“That’s understandable. I’m sure he feels the need to reconnect with your father after losing him that way.”
“Right.” Ian nodded, then leaned forward. “Just be careful. My brother is charming. Flirtatious. He tends to lead women on.”
Andrea couldn’t repress her disbelieving laugh. “You’re warning me off from getting involved with James?”
“I know. It’s cliché of me.” Ian shifted uncomfortably. “You seem like a nice woman, and I know you’re very professional. You probably deal with this sort of thing all the time.”
“More than you’d think,” Andrea said. “You don’t have to be concerned. I’m here to finish this proposal, and then I’m on my way back to New York. I’ll be handling the project from there, coordinating with our team in London. Believe me, I’ve dealt with men much more insistent than your brother.”
But not nearly as appealing.
Ian wasn’t telling her anything she hadn’t thought on her own. Yet the warning still annoyed her. She remembered how James had made her stand and take in the landscape, free from distractions, as if it were important to him that she slow down long enough to truly experience his home. He had been trying to share something with her. That didn’t match the cavalier picture Ian painted of him. It didn’t even match the image he projected himself.
“I’ve offended you,” Ian said quickly. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t handle yourself.”
“No, I’m not offended. I appreciate your concern.” The server returned with their sparkling water, and she nodded her thanks as the woman poured. She took a long drink, then asked, “Would it be out of line to ask how you fit into James’s business? He introduced you as his COO.”
Ian seemed relieved at the change of subject. “It’s not out of line at all. I was a solicitor for six years. When Jamie incorporated the business, he asked me if I would act as general counsel. As the company grew, it made sense for me to take a more active role. You can probably tell Jamie is more of an ideas man than the detail type.”
Andrea had thought James coordinated the details of his business rather well, but she just nodded. “So you’ve been involved from the beginning? Since the Hart and the Hound opened?”
“Yes. After that became such a success, he wrote his first cookbook. Then the other restaurants in London, the television program … It wasn’t long before it was a full-time job. I left my law firm and came to work for Jamie’s company.”
“That must be difficult, working for your younger brother.”
Ian sipped his own water and studied her with an amused expression disconcertingly like his brother’s. “Are you probing my psyche now, Andrea?”
She cleared her throat, caught. “I’m just trying to understand the situation with you two. You have to admit, most men would have parted ways when things got … complicated.”
“Complicated. You could say that.” Ian folded his hands on the table and looked her directly in the eye. “I can assure you the situation with Jamie and me will not affect the success of this venture.”
Andrea nodded, understanding what Ian would not say aloud. Their family issues were none of her business, and his tone said in no uncertain terms the topic was closed.
Ian was too polite to allow Andrea to wait alone for James after lunch, so they drank coffee on one of the leather sofas in the hotel’s common area, carefully keeping to inconsequential topics. She managed to tease out a little of his history, enough to learn Ian possessed an MBA from Judge Business School at Cambridge, and he had given up an impressive competitive rowing career to pursue his law degree. Any family should be proud to have such an accomplished son. Yet she got the distinct impression James’s gregarious nature and public acclaim outshone the accomplishments of his reserved older brother.
It was a situation ripe for conflict, but it didn’t explain the reason behind their falling out, especially when James seemed to be the one holding the grudge.
Ian rose with Andrea when the ugly green wagon pulled into the parking lot. He shook her hand firmly. “I appreciate you meeting with me. Jamie and I will review your proposal as soon as you can have it to us.”
“I should be finished tonight. Should I email it?”
“I’d appreciate it. I’ll look it over this evening.”
“Good. Thank you again, Ian.”
Andrea strode toward the front entrance, releasing her breath in a quiet whoosh. She was past her biggest hurdle now. Ian seemed pleased with her capabilities, and assuming the price was right, there should be no reason she couldn’t close this deal by the time she left for the airport tomorrow. She just needed to get through one more evening with the charming and insistent younger brother without doing anything stupid.
“How did it go?” James asked brightly as she approached. He opened the car door for her as usual.
She waited until he climbed into the driver’s seat before answering. “Very well. He liked the idea of the bar. I told him I’d have the proposal done this evening for you two to look at.”
“So I take it more sightseeing is out of the question?”
“Unfortunately.” She had to keep things professional from here on out, and more time alone with him would make that difficult. “It will take me all afternoon to put together my recommendations. And I did promise Emmy a duet tonight, so I should get started.”
“Fair enough. Back to the hotel we go, then.”
James backed out of the parking lot and turned onto the main road. “What time did you say your flight was tomorrow?”
“Eleven. What time should we be there?”
“Half past nine will be fine. We should leave about six.”
Andrea nodded uncomfortably. Something had changed in the last two hours, but she was hard-pressed to say what. For someone who was always completely at ease, James was suddenly acting awkward with her.
It’s for the best. Maybe he realizes he crossed a line. Maybe he realizes it’s pointless to pursue me when I’m leaving tomorrow.
Since when was he pursuing her? So far he had flirted, but he hadn’t made any effort to push it further than that. She should be pleased. So why did the thought bring on a pang of disappointment?
James said little on the drive back to the hotel. When they got out of the car to go their separate directions, he simply said, “I have to head up to the house later to start supper. Shall I come get you when I go?”
“Please.” She smiled uncertainly, hesitated, then headed for her cottage, crunching unsteadily through the gravel lot.
She intended to buckle down as soon as they returned, but instead she wandered through her cottage, straightening the duvet on the bed, pushing in the kitchen chair, buttoning the placket of her gray suit where it hung in the wardrobe.
“Stop procrastinating.” She forced herself to sit in front of her computer, but that only earned her several long minutes staring at the blank screen. “Just finish it already. Then you can leave and stop worrying about all this nonsense.”
Except she wasn’t so sure she wanted to leave.
She groaned and massaged the tense muscles in her shoulders. That was ridiculous. She had traveled all over the world, and never once had she been reluctant to go home. Her beautifully furnished apartment waited for her, and this time she had almost a full week until she had to leave on another trip. There would be jogging in Central Park and lazy evenings with old movies and huge bowls of popcorn. It wasn’t Tahiti, of course, but it was still downtime.
Andrea forced her mind back to the screen. Fortunately, this proposal was an easy one. The needs of the MacDonald brothers were straightforward: project management, a full marketing plan, ongoing metrics. At one time, she would have been the one writing up the marketing plan, but this proposal needed just enough detail to convey the value her company could lend to the project. Then Andrea would pass it on to the var
ious teams who would be involved in the actual implementation, and she would follow up on a weekly basis to make sure the timeline was being met and the client was still pleased with their work.
She pressed her fingertips to her temples and forced herself to organize her thoughts. Then she started typing.
She managed to keep her mind on her work this time, and she didn’t notice the changing color of the light from bright white to dusky orange until she had to flick on the desk lamp.
“Good,” she said at last. She read the document over with a satisfied nod. It was based on her boilerplate proposal, but she included enough specific details to make it relevant to the project. Ian would be impressed. She didn’t think James would care about the presentation as long as it hit the highlights.
The knock at the door startled her from her thoughts, and she glanced at the clock. Six already? She saved her file and rushed to the door, where James waited. “Give me just a minute to email this to you.”
She attached the file to the message and quickly typed in both Ian’s and James’s email addresses. The cursor hovered over the “send” button for a moment before she forced herself to press it. Then she closed her laptop with a decisive click.
Project complete, she thought as she grabbed her purse from her bed. Once the MacDonald brothers had inked their signatures on the bottom, she could head back to New York, away from the ridiculous feelings James and his island stirred up inside her.
Chapter Thirteen
Emmy claimed Andrea as soon as she walked in the door, just as she had done that morning. The dolls had been put away, but an enormous tub of crayons and a drawing pad the size of the coffee table took their place. “Come draw with me, Andrea!”
“Emmy, Andrea doesn’t want to sit on the floor with you in her nice clothes again.” Serena sat on the sofa in front of the television while Max gummed a teething ring on the rug between her feet.
“I don’t mind.” Andrea’s suit was already wrinkled anyway. “I have nieces and nephews. I spend most of my time on the floor at my sister Becky’s house.”
“Here, use this one.” Emmy thrust a red crayon into Andrea’s hand and shoved a piece of paper at her. “I’m drawing mermaids, but you can draw whatever you want.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Andrea said wryly.
Serena laughed. “You’re a good sport. Jamie usually tries to divert her to paper airplanes or something less girly.”
“I heard that,” James called from the kitchen. Serena grinned in his direction.
Andrea doodled on the paper. “So you live in Inverness, Serena?”
“Yes. Jamie’s so busy, I try to visit Skye when I know he’ll have some free time.”
Andrea felt a pang of guilt for intruding on what should have been a family week together. “How long will you stay?”
“Just through the weekend. Emmy has to be back for the start of summer term on Monday.”
“And what do you do?”
“This.” Max began to whimper, and Serena hoisted him into her lap before it could turn into a full-blown wail. “Eventually, I may go back to work, but right now it’s more important to be available for Max and Emmy. As much as I swore I’d never be a trust-fund cliché.”
Trust fund? Andrea blinked a couple of times, and Serena clapped a hand over her mouth, reddening.
“Oh, forgive me. That was completely tasteless. It’s just become a joke among the three of us. Mum’s family is absurdly wealthy, and they’re baffled as to why we’d want to make our own way in the world.”
Serena jiggled Max on her knee with a rueful smile. “Let’s face it. Mum gave us trust funds. Dad gave us stubborn Scottish pride. Until Edward died, you can guess which won out.”
“I can understand wanting to make your own way in the world.” Andrea hadn’t asked anything from anyone, even in the days she’d shared a two-hundred-square-foot Manhattan apartment with two other girls, surviving on packaged ramen noodles. Still, it cast James’s comments in an entirely different light. Was that how he’d pegged her so easily as a small-town girl? She’d thought his assessment of her was meant to be complimentary, but now she wasn’t so sure.
“What about you, Andrea? Do you enjoy what you do?”
Andrea paused, surprised. People usually commented on the glamorous hotels and exotic locales. Few ever asked her what she thought about the job itself.
“For the most part,” she said finally. “I love walking into a property for the first time. No matter how rundown or depressing it looks, it holds such potential. It’s the best feeling to come back months or years later and see what it’s become. I just don’t enjoy waking up in the middle of the night and not knowing where I am, or walking into an airport and not being able to remember where I’m going next.”
“That would drive me mad,” Serena said. “I enjoy visiting Jamie and Ian, but I’m always eager to get back home.”
Emmy relented and handed over a blue crayon, so Andrea began to outline her scribbled flowers. Only then did she notice the delicious smell wafting from the kitchen. “What is he making?”
“No idea, but it hardly matters,” Serena said. “Everything he makes is stellar. Lots of people can cook, but Jamie’s something special.”
“I’m beginning to see that,” Andrea said slowly.
Serena gave her a knowing look. “I imagine you are.”
Andrea looked away before she could blush at the implication. Were her feelings that obvious? And here she thought she had done such a good job of hiding them, at least from the rest of James’s family.
Emmy abandoned the crayons and paper, and Andrea took it as a sign that she was allowed up off the floor. She settled herself on the sofa next to Serena and turned her attention to the television program. After a few moments of complete bafflement, she decided she’d made the right decision by not owning a TV and wandered into the kitchen.
James stirred something in a large skillet on the range, a frilly pink apron wrapped around his waist.
Andrea stifled a smile. “Pink’s your color.”
He threw her a grin over his shoulder. “There’s a plain one around here somewhere, but I suspect Serena of hiding it to make me look like a fool.”
Andrea sidled over to the stove, glad his usual good mood had returned. “What’s this?”
“Pork medallions in Montmorency cherry sauce. I improvised.” He scooped some sauce from the pan with a spoon and held it out to her for a taste.
The flavor of cherries, at once sweet and sour, burst on her tongue, balanced with other rich and tangy flavors. Balsamic vinegar, maybe, and a touch of wine. “If that’s what you call improvisation, you should give up planning completely.”
“Not too tart for you?”
“Nope, it’s perfect. Can I do something?”
He sent her a curious glance. “You really don’t like to be idle, do you?”
“Guilty as charged. What do you need?”
“There’s a bottle of Sémillion chilling in the refrigerator if you’d like to pour. This is almost ready.”
Andrea retrieved the wine from the refrigerator and took the corkscrew from the drawer where she had seen him stash it the night before.
“I’ve been thinking,” James said. “You should stay.”
“What?” Andrea turned and almost bumped into him where he stood only inches behind her. She backed up until she was pressed into the cabinets. “Stay where?”
“Stay here on Skye for the week.” He leaned forward and spoke softly into her ear. “I promise you will have a good time.”
Despite herself, she shivered at his proximity. She braced her hands on the counter behind her. “I just came here to give you my professional expertise, Mr. MacDonald.”
He laughed softly at her retreat to formality and backed off a step. “I know you did. Tell me something
, though. If you leave here tomorrow, can you still go to Tahiti?”
“No,” she said. “I had to cancel my reservations.”
“And is there hope of rescheduling anytime soon?”
If only she could. She’d gone to so much trouble to ensure her vacation, only to have it called off at a moment’s notice. Now she was booked solid for the next three months. “Probably not.”
“What’s your office number in New York?” James picked up the cordless phone on the kitchen counter.
Andrea blinked in confusion, but she gave it to him, and he dialed quickly. “James MacDonald for Michael Halloran.”
He waited silently for the transfer. “Mr. Halloran, good morning. No, not at all. Ms. Sullivan is everything I expected.” The smile he gave her made her flush to her toes. “In fact, she’s been so insightful, I’m wondering if I can borrow her for a few more days. I’d like to get her professional opinion on some other matters. Friday at least.” He nodded and winked at her. “No, I’m sure it will be a most productive week.” He passed the phone to her. “He’d like to speak with you.”
Andrea took the phone, wanting to scowl at him, but her heart was beating too fast for her to do anything other than concentrate on steadying her voice. “Hello, Michael.”
“How’s it going, Andrea? Can you close this one?”
“Of course. It’s just … a little more complex than I expected.” She frowned when James laughed silently beside her, his eyes dancing.
“How long will it take you to wrap it up?”
“Until Friday, I think. I’ll be back in the office on Monday.”
“Close this one, Andrea. You know what’s at stake for you.”
“Of course. I will. Talk to you soon.”
Andrea hung up and handed the phone back pointedly. “I don’t know what you expect that to accomplish.”
“I just bought you the rest of the week out of the office. I know it’s not a tropical vacation involving sun and white-sand beaches, but you have to admit, I am a very good tour guide.”
Five Days in Skye: A Novel Page 10
