You can trace your family to medieval Ireland?” she exclaimed, amazed and slightly jealous all at once.
His expression darkened. “You could say that, aye.”
His voice was so deep, and she couldn’t break eye contact even if she wanted to. She was in way over her head with him, and damn the man if he didn’t know it, too.
Suddenly, his phone rang, and he held it up apologetically. “I have to take this. Excuse me?”
“Of course,” she replied automatically, relieved at the interruption. Whatever was going on, she had to get a grip on herself.
• • •
Determination etched on his face, Aidan ignored the call and walked through the kitchen, onto the street behind the restaurant. After a quick sweep of the area, he pulled his phone from his jacket and stared at it, weighing his decision. He hit “call” on the number he’d just missed, and the person on the other end picked up immediately.
“So?”
Aidan barked out a laugh. “You’re a right bastard, you know that?”
He could hear Colin’s smile as he replied, “I do. So is she as perfect for the job as I expected her to be?”
“Even more so. She is properly annoyed at me right now,” Aidan responded. “But she’s brilliant, has strong ethics, and would do the job admirably.”
“What do you have to do to close the deal?” Colin asked.
“I’m not sure yet,” Aidan admitted. “I’m still working that out. By the way, who is the client that referred you to Ms. Perkins? Maybe name-dropping would aid here.”
Colin cleared his throat. “Client?”
Aidan went on alert at Colin’s tone. “Aye, cousin. You told me the lass was referred to you by one of Celtic Connections’ clients.”
“You must have misheard me,” Colin said matter-of-factly.
“And I wonder what you said that I so misheard?” Aidan leaned against the brick wall, giving a nod to a man who blew by him on a bicycle, the scent of Chinese takeout following him.
“I said I found her in the Celtic Connections database.”
Aidan’s eyes narrowed. “No, you didn’t.”
Colin’s voice became downright jovial. “Oh, I’m sure I did. She popped up in my database while I was searching for potential matches for a client, and I thought she’d be a perfect match. You know. For the company.”
Aidan snorted in disbelief. “I know your game, Colin. You think to match me? You really are a right bastard.”
“I would never match without consent,” Colin declared. He ruined it with a chuckle. “But if she’s as amazing as you think she is, get her to sign on with you, then introduce us and I’ll do the rest as far as getting her on my team. You’ll be on your own when it comes to wooing her.”
“No one will be wooing anyone,” Aidan countered.
“Hey, man, that’s your decision to make. But get her to sign on. I really do need a PR manager, and none of the folks I’ve interviewed have given me a good reason to hire them. I’m in over my head with all these press releases, trying to get the London office set up.” Colin paused. “I need someone who I can trust. Do you think she could be that person?”
Aidan rolled his eyes. “Damn you.”
Sounding relieved, Colin laughed. “Then finish the job, lad, and get the woman to my office already.”
Aidan tucked the phone back into his pocket and gritted his teeth.
He should’ve known that Colin wouldn’t have sent him to New York City just to scope out a potential hire. But then again, he’d been so disconnected from everything for a while—his world had seemed rather gray and boring lately, and he’d welcomed the opportunity for a change of scene.
And heading back into the restaurant, Aidan privately acknowledged that Ms. Emmaline Perkins was the brightest spot he’d seen in longer than he cared to admit.
He cursed Colin’s matchmaking tendencies again. He would pay for this—but right now, Aidan had bigger issues to work out.
Such as not allowing the lovely, feisty woman currently waiting for him at their table to walk out of his life quite yet.
Chapter 3
The next morning, Emma stared at her computer screen in disbelief, as though the negative balance in her bank account would somehow fix itself.
So far, it remained in the red.
The bank representative she spoke with was very nice. She said it looked as though someone had withdrawn all of Emma’s money. Because it was a debit transaction, the representative explained, they’d have to look into it before reimbursing her. That could take up to ten business days. And the charges had overdrawn her checking balance, so it pulled out her entire savings as well.
That warranted its own investigation, which could take up to three months.
But, the overly cheerful representative informed her, they’d certainly look into it just as soon as they could, and she’d receive a letter in the mail about the decision five to ten business days after the decision had been reached…
Emma had nineteen dollars and seventy-two cents to her name, because that was all that was in her wallet.
She tried not to panic.
Ben had ruined her credit when he went off the deep end. All her credit cards had been joint accounts with his; they’d been together since college, after all, and it had never occurred to her to open her own separate accounts.
Someone must’ve stolen his cards. How else would her money have disappeared? There wasn’t any way to withdraw money from jail.
Her rent was due in three days, her electric bill was already overdue because she’d forgotten to pay it last month, and all she had in her kitchen was half a gallon of milk, a box of cereal, and a bottle of soy sauce.
And now she had to worry that someone had stolen the identity of her ex, whom she had never taken off her account? She was going to have to call the credit bureaus and make sure her own identity was safe.
Emma dug around in her purse for her cell phone, but her fingers instead closed on a smooth, firm rectangle. She pulled it out and stared at it for a moment, then absently twirled Aidan MacWilliam’s card between her fingers, remembering his offer. Ten thousand dollars, direct deposited to an account…she could certainly go grocery shopping.
She wouldn’t be evicted.
She would have enough money to live for more than the next couple of months. She didn’t have anyone to ask for a loan, and her landlord was not an understanding sort.
She glanced down at the card again:
Aidan MacWilliam, Entrepreneur
Ireland
She rolled her eyes. Informative business card.
She flipped it over and read the phone number he’d scrawled, surprised it was a local one. Then again, Aidan MacWilliam was a surprising man. There was much more to him than he let on. A person didn’t become as successful as he was simply by being handsome.
Actually, she knew that to be patently false. She knew of quite a few people who were successful because of their looks, but none of them matched her almost-client’s intellect and business savvy.
She pursed her lips, then grabbed her phone and dialed the number.
“Good morning, Ms. Perkins.”
In spite of herself, she smiled. “How did you know it was me?”
“No one in New York has this number. Have you changed your mind?”
“Perhaps,” she replied briskly, trying to infuse her voice with professionalism. Instead, it came out kind of breathy and panicky.
“Are you all right?” he asked, concern lacing the words. “Would you care to meet for breakfast instead?”
She glanced at the clock—8:30 a.m. Oops.
“No, thanks, I already ate. I apologize about the time. How about ten? That will give me enough time to speak with Mr. Price.”
“Sounds perfect. I’ll see you then.”
She hung up, feeling s
lightly better, but not by much. My day couldn’t possibly get any worse, she assured herself.
• • •
Emma’s words came back to haunt her not an hour later as she stared, horrified, at yet another computer screen. She couldn’t blink and her stomach was in knots.
And she wasn’t on her bank website anymore.
“Emma—snap out of it,” Josh said briskly. He was perched on her desk, rubbing his temples. “We need to fix this. We need some time to come up with a plan.”
“We don’t have time,” Emma managed to choke out, trying desperately to tamp down the rising tide of panic. “I…I didn’t…I mean, why would I?”
The incriminating pictures she had shredded just yesterday were now splashed across every online entertainment news site.
And her name was attached to them.
“I know you didn’t release these photos, but…” Josh read the headlines from the screen. “Kincaid gets Kinky with a Convict.” He scrolled down. “Cheater, Cheater, Kincaid’s a Beater.”
“Oh my God,” Emma groaned, burying her face in her hands.
Josh continued to read. “The man in the pictures, identified as Benjamin MacDermott, was allegedly engaged to Kincaid’s publicist, Emmaline Perkins of Price Publicity—”
“Please stop,” Emma moaned, the feeling of nausea intensifying.
“Perkins—my office—now!” Mr. Price barked as he strode by her cubicle. She looked up at Josh in misery. Even Heinous Heidi kept her mouth shut as Emma passed her desk.
Emma and Josh followed him into the office, and she managed not to flinch when he slammed the door behind them. She met Josh’s eyes and was grateful for the support—although even he couldn’t get her out of this mess.
“Let’s review the facts,” Mr. Price said, his voice steady (which, Emma noticed, was in distinct opposition to the color of his face). “Your fiancé—”
“Ex-fiancé,” Emma blurted out.
He gave her a withering look. “—was caught with Jenny Kincaid. She has affairs all the time—her husband doesn’t give a rat’s ass, so no divorce necessary. However, the reason why we were hired was to keep evidence of these affairs out of sight. Ms. Perkins, you realize that Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid have a movie coming out…a movie where they fall in love and live happily ever after?”
“Yes,” she replied miserably. She knew where this was going.
“You can imagine the calls I’ve been receiving this morning for a statement as to Mrs. Kincaid’s activities. If it were just a rag, we could control this. But it’s not, Ms. Perkins. It’s much bigger than that, because these photos have gone viral. Completely viral…in fact, ‘Kinky Kincaid’ is the top-trending phrase online. The Kincaids—and their lawyers—are on their way to the office now,” Mr. Price exploded, slamming his hands onto the table. “The movie’s producers—and their lawyers—are also on their way to the office now!”
“We can spin this,” Josh said. Emma was afraid he might rub the skin off his head, he was kneading his temples so hard. “It’s not our fault Kincaid can’t keep her hands off every living male. It’s not the end of her career. We can fix this.”
“I’m so glad you have such confidence,” Mr. Price said sarcastically. “Need I remind you, her actions are precisely why we are in business. Our asses are on the line here. Linda, Heidi, and Jessica are calming down other clients as we speak. But this is only part of the issue at hand.” He redirected his focus back onto Emma. “You are being accused of deliberately releasing materials to humiliate and defame Mrs. Kincaid, as it was your fiancé she was screwing.”
“What?” Emma nearly shrieked. “I most certainly did not!”
“Her lawyers are going to come in here and try to slap you with a lawsuit.” His eyes hardened. “You have worked here for a long time, Ms. Perkins. That is the only reason why our lawyers will step in on your behalf. That suit won’t see the light of day…but you know what has to happen next.”
“A personal lawsuit? They think Emma gave out the pictures to destroy her fiancé’s reputation?” Josh asked. “That’s just stupid. She’d ruin her chances of ever working in this city—or anywhere in PR—ever again.”
Emma was having difficulty breathing. This isn’t happening.
“We don’t have time to fix this,” Mr. Price said, ignoring Josh completely. “The movie cost over two hundred million to make; if they don’t make that back and they decide to attribute it to this scandal, we’re done. What we will do, however, is damage control. I have my best managers”—Emma felt the dig keenly—“working to fix the Kincaid crisis, which may in fact be a lost cause. But the rest of our clients will not be, and we need to reassure them of that. My business is at stake here, Ms. Perkins. I have clients calling, worried that they are in danger of being personally targeted by my staff.” He stood up straight and delivered the killing blow. “I will make an announcement to our clients that this unfortunate event will be dealt with swiftly and severely. You have fifteen minutes to gather your belongings and get out of my building. You’re done here.”
• • •
Emma stood outside her office building, clutching her heavy cardboard box, fighting back the sting of tears as she stared up at what used to be her floor. She was humiliated, angry, and a little scared of the future…everything that she’d sworn, on the day her grandfather died and she was left without any family, she would never allow herself to be.
“Ms. Perkins?”
Emma nearly jumped out of her skin. She spun around, the contents of her box rattling forcefully. “Mr. MacWilliam! What are you doing here?”
He frowned slightly at her as he closed the door of the car behind him. “We have a meeting to discuss the contract?”
Emma bit back a curse. How was she to tell him that there wouldn’t be anything further, because her career was over? She decided to just spit it out. He had a Plan B. He’d said so last night.
She took a deep breath, uncomfortably aware of her decided lack of a Plan B. “I’m no longer employed with this firm. I’m so sorry, Mr. MacWilliam; you’ll have to find someone else.” Her voice shook, and she almost dropped the box. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.
“Emmaline,” he replied, concern etching his features. “Take a breath. What happened?”
She gave him a bright, false smile and clutched the cardboard tighter. “Just a small mishap. I’ll bounce back. Just need to take a break, is all.”
“Are you all right?” he asked. His eyes looked darker and more intense than they had last night; she prayed that he couldn’t see through her brave façade. Brave being that she wasn’t allowing the tears to fall, although they were blurring her vision.
“I’m sure I will be. I really do have to go—I don’t want to be here when the lawyers arrive.” She made to move past him, but he put his hand on her arm, effectively freezing her to the spot.
“I’ll take you home.”
Emma just barely resisted the urge to melt into the stability he radiated. She was in uncharted territory; she’d always known where she was going, and how she was going to get there. But at this moment, she was adrift in a sea of unknowing…she had to get away before she embarrassed herself further and broke down in tears in front of him.
“I’ll be okay,” she repeated. She wanted, more than anything, to lean on someone. But she didn’t know this man, and she had too much pride to simply cry on the first available shoulder.
It didn’t matter that she really, really didn’t want to do it on her own anymore.
“Emmaline—get in the car.” Aidan tightened his grip on her arm and took the box from her with his other hand. “Let me take you home.” She didn’t protest as he all but pushed her into the vehicle. “Cian—change of plans.” She gave the driver her address as Aidan reached into a small cooler and withdrew a bottle of water. “Drink. You look like you’re going to faint.”
Obediently, she took a sip. “Thank you,” she said automatically. “And I am sorry that I can’t repr
esent you.”
“Why not?” Aidan asked, motioning for her to keep drinking.
Briefly, she explained what had happened, and when Aidan didn’t say anything, she took it as confirmation that he realized the severity of the situation. As they pulled up to her apartment, he grabbed her cardboard box off the seat. “I’ll carry it up. You still look as though you may fall over.”
Fall apart was on the tip of her tongue, but she agreed with a nod. The elevator was broken, and she didn’t feel very steady on her feet.
“Thank you for the ride,” she said as they trudged up the stairs.
“You’re entirely welcome.” He shifted the box in his arms.
She opened her apartment door and let out a shriek. At once, Aidan pinned her protectively against the wall, the contents of the box scattering across the hallway. He drew a dagger from somewhere, and she felt a flash of fear course through her body…but his focus was on the inside of the apartment, not her throat.
“Stay here,” he commanded. “Cian, good timing, as ever.”
“You left your purse,” the driver explained. He held her purse in one hand and a dagger in the other.
What the hell?
She glanced into her apartment again, her heart in her throat. The entire thing had been turned upside down; every drawer in her tiny kitchen had been pulled and emptied on the floor. Remnants of her breakfast bowl lay amongst the trash, which had also been emptied, and a knife protruded from the middle of her kitchen table. The cushions to her couch were gone and her television was smashed into thousands of pieces all over the floor.
Cian took Aidan’s place in front of her as Aidan went straight to her bedroom; the door was wide open. She glimpsed her clothes all over the floor, and gasped when her eyes landed on her bed. Someone had taken a knife to it; the sheets were shredded and there was a gash in the mattress where the springs were showing.
A moment later, Aidan came out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him and sheathing the dagger in his boot. “’Tis safe. No one is here.” Cian stepped away from her, and she didn’t even bother to move.
An Enchanted Spring: Mists of Fate - Book Two Page 5
