Crap! She’d missed her noon follow-up appointment.
Milly picked up the phone and immediately began apologizing before the person on the other end could say a thing. “I am so sorry I forgot my appointment,” she said. “Can we reschedule for tomorrow? Or even better, next week after the bank holiday? I’m really slammed at work right now, and that—”
“Ah…hello, Millicent,” a male voice with a gentle Scottish burr cut in. “This is Dr. Keller. It’s no problem at all about the missed appointment. I understand how busy things can sometimes get. The good news is I can still squeeze you in this afternoon. And…well, I really must insist you come in today, if possible.”
Milly stopped breathing. She knew what was going on almost immediately. Doctors never made personal calls to patients, and they never insisted a patient come in immediately…unless the news was bad.
Chapter 2
Acute lymphoblastic leukemia, or ALL as it was known when she’d started undergoing treatment for it at the age of 19, was a beast. It had killed Milly’s mother at the young age of 24. And Milly, who’d been raised by her grandmother, had spent the most formative years of her young adult life fighting the disease. So yeah, ALL was a nasty customer. But apparently, there was something way worse than getting the cancer that killed your mother and almost killed you.
The cure.
Four years ago, thanks to extensive chemotherapy and a bone marrow match from a good Samaritan of a similar racial background, Milly went into remission. Unfortunately for her, the cure that saved her life also turned off her body’s immune system, effectively opening the door for an even scarier monster: acute myeloid leukemia.
A few hours later, Milly walked back into the ultra-modern AlgoFortune office building in a daze. Still not quite understanding everything she’d been told about AML. What she did know was that the disease typically showed up in eight to ten percent of cancer patients within an average of five years. And for patients with a history and genetic profile like Milly’s, AML had an average life expectancy of eight months. Give or take.
Eight months. The roar of an ocean started between her ears when Dr. Keller gave her the news. Loud, but not loud enough to drown out his explanations about why chemotherapy and radiation were no longer options for her. Then he gently suggested they schedule another appointment to discuss “palliative options.” In other words, the appointment consisted of lots and lots of blah, blah, blah, that had come down to, “Your cancer is back, you’re dying, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
For once, Milly was happy her outer office was made entirely of glass. Sitting inside a rectangular fish bowl that put her on view for anyone who happened to be walking by meant she didn’t burst into tears as soon as she sat down at her desk.
Instead, she flipped through the brochures the doctor had pressed into her hand. These had much less hopeful titles than the ones she’d received as a sick 19-year-old. Less “rah-rah, you can beat this!” and more “oh well, better deal.” The “Coping with Loss and Grief” booklet listed all the mental and physical therapy resources in Edinburgh Cancer Care Centre’s network. There was also a practical pamphlet entitled, “Talking with Loved Ones about Advanced Care Planning.” And last but not least, rounding out the world’s most depressing collection of medical brochures ever was, “Transitions: Taking Charge at the End of Life” which consisted of three brief commiserative paragraphs followed by a list of local hospices and in-home hospice care providers.
Great.
Not wanting to look at them anymore, Milly set the brochures aside. Then she pushed her glasses up her nose and typed in her computer passcode.
She’d been gone less than an hour. But in that time, Iain had sent her over thirty messages—four of which were marked urgent.
She glanced toward his office. His door was firmly closed. Which meant he was probably scrambling to get the code for the new algorithm completed before taking off for his retreat.
Good. That meant she could work in peace. Without him hovering over her, complaining she’d missed two serial commas in her daily market report (as he’d done yesterday). Or repeatedly asking her to draft and send emails from him to individuals unlucky enough to rub him the wrong way, missives that typically began with “Dear [insert one of the numerous Scottish terms for idiot here].”
Yes, that was what she would do. Throw herself into her work. Try to forget, at least for a little while.
Milly started re-typing Iain’s notes to the GUI team from this morning’s update so they’d sound like they’d been written by a semi-decent human being and not a pit viper in a kilt. She managed to focus on that and only that for five whole minutes. But then…
She opened a new tab in her internet browser and typed in the URL for the Royal Scottish Bank. A password, a security question, and a few clicks later, her savings account popped up on her screen.
She stared at the four-figure number. It wasn’t a lot. But it was something. Enough to survive for a month or two—she could maybe even stretch it out to four or six months if she didn’t come back to live in crazy expensive Scotland.
Though her grandma had died before she’d come here. Meaning she had no other close family members back in the U.S. So where else would she go to die but here where at least she had her best friend, Tara, to attend her funeral? But…
Milly opened another new tab on her computer. This time, she typed “Milford Track New Zealand” into the empty search bar at the top of the window.
It was where she’d originally planned to travel at the end of her summer internship in Scotland. But then the position at AlgoFortune had become available…
She clicked on the Images tab, and her screen filled with pictures of a gorgeous fjord, flanked by lush green mountains and majestic waterfalls, the likes of which she’d never seen in real life. And might never get the chance to see.
Milly stood abruptly, and before she could stop herself, she walked into Iain’s office. Without knocking. Going totally against his standards.
But really, what did she have to lose? She marched right in and looked him straight in the eye.
Or at least tried to. Her newfound store of bravery petered out as soon as her gaze met his annoyed one, and she ended up quickly redirecting her eyes to a photo of Iain and his awful brother, Magnus, just beyond Iain’s shoulder. They were both wearing kilts—apparently, this was a family tradition because she’d never seen Iain, his brother, or father without one. But while Iain wore his with a simple button up, as he was doing now, his brother wore his with a rugby jersey emblazoned with AlgoFortune. She’d taken that picture of them two years ago, shortly after AlgoFortune became the new official sponsor of the Edinburgh Rovers, which also happened to be the team Magnus played on as a winger. Milly still wondered if the sponsorship had been Iain’s decision or if Magnus had “commanded” that, too.
“Well?”
Iain’s voice interrupted her musing. And she remembered why she’d come in here in the first place.
“Um…I just found out I have cancer,” she said, dropping her eyes to her feet. “Actually. I had cancer before. Leukemia. It’s been in remission since before I came to Scotland. But now I have a new type of leukemia…and I guess it’s too far along for them to treat.”
She stopped, so used to his interruptions that she’d cut herself off in anticipation of a barrage of commentary.
But he didn’t say anything. And Milly was too afraid to look up to see how he was taking this. So with her eyes still glued to her feet, she said, “So, I’m sorry. I really am, but I need to quit. Effective in two weeks.”
This time she did look up. Not because she felt particularly brave, but because she needed to get a sense of where he was at before she said anything else. Iain thought he had an answer for everything and he hated change of any kind. She got a “not up to my standards” reprimand the other day just for modifying a report’s font from Avenir to Avenir Next—that was how opposed he was to even the tiniest m
inutia of change.
So Milly had no idea how he’d react to the news that for reasons completely out of his control, he’d be losing his assistant in two weeks.
Iain’s face remained its usual hard mask, all but ticking with irritation.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, dropping her gaze again to her hands, which had somehow folded into a tight clench against her chest. “I…I know it’s going to be inconvenient to replace me, especially as we go into stage two of the new product launch. I’ll start looking for my replacement today—”
“Both your parents are no longer in your life, correct?”
Milly started, not understanding the question. Or what it had to do with her resignation. She knew almost everything there was to know about Iain. She made sure his one-night stands went as smoothly as possible, fielded calls from his brother, sent in annual five-figure donations to his alma mater, the University of Edinburgh, on his behalf. Last month, she’d refused yet again to put through a call from Iain’s Italian mother, Valentina, who’d moved back to the Italian countryside after splitting up with his father, Lachlan. And next month she’d make sure Lachlan received a new set of golf clubs for Scottish Father’s Day. When she went back to her desk earlier that morning, she’d set up the requested date with Lisette because that was how involved she was in Iain’s life outside of work.
But Iain knew almost nothing about her. Because he’d never asked her a single question about her background or life outside the office. Ever. Not until this morning when her doctor’s appointment came up. And now here he was asking about her parents. What was going on?
“Um…no, they’re not,” Milly answered carefully. And knowing how impatient he could be, she left out all the details about how her dad left pretty much right before she was born, and how her mother had died soon after.
“So, you have no close family to speak of?”
“No,” she answered again. A painful memory from four years ago surfaced…of being the only person at the funeral of the grandmother who’d raised her after her mother had died. And of the sudden realization that she was entirely on her own now that Nana was gone.
“Right then, you’ve nowhere to go. So why would someone in your condition quit a well-paid job with private benefits? That’s just daft!”
Harsh as it was, the truth of Iain’s words hit her with a sharp pang. He was right; she didn’t have anyone. No home to return to. No loving arms to comfort her in her last few months. Her roommate and best friend, Tara, would do her best, but she was the same age as Milly. Only twenty-five, and still in the prime of her life. It wouldn’t be fair to burden her with the responsibility of caring for a dying friend.
So yeah, Iain was right. The wisest course of action would be to work until she couldn’t work anymore. Then use the money in her savings account to make sure she’d have everything she needed when she checked herself into one of those hospices in the brochure.
However, Milly found herself answering, “Why? I guess because I’m a 25-year-old virgin who’s never been farther from my childhood home in Albany than Scotland. I guess because I know exactly where my father came from in New Zealand, but I’ve never been there.” Hot tears threatened to spill as she said this. The truth of how little she’d lived horrified her even as it speared her on to do better by herself. “I have a little money in the bank—not a lot, but enough to go a few places. Like New Zealand. So that’s what I want to do. I want to go somewhere else that’s not here…finally connect with my father…see things while I still can.”
Iain stiffly took a tissue from the box on his desk and handed it to her. “Don’t cry, Millicent. I can’t bear it.”
No, he couldn’t. Iain hated drama. And tears. Another thing that wasn’t up to his standards. And right now, he was looking everywhere but at her, like he was embarrassed for both Milly and himself.
“I’m sorry,” she said, taking the tissue and hastily wiping away the offending tears. “I’ll go type up my two-week notice, okay? I can email it to you, so I don’t have to come in here again. I just wanted to tell you in person before I sent it.”
He gave her a long, measured look before saying, “HR tells me most of our employees don’t bother to read their contracts before signing them. I’m surprised to find you’re one of those employees, Millicent.”
She lowered the tissue. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“I mean if you’d bothered to read your contract in full, you’d know AlgoFortune requires a minimum of thirty days’ notice if you wish to quit.” He leveled her with a cool look. “Not fourteen, but thirty. Exactly. So write your letter if you want, Millicent, but if you leave this job in anything less than thirty days, you’ll be doing yourself a great disservice. Because after our lawyers have finished with you, you won’t even have that little bit of savings you need to go flitting about on your quest to ‘see things.’”
“What?” she asked, her heart skittering around her chest. “I don’t understand. Why—?”
“Let me make it very clear for you then, Millicent,” he answered with a frank flick of his eyes. “Employees who quit in the middle of a project do not meet my standards, which is why I had that clause put in every hiring contract. You will stay on until your thirty days are up, and not a day less, or I will sue you for everything you have. Now do you understand?”
Milly could only stare at him in shock. Seriously…how could anybody be this cruel?
But he merely responded to her shocked expression with, “I am still waiting for your verbal response, Millicent. Do you understand you need to stay on at this job for thirty more days or I’ll be forced to sue you for breach of contract?”
For heaven’s sake, she was only an assistant! The pitiful woman everyone in the office called Milly Mouse. Why on earth would he sue her just to make sure she served out a ridiculous thirty-day contract? She opened her mouth to ask that very question.
But then a bolt of clarity struck her, and she suddenly understood something she’d only suspected before. Iain, for all his good looks and success with the ladies, cared little for anyone outside himself. Less than little in fact. Especially when it came to her.
Milly’s cancer was an inconvenience. And if there was one thing that wasn’t up to Iain’s standards, it was being inconvenienced.
“Yes, I understand,” she said, her voice sounding dull and flat even to her. Because boy did she ever. Most people wouldn’t be this cruel. Most people would have, at the very least, expressed sympathy. But Iain wasn’t most people. And he had no problem showing his true colors…at least where she was concerned.
“Good,” he said, voice clipped as if he were the aggrieved party in this conversation. “Now, it appears I won’t be finished with this code before my retreat. But I promised to have it to GUI by tomorrow. I’ll take it with me to finish, and then you’ll have to come ‘round tomorrow morning and pick it up. 4:00 A.M. sharp.”
Milly crooked her head, offense giving way to surprise. “Are you serious?”
Thing is, while she’d arranged for countless deliveries to his million-dollar flat in New Town, she’d never been there. Or known him to invite anyone else to visit him there. In fact, her instructions were to always, always, make reservations at a nearby hotel for his dates.
But now he wasn’t even referring to his flat. “You want me to come to your home in the Highlands?” she asked. “Like, the house where you grew up?”
Iain gave an impatient jerk of his head. “Nay, not there. My brother’s taken over that place. I have another residence I keep for myself. As I said, I’ll expect you there at 4:00 A.M. on the dot. I won’t be there to meet you in person, of course, as I’ll be camping. But I’ll leave the algorithms on a thumb drive in my home office. All you’ll need to do is go inside and fetch it off my desk.”
Fetch it. Like a dog…
“I see. Okay…” she said. Wanting to ask him another question, but having no idea what it should be.
“You can go now,” he said
, dismissing her before she could say anything further. Then he went back to his computer, furiously typing as if he were angry with her for wasting his time.
Love at first sight.
Milly again recalled their first handshake. The way Iain had smiled down at her when she’d offered him her hand at the start of the interview. “Hello there, Millicent.” His billion-watt smile had hit her like a freight train. And she remembered how her heart had sped up, her stomach suddenly overtaken with the sensation of falling.
Love at first sight. She remembered that phrase floating into her head, and the accompanying girlish thought that it perfectly matched the feelings in her chest, rocking her down to her very soul.
And for moments on end, Iain had held her slender hand in his much larger one, gazing down at her with a look so soft, she wondered if he could be experiencing the same thing.
But then his nose had flared, sniffing at the air like he’d smelled something rank. And just like that, his smile was replaced by the hard mask she’d come to know well in the years she’d worked for him. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if the man she’d glimpsed in those first few seconds was maybe lurking beneath his seemingly hard and unfeeling exterior.
Well, now she knew the answer.
Iain Scotswolf was a 100% bastard. He didn’t have an ounce of like for her, much less love. The man obviously gave less than two craps about her, and she’d been a fool to spend over three years of her life secretly hoping it might be otherwise.
Chapter 3
“What. A. Dick.”
“Tara…” Milly said as she popped a Sainsburys’ Chicken Tikka Masala ready meal into the microwave in their flat’s tiny, narrow kitchen.
“No, Milly. Don’t Tara me! You told him you were dying and that’s how he responds? I just CAN’T with that douchebag. UGH!!!”
Her Scottish Wolf (Howls Romance): Loving World Page 2
