The Great Scot

by Donna Kauffman

  Better for all involved that she’d learned her lesson now, before anybody ended up getting hurt. Namely her. While Dylan was hardly a player, she doubted he was looking for emotional involvement of any kind at the moment. They’d shared a few laughs, a few kisses. Now they’d go back to dealing with real world issues and put this firmly where it belonged. In the realm of a fantasy fairy tale that would never be told.

  No harm, no foul.

  She leaned back against the head rest. Who was she kidding? Her job required her to spend most of her waking hours thinking about fantasy fairy tales. Would it have killed the gods of fate to let her have just a wee bit of hot Scot sex? Hmm? She would have gotten over it. And Dylan. Eventually.

  “Is there a problem?”

  His sudden question startled her. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “You’ve sighed quite heavily a few times and I was just wondering if everything was all right.”

  “No, no—I mean yes. Yes, I’m fine. Just thinking about…work.” She sat up straighter and risked a brief glance at him. She caught him doing the same with her, but before she could read anything in his eyes, he turned his attention back to the road.

  “Is there a problem with the production? You said something to your boss about something happening a day early?”

  “Oh. That.” Of course he wasn’t thinking about her, or worried about her. He was thinking about Glenshire and the precious production crew presently nailing and hammering away at four hundred years of his family heritage. She wasn’t going to compete with that. What happened back there by the falls had been a momentary blip out of time for him, too. An aberration caused by long hours, too much stress, and…and…opportunity. It wasn’t like it was going to happen again.

  “Aye, that,” he echoed.

  “It seems the chartered flight bringing the women from London to Edinburgh, flew them all the way to the private strip we’re using in Inverness.”

  “So?”

  “So, we had reservations for them and their handlers in Edinburgh for another few days, until filming started. We’re not ready to move them into—”

  “My house.” His jaw was definitely tighter now. His mind was definitely not on getting her naked any longer.

  “Yes.” She sighed with regret, but forced herself to move past it. “And the hotel in Glenbuie is full with production staff.”

  “What difference does it make where you put them?”

  “Secrecy is key. We don’t unveil the names of the contestants until just before the show actually airs. And that’s not for four months.”

  He glanced at her. “Four months? But you said—”

  She smiled at him. “Now, don’t get your kilt in a knot. Production is eight weeks. But there is a long post-production time when we actually go through all the hundreds of hours of film and put the show together. We have to decide on the story arcs for each contestant, how much air time to give them, who will fill what role—”

  “What do you mean, ‘role’? I thought this was unscripted.”

  “It is. But when you put a group of women under one roof, different personalities surface.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, there are usually types, you know, like the den mother, the goody-two-shoes, the wild child, the girl next door, the bad girl, the repressed virgin, the girl with her biological clock ticking, the villain—”

  “You mean the bitch.”

  “Pretty much.”

  He shook his head. “I imagine you putting a dozen women under one roof competing for the attention of one poor sod and they’ll all have their try at that role at one point or another.”

  “Well…” He shot her a droll look and she laughingly conceded. “Maybe you have a point.”

  “I still say it’s an unnatural way to find a mate, but it’s no’ of my concern. What is of my concern is how your men are handling some of the installation work—”

  He was just pulling into the courtyard in the rear of Glenshire as he launched into that discussion, which was cut mercifully short when the Jag was immediately swarmed with crewmen and production assistants, all vying for Erin’s attention, talking over each other. She raised her hand, and when that didn’t work, she let out a shrill whistle. “Hold up, will you? Let me get out of the car, then I’ll deal with you one at a time.”

  She started to open the door when Dylan put his hand on her arm. “Erin.”

  She looked back at him. “I’m sorry, but things look crazy and—”

  “And you’ll need to squeeze me into your busy schedule sometime today.” He said it in a flat tone that brooked no argument, but which definitely got the attention of several of the assistants standing closest to her door.

  She immediately pasted on a professional smile. “Mr. Chisholm, I—”

  “I believe I fulfilled some of your needs today,” he said, a very wicked gleam leaping to his eyes, clearly not willing to accept her attempt at pasting a professional, business-like face on their outing. “Now I believe it’s time you address some of mine.”

  He topped that off with a knowing grin. Much to the rabid delight, she was sure, of the same gossip-loving staffers. Ruddy bastard. Who’d have thought he had it in him? It would race through the entire staff in less than the time it took her to cross the courtyard. In fact, she turned and caught two staffers tapping away on their BlackBerrys. A direct glare had them both pausing. “Could one of you find Tommy for me?” she asked tightly. “I need to see him right away.”

  Without waiting, she turned back to Dylan, tight-jawed smile firmly in place, though what he might have seen in her eyes, she wasn’t entirely sure. That smile of his…well, having become only recently acquainted with it, she wasn’t exactly immune to it just yet.

  “This evening,” he reiterated, before she could say anything. “However late. I’m a night owl.”

  It was a losing battle to continue this debate here and now. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  He drew his hand down her arm. “See that you do.”

  She was doing fine until his fingers brushed her skin like that. She shivered. Her throat worked, but her brain didn’t. “I—”

  “Erin?” Despite his less than dominant stature, Tommy’s strident bellow managed to rise above the collective courtyard noise.

  Jerked out of her descent into the haze of Dylan lust, she didn’t waste any more time and immediately got out of the car, not caring if he saw her scrambling retreat as cowardly. She’d deal with him later. Chances were he just wanted to talk about his concerns with the crew, which she knew he wasn’t going to simply forget about anyway. He’d just been playing with her out there because…well, because he could. Probably. Most likely. What other reason could he have for willingly and knowingly putting her job in jeopardy by even suggesting there was anything else between them other than a purely business relationship?

  What, indeed? her little voice whispered. How did he know he was jeopardizing her job? She hadn’t exactly been in any big hurry to stop him out on that rock. If Tommy hadn’t called—

  Mercifully, it was Tommy who cut her thoughts short.

  “Where in the hell have you been?”

  He knew exactly where she’d been, so she didn’t bother to reiterate. He’d already taken hold of her elbow anyway, and was bodily propelling her through the rapidly dispersing crowd, and toward the rear of the house. The last glimpse Erin had of Dylan was him trying to navigate the Jag toward the garage while a half dozen female production assistants all but draped themselves over his car.

  A totally uncalled for stab of jealousy shot through her. “Shouldn’t they be working,” she muttered, but Tommy was deep into dictator mode and wasn’t paying attention to her.

  “All twelve of them, MacGregor, tomorrow. Here.”

  “I thought you said the charter took them to Inverness. I’m sure I can arrange something suitable to house them until we’re ready here. Just let me get on the phone and—”

  “What’s wrong with y
our neck?”

  “What? I beg your pardon, sir?” Her hand flew to her neck.

  “It’s all rashy. Do you have an illness, MacGregor? Because I’m telling you, we can’t afford for you to be anything less than a hundred percent productive. So, don’t even think about getting sick. And no more gallivanting about the countryside with the top down. You probably caught…something.”

  “I wasn’t gallivanting, sir,” she told him. At least not on purpose, anyway. “I was scouting a date location. And I haven’t caught anything. Even if I had, it was worth it,” she added under her breath.

  When Tommy shot her a sharp look, she hurried on.

  “Worth it because the location is outstanding. Very private, and will need next to no prep on our part. Securing permission will be no problem, either,” she assured him, feeling her neck grow more splotchy the longer he stared at her. “Now, about finding rooms in Inverness,” she went on brightly, urging him forward now. “I’m sure I can find something discreet that will keep the women entertained but well out of the public eye.”

  “See that you do. We can’t have them down here just yet. This place is a nightmare of reconstruction.”

  “Precisely why I thought it best to get Dylan, I mean, Mr. Chisholm, off property today, sir.” And as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew it was precisely the wrong thing to say, if Tommy’s immediate renewed interest was any gauge. And it always was.

  “Speaking of Mr. Chisholm, I need to talk to you about him.”

  Erin tensed. Her entire body was probably splotchy by now. She felt like she was sporting a big neon sign over her head, proclaiming, “Yes, I kissed him, and it was pretty fantastic. So what?”

  “I—I know he’s been a bit of a problem, but don’t worry, I have that under control.” Boy, she was becoming quite the accomplished liar today, wasn’t she? But one way or the other, before the night was over, she vowed she would have Dylan Chisholm under some kind of control. Her determination fueled by the little show he’d put on back there. She wasn’t fooled into believing he thought this was all fun and games. Where Glenshire was involved, it was anything but. So whatever his game had been just now, she realized it was because he thought he was gaining leverage to get his way later. In fact, maybe the whole seduction scene out by the rock had been more of the same.

  Of course, she’d always thought herself a pretty good judge of character, and everything they’d talked about in the car on the way there led her to believe he was nothing if not direct and sincere, but still—

  “MacGregor? Are you listening to anything I’m saying?”

  “Yes, sir. Of course.” Christ, she really had to get a grip where Dylan was concerned. “I’ll—I’ll make sure he doesn’t get in the way again. I know we’re behind schedule and—”

  “Get in the way? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The installation crew? I—” I really wish I’d been paying closer attention. “I’m sorry.”

  He waved a hand. “Never mind. Just proves my point anyway.”

  “Which is?”

  “He’s got the ‘it’ factor.”

  “The what? Who does?” Then a sick ball of dread formed in her stomach. “Dylan? I mean, Mr. Chisholm?”

  “Who in the hell else have we been talking about for the past ten minutes? Yes, yes, Mr. Dylan Chisholm. The Great Scot himself.” Tommy stopped then and turned so he faced her, grabbing both her forearms in his tight, mad leprechaun grip. His grin was a fierce thing to behold, but not half as scary as his eyebrows, which arched high on his forehead as he shook her arms in his excitement. “I need you to have a talk with our Mr. Chisholm.”

  Since when had Dylan become “our” anything, Erin wanted to know. Up until right that very second, Dylan had very specifically been her problem. And she knew Tommy. He only took credit for anything when it was a good thing. “What about?”

  “I’ve been doing run-throughs all day, blocking out the grand staircase where we’ll have our elimination ceremony.”

  “I thought we agreed it would be best to have those by the fountain out in the front—”

  “I changed all of that while you were gallivanting around with our Mr. Chisholm today.” He squeezed her arms so tightly she was pretty sure it would be some time before she regained feeling in her hands. “Don’t interrupt. All day, all I’ve heard is chatter about the Great Scot.”

  Erin frowned. This news did not come as a surprise to her. Tommy’s apparent excitement about the problem, however, did.

  “Everyone from the food services girl to the cleaning staff is gaga over him.”

  “I know I promised to keep him out of—did you say gaga?” She’d been so prepared for the complete ass-chewing she was going to get from Tommy due to the delays, she simply couldn’t process the sudden direction change Tommy was taking with this. “Gaga?” she repeated.

  Tommy gave her a knowing look. “Come now, MacGregor. I know you’re not exactly a man-eater, but even you’ve obviously come under his spell. Which I suppose, in a way, merely underscores my choice. If he can get to you, no woman is safe from his charms.”

  “Charms?” Since when did Dylan have charms? Well, charms that anybody but her knew about? And what did Tommy mean by that “not exactly a man-eater” crack? He, more than anybody, should be thrilled that she’d devoted her life to her job, thereby avoiding distractions like outside relationships. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want a relationship, or couldn’t get one if she tried. Just because she wasn’t the giggling, flirty type who wore form-revealing clothes and sported perfectly plucked eyebrows, did not mean she wasn’t interested in men.

  She was very tempted to tell Tommy that she had charms, too, and that if he hadn’t called earlier, Dylan would have had said charms naked and writhing in pleasure. Luckily for her, he was already talking again. Her job was safe another day.

  “Chisholm seems to communicate well with you,” Tommy was saying, although she could have done without the “why, I have no idea” tone underscoring the statement. “You’ve gotten close to him, he listens to you, am I right?”

  She’d gotten close to him, yes, she had. Whether that meant Dylan would listen to her now any better than he had before was anybody’s guess. But Tommy obviously needed reassuring, so Erin said, “I will be talking to him later. Is there something you want me to bring up?”

  “Perfect!” Tommy was grinning broadly now, which was almost scarier than when he scowled. “I knew I could count on you, MacGregor. I’m sure you’ll have no problems getting him to agree to be our next Prince Charming. He is just the fresh angle we need to keep things lively and interesting. The Great Scot.” He shook her slightly. “My god, ratings gold, I tell you!”

  Stunned, she could only gape at him. “You want me to what?”

  “Honestly, Erin, you need to keep up.” And with that they were walking again. And she was Erin now, which meant this really was important to him. “You were able to talk him into giving up control of a four-hundred-year-old house, surely you’ll be able to make him see what a wonderful opportunity this is. He is exactly the kind of available bachelor we’re looking for, toss in the accent, the ancient history—ooh, do you think he has any royalty in him?”

  Erin was still stuck back on square one. “You want Dylan Chisholm to be our next Prince Charming?”

  Tommy paused for a second, waving off the phalanx of assistants who rushed toward him the second they stepped through the back door. A thunderhead of furrowed eyebrows threatened to mar his heretofore grinning countenance. “Is there a problem? He is available, is he not?”

  Erin swore Tommy flickered his gaze to her pink, razor-burned neck, but she couldn’t be absolutely sure. Not that it mattered. Just thinking about it had likely caused her to break out in self conscious hives. “Um, well, I’m not exactly in the position to know about his personal life and—”

  Tommy stared her down.

  “Yes, as far as I know he is. He’s a widower, th
ough, you know, so I don’t know if—”

  Tommy clapped his hands in glee. “A widower you say? Magnificent!” Not exactly the reaction she was hoping for.

  “Maybe for you,” she murmured beneath her breath, but at his glare, she cleared her throat and said, “I’m not certain he’s ready for a relationship.”

  “Well, that’s even better. How long since his wife passed on?”

  “Around two years or so.”

  Tommy snapped his fingers. “Perfect. And he’s kept himself alone here in this house. My god, it just keeps getting better and better. He’s ripe for the picking. He’ll be irresistible. Oh, the ad campaigns we can run. The marketing will be brilliant. We’ll have every corporation in the hemisphere begging for commercial time.” He broke off, seemed to refocus, looked her directly in the eye and demanded, “So? What are you waiting for?” He clapped his hands. “Get to it!”

  “But the phone conference? And we need to discuss the location I found today.”

  “Strike while the iron is hot, Erin.” Now she was certain he was looking at her neck. “I’m assuming you know a little something about that, eh?”

  She was certain she flushed clear to her roots. “Ah, yes. Yes, sir. I’ll—I’ll get right on him—I mean. Sir.” Images of her getting right on top of Dylan flashed immediately to mind. There was a lot of nudity involved. And pistoning hips. She immediately shut the images right back out again. Her cheeks couldn’t be any hotter. Dear lord, she hoped she hadn’t moaned out loud.

  “See that you do. Report back to me later this evening. I’ll handle the phone conference.”

  Panic set in and Erin spoke before she thought better of it. “Shouldn’t we finish up the immediate details of the current show before we worry about—”

  “Are you telling me you can’t handle this assignment? Because I was pretty sure I made it clear that I don’t want to wait. You know as well as I do that our bachelorettes are arriving here shortly. Twelve gorgeous women with their clocks ticking and marriage on their mind. Do I have to remind you of what that’s like? We want him signed, sealed, and delivered before he gets any ideas about romancing any of this season’s castoffs.” He flicked a glance at his watch. “Get back to me by ten this evening. I should have a few minutes then. And we can go over your day’s agenda as well. I want to hear about this site, and hopefully you’ll have lined up the last remaining one by then. Perhaps our newest Prince Charming can suggest another one, eh?” He grinned and patted her on the arm. “I want good news, Erin. Good news.” And then he was gone in a swarm of P.A.’s and cell phone chatter.