Through it all, Annie was never far from my mind. I didn’t get in touch with her. I let her go, as much as I didn’t want to. I knew it was better for her that way. She was so beautiful, inside and out. I’d let my physical pain twist me up, deforming my body, mind and soul. I had to straighten myself out before I could ever approach her again. If I ever did.
A week after she left, I went cold turkey. No alcohol, no pain killers, I dried myself out completely. It had sucked, but I’d focused all of my energies on researching medical options. I’d hit rock bottom and there was something liberating in that. The worst had happened. I’d fallen in love with an amazing woman and then ruined everything, hurting her so much that she ran from me. I’d lost the one thing I cared about. Now that that had happened, it made me fearless.
All those months in New York, I pushed myself day after day, growing stronger, forcing myself to do it clean. I never wanted to get addicted to pain meds ever again. And here’s what happened: all the medical interventions made a big difference.
I did sessions every few weeks with a powerful new laser that treated my scars. Ten years ago the laser therapy hadn’t existed. Now, it was painful and pricy, costing several thousand dollars a session, but it was powerful enough to penetrate deep into my skin. It almost felt like science fiction, the way the laser was able to actually remove parts of my most stubborn, thick and inflexible scar tissue and stimulate new collagen to replace and grow new skin.
Sometimes I had to rest in order to heal, and those were the hardest days. But I made even resting a science, eating the healthiest diet I possibly could, purifying the air in my apartment, drinking lots of water. Whenever I’d get the all-clear, I’d throw myself into grueling workouts, developing muscles I didn’t even know I had, compensating for all that had atrophied over the years.
I became a fan of the Marvel Comics movies, all the ones that had come out in recent years about mutants or superheroes born from adversity. I didn’t imagine that I’d somehow developed superhuman powers, but I liked the message in the movies. Through tremendous strength of will and steely determination, an individual could triumph over adversity.
Four months ago I’d returned to Scotland, but not back to the castle on the cliff. I bought a penthouse in downtown Edinburgh, where we had our corporate office for Douglas Distillery. The distillery, itself, was on the outskirts of town, but I wanted to be right next to where the decisions happened. I needed to be if I was going to become CEO.
The board had fought it. They knew I’d been a drunk. They argued that I didn’t have an MBA, didn’t have corporate experience. My father had wanted to step in on my behalf, bang the gavel and tell them all to go to hell. After all, we owned the distillery and it was our damn decision who got to run the show.
“Let me handle it,” I’d told him, and I’d seen something I wasn’t sure I ever had before in his eyes. It looked a lot like fatherly pride. He hadn’t said much, but he had respected my request, stepping aside to let me fight my own battle.
One year, that’s what the board and I agreed upon. I’d have one year at the helm of the distillery. We devised some metrics to measure success, and agreed that the company needed to be making demonstrable progress toward those goals within one year. If it wasn’t, I was out.
It made sense to me. The employees and board loved our Scotch. It was more than a company, it was a passion, a source of pride, a labor of love. I didn’t want them tolerating me just because I had Douglas as my last name. I wanted to be at the helm because it was right for the company. I’d just have to prove to them that I was the man for the job.
Elevator down, I had a car waiting for me. I couldn’t walk long distances, at least not yet, though I planned on working up to it. The car took me right to the door of the offices. The receptionist was already there when I walked in. She was an early bird like me. Sixty-something and in no mood to tolerate fools, she’d made it clear that I had yet to win her over.
“Brought you a scone.” I handed her her favorite, blackberry.
“Nice of you.” She accepted it, giving me a grudging smile. I’d get through to her yet.
We were a small group, only 15 of us total, with a lot of the work outsourced to contract workers. I wanted to change that, bring everyone under one roof, build more loyalty so we could raise the visibility of our brand. But first, I had to make sure we didn’t go bankrupt.
I made some staffing changes. My VP of finance was a disaster, nervous and unsure, constantly correcting his figures and second-guessing himself. He instilled absolutely no one with confidence. I had him out the door within a month. I replaced him with a young woman with a degree from the London School of Economics. Fierce and clear-sighted, she helped me understand exactly where we needed to make cuts, and where, if possible, we could find any revenue to divert into raising our profile.
We didn’t need to improve our product, on that I felt certain. We had the best Scotch on the market. What we did need to do was to make it more widely available and then convince people to buy it.
After a lackluster meeting with our marketing team, which consisted of three middle-aged men whose big idea was to have a wet T-shirt contest to attract the local college crowd to a tasting, I retired to my office. Unfastening my top button and loosening my collar, I went online. I pulled up a photo of Annie.
Over most of the past year, I’d done a fairly good job of not cyber-stalking my lost love. I hadn’t contacted her in any way. I hadn’t gone looking for her on Facebook or Instagram or, God help me, Tinder. I’d lose my mind if I saw her profile pop up, imagining her getting swiped right by hundreds of men, all those hook ups happening when she should be with me. But I’d managed to keep my possessive streak in check.
Until about six weeks ago when I’d put her name into a search engine. I’d told myself it was a harmless exercise, merely curiosity about an old friend. I typed her name into Google. Click. Up popped her name. She was interning with Callahan and Spence, right there in Edinburgh, not four blocks away from Douglas Distillery headquarters.
A click away, I found a photo of her at a company event. Dressed in a silk dress, she smiled up at a camera looking sophisticated and sexy. A man stood with his hand at her waist. From his body language alone, leaning into her, holding her close, I could tell he wanted to fuck her. What man wouldn’t? I crumpled a napkin I had next to the computer, clenching it in my fist, wishing it were his neck.
Ever since finding her online and realizing she was living in the same city, I had to admit, I’d grown slightly obsessed. I’d managed a few weeks of not going online again, but when I finally caved I got a reward. She’d been promoted! Not just an intern anymore, my Annie had been hired by the firm in a real position. It was everything I could do not to pick up the phone and congratulate her.
I told myself I could keep it casual. An old friend giving a pat on the back, saying “well done, old chum.” But it would mean much more than that to hear her voice. And then what? Once she knew we were both in Edinburgh, would we meet for lunch? Were we supposed to have a casual conversation, now acquaintances more than friends or lovers, when all I’d want to do would be to take her in my arms?
There was a good chance she wouldn’t even accept my call. She’d seen me at my darkest. She knew first-hand the ugliness that lurked within me. Of course she’d left me without a single glance behind. But it didn’t stop me from thinking about her.
There were women interested in me in my reincarnated state. Ambling around on two legs once again, I found myself surrounded by fawning attention at the various functions I attended. “You’re so amazing,” many of them cooed, their hands up on my chest, complimenting me on my hard-earned recovery.
But they didn’t interest me. They only knew one side of me, the cleaned-up version. It was authentic, the persona I now presented to the world. Like Prince Hal, I had assumed the throne, and I was the rightful heir. Yet my debauched days still shaped my psyche. They were still a part of who I was, lurki
ng in the shadows, informing my sense of self.
Only Annie knew that side of me. Only she knew my darkness. I wanted to show her what I’d become, in some part due to her. Ultimately, I had to want it for myself. But it was her stern words that had given me the final push. There at my nadir, it was her tears and the love I’d lost that inspired me to make a change.
Douglas Distillery needed help with its next marketing campaign. We didn’t have much money to spare, make that no money at all. But one thing was clear: we were definitely going to become as extinct as the dinosaurs if we didn’t reach a wider audience. The city’s premiere advertising agency was a mere stone’s throw away. Possibilities abounded.
I was CEO. I decided it was time to hire a certain firm to do some work. I’d make specific requests regarding who I wanted on my team. And I’d make sure to attend the first meeting, in person, no wheelchair in sight.
17
Annie
Tuesday, I was off and running the second the sun rose. Now, I bought my coffee at the shop where I used to serve on my way to my posh, fast-paced office. I adored working at Callahan and Spence. With all those creative minds, so business-savvy and clever, the very air I breathed felt electric. Some days I felt like I needed to pinch myself to prove it wasn’t all a daydream I’d slipped into while cleaning my family’s kitchen.
That afternoon was going to be big. I was going out on my first pitch. I’d been doing a lot of work for clients, but this time I had to actually go to a client’s office and meet with them in person. Up until now, I'd always been scurrying in the background, staying up until all hours on the details like making sure graphics fit certain specifications. The few times I’d been able to be part of the fun stuff, generating ideas, brainstorming about new paths to pursue, I'd had to then pass the baton to senior staffers for them to present to the client. Today would be my first chance to contribute directly to a pitch myself.
We'd been working on it for weeks. Us lower-level staff knew it was for a local distillery, but the higher-ups kept the name of the client under wraps. Competition in this market was fierce, and they didn't want anyone getting wind that this particular brand was in the market for new representation. Apparently, they saw big growth opportunities, and they wanted to lock it down.
Of course it made me think of Ian, but everything made me think of Ian. I thought of him when I saw gardens, remembering how he used to come out and work alongside me, his silent presence thrilling me more than I ever dared admit. I thought of him when I drank coffee, recalling how one morning he’d taken my hand off my mug, pressed it between his and told me I meant so much to him. And I could not see a fire, a leather couch, or a bottle of Scotch without heat flaming through me so hot I needed to fan myself.
So, yes, when I heard we were going to pitch to a local distillery, I half hoped it would be Ian’s. But I knew the chances were low. Scotland had over 100 whisky distilleries. And even if it did happen to be the Douglas brand, Ian wouldn't be there. I hoped for the best for him, but I knew chances were he was still stuck in the same trap, caught up in his pain.
Greg and I grabbed some lunch before heading over to the meeting. I thought it would be the whole group. Five of us were taking part, and when I'd accepted his invitation I'd assumed it was a whole-group prelaunch strategy session. When I showed up at the rather posh restaurant, linen cloths and fresh flowers on every table, it was just Greg waiting.
“Looking gorgeous, as always.” He kissed me on both cheeks in greeting. I tamped down my annoyance. He was from Glasgow, not Paris. The double kiss was quite Continental, but not exactly authentic to his background. He was always pleasant to me, though, so I smiled as I joined him.
“Just us?” I asked looking around as I lay my napkin in my lap.
“I thought we could celebrate your first big pitch.” He poured me a glass of sparkling champagne without asking if I wanted at first.
“Shouldn't we do that afterwards? Assuming it goes well?”
“You're a natural. You have nothing to worry about. Besides, you know I'll be there looking out for you.” He gave my knee a squeeze under the table. It had the opposite effect, giving me a cold chill down my spine. I might need to put a little more distance between us.
Lunch dragged on as I tried to steer the conversation toward our upcoming pitch, and he tried to pry into my personal life. I didn’t give him much, but he was persistent. By the time we got to the office building for the pitch, I felt like I needed to sit down on a bench and catch my breath.
The rest of our group was gathered in the lobby, waiting for us. A co-worker raised her eyebrow at me as if to say, “Really? Greg?” I gave my head a shake to dismiss any notion that she was forming. It wasn't until we were on the elevator that I had the presence of mind to ask, “Who's the client?”
The doors opened as if to answer my question, revealing a large sign: Douglas Distilleries. The mix of hot and cold that ran through my body nearly knocked me over. Greg caught my elbow and steadied me.
“Don't be nervous,” he whispered. “I'll be right by your side.” I slipped out of his grasp and tried to straighten up as much as possible. I still felt flustered from lunch, and now here I was at Ian's family's business. Looking around, I didn’t see any sign of him.
Dimly, I registered my surroundings. The exposed brick and black wrought-iron beams along the walls dated back to before they'd been cool. The corporate headquarters looked small, maybe only housing 20 or so employees, but as I knew firsthand, the Douglas family had deep pockets. I was sure the higher-ups at Callahan and Spence knew that as well, and they’d be happy to get their hands into them.
A grandmotherly receptionist ushered us into a spacious conference room, telling us to help ourselves to water or coffee and make ourselves at home. A couple of men filtered in, shaking hands and welcoming us. I poured myself a glass of water and started to take a sip.
A tall, broad-shouldered man walked into the room. He instantly commanded authority, all attention turning toward him. Handsome, in charge, it was Ian.
I dropped my water glass. It splashed out on the hardwood floor, clattering and rolling away from me as I stood there with my mouth open.
“Slippery glasses.” The kindly receptionist rushed to my aid, finding fault with the glassware instead of my shaking hand.
“Hello. Thank you for coming.” Even Ian's voice seemed stronger. I grasped the back of a chair. Though no one else had sat down, I took a seat. It was more accurate to say my legs collapsed underneath me and I landed down onto the chair.
“Please, have a seat.” Ian gestured toward the table, seamlessly blending my shock into an invitation for everyone to join me in sitting. He looked over and met my gaze across the conference table. Those dark eyes, the heat still burning in them, I couldn't breathe. His full lips crooked into a half smile and he gave me a brief nod.
He turned his attention to the room and started saying a lot of words. I could not have repeated one of them. I had a dim buzz going on in my head, making me unable to focus on anything more than the fact that I was in a room and Ian was in it, too. He had occupied so much of my head and my heart for the intervening year, it was almost as if he'd never left me. And yet, now that I saw him again, I couldn't believe how much he’d changed.
He was standing and walking. I managed to sit still and appear outwardly as if I were listening and participating in the meeting, but it was hard. I wanted to run, throw my arms around him, kiss him and cry and ask him everything all at once. How had this happened? What doctor had he seen? How did he look so full of strength and vigor, so powerful and commanding as he stood at the head of the conference table and led our team and his through the start of our meeting? Watching him in his clean, pressed, fitted button-down shirt, professional yet hinting of a wall of muscle beneath, there was no trace of the man I'd left behind. That disheveled, bleary-eyed, drunken mess who'd insulted me from the couch? He wasn't in the room. He wasn't even in the building.
Thankfully, I wasn't expected to play much of a speaking role in the pitch. I'd been invited more as a learner than a lead. I don't think much would have come out of my mouth had I been asked to stand and present. Ian sat down, turning the meeting over to our lead exec who stood up and launched into the material like a pro. I alternated between staring down at my fingers, taking a sip of water from my newly-filled glass, and occasionally sneaking glances across the table at Ian. His attention did not waver from the presentation. Shrewd and intelligent, he asked questions, made comments, asked for details and backup research. I tried to breathe and occasionally swallow.
The meeting was over in what seemed like about 10 minutes, though I saw from the clock on the wall an hour had passed. We all rose and filed out, shaking hands and exchanging business cards. At last, Ian approached me.
“Good to see you, Annie.” He reached out and took my hand in his. I wondered if he could feel that I was shaking.
“Oh, do you two know each other?” Greg placed a proprietary hand on my upper arm, inserting himself between us.
“We go back.” Ian’s eyes never left mine. “My father introduced us.”
I felt like I was going to pass out.
“I look forward to seeing more of you.” Ian nodded goodbye and left the room. My hand still burned from where he’d touched me. The whole elevator ride down, my team wanted to know how I knew Ian. Did I have a connection that could get us the account?
“Family friend,” I managed, apologizing that I wasn't feeling very well.
“This is her first pitch,” Greg reminded them, in a tone both patronizing and possessive.
I left work early, something I hadn't done once in the months I'd been working there. No one complained. I'd established myself as an overachiever, so they knew I really wasn't feeling well when I said it.
All I Need: Ian & Annie Page 18
