Joanna's Highlander

by Greyson, Maeve

  “A fine what?” Joanna gave him a confused look. “Is whatever you just said Scottish for engagement party or something?”

  Grant did his best not to laugh. A fine matched set, m’lady and I. I’ll teach her about a Scot’s past and she can teach me about this future. “The word cèilidh is Scots Gaelic for a social gathering or celebration. A party, aye? We’ll unleash Esme. She loves plannin’ such things and fancies herself as quite the authority on all things social.”

  “I bet she does.” Joanna waved for Lucia and Taggart to hurry over, holding the brooch aloft in one hand and giving another thumbs-up with the other. As Lucia and Taggart headed their way, she turned back to Grant. “Lucia will probably want to help. Esme would be okay with that—right?”

  “Aye and for sure. Esme would welcome the help.” Grant laughed and felt the knots of tension in his shoulders melt and disappear. Happiness. Finally. He blew out the deep breath that he felt like he’d been holding for the past sixteen years.

  * * *

  —

  “Wow,” Joanna said as she stole a peek out the window.

  MacDara Keep’s private courtyard at Highland Life and Legends had never been fitted out in so much glory. Esme and Lucia had outdone themselves with the assistance of Grant’s mother and an easily recruited herd of helpers from all the druid clans, as well as several ladies from town.

  Strings of the tiniest lights, their whiteness as piercingly bright as stars, were stretched back and forth across the cobblestoned courtyard and wound in and about the surrounding shrubbery and tree branches until the entire area looked as though it had been dusted with diamonds. The MacDara colors hung from every archway and post; sashes of the rich blue plaid surrounded the snowy white linens covering the tables. Thick pillar candles with gently flickering yellow flames were strategically placed to create the best possible sense of peace and calm.

  Bagpipe players stood at attention, one at each end of the head table and several more scattered about the grounds. All were stoic and unsmiling, patiently waiting for Esme’s signal. Two chairs that looked more like thrones as far as Joanna was concerned were placed at the center of the main table, with lesser chairs on either side finishing out the place settings.

  “They outdid themselves.” Joanna stepped away from the window and hugged her middle. I think I may puke. Fingering the brooch hanging from a dark blue ribbon around her neck, she turned to Grant. “So…we’re going with August for the official date then, right?”

  Grant huffed out something under his breath, then gave her a look that fully translated what he’d probably just said but didn’t mean for her to hear. “Aye, love. If ye insist. We shall wed in August—but the first day of the month. I’ll no’ put it off a day longer.”

  “Fine.” She’d wanted to wait until the thirty-first because by then, she might have the battle plan to handle her miserable financial state fully figured out and put into play. She wasn’t about to go to Grant for help and she also wasn’t about to saddle him with all her debt. She wouldn’t be debt free by August—Hell, I won’t be debt free ’til ten years after I’m dead—but at least she’d have a plan and hopefully would be on the way to recovery. Student loans had been a great way to get through college, but that debt coupled with several bad financial choices had nearly ruined her when she’d lost her high-dollar Chicago job. “And don’t be pissy. What will people think if we show up at our engagement party fighting?”

  “We’re no’ fighting,” Grant said as he pulled her into his arms and stole a long, slow kiss that made Joanna wish they could forget the party altogether. “We’re discussing.” He turned her to one side and playfully swatted her rump. “I must go down and begin greeting our guests now. Hurry and finish readying yerself so ye can join me, aye?”

  “I’ll be down before you know it.” She pretended to preen and gave him a mock look of being sorely put upon. “After all, I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of all your little helper clans.”

  “Little helper clans?” Grant gave her a disbelieving look and shook his head as he straightened his vest and tailored black dress coat, then left the bedroom with his finest kilt swaying with the seductive rhythm of his hips.

  Joanna padded barefoot back into the bathroom, stopping to stare at her wide-eyed reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. The redhead in the mirror, the one in the royal-blue dress with the MacDara sash crossing her body from shoulder to hip, looked like she had the world by the tail, but the redhead standing there staring at her wasn’t so sure. Was life really taking a turn for the better?

  She swallowed hard and rapidly blinked even harder. Apprehension and the threat of tears closed in on her, stirring her emotions and making her feel as though she couldn’t breathe. Something’s gonna go wrong. It always does. Life always bit her in the ass whenever she let down her guard and relaxed. And marrying Grant…with his history, his story. I’m so afraid…

  The not-so-subtle sound of bagpipes, fiddles, and drums interrupted her unreasonable moment of panic. Joanna bowed her head and smiled. She pulled in a deep breath, then stretched to fix her gaze on the skylight above, and shook out her hands and arms as though sloughing off a dousing rain. It’s gonna be all right. Grant and I will make it okay.

  Her phone rattled across the marble vanity and vibrated its way off into the sink. “Thank goodness no water.” Joanna snatched up the phone and glanced at the display. Apprehension and fear returned in full force. Chicago area code. Had to be some demon from the past.

  “Who the hell are you?” She stared at the phone, so paralyzed by the thought of what might be about to attack her that she couldn’t even hit the button to silence it. “I’m not answering you.” She tossed the phone to the counter and backed away. It finished its ringing cycle, then dinged. Voicemail. Son of a bitch. It’s a real call. Not a telemarketer.

  “Shit.” Joanna glared at the phone, debating whether to listen to the message now or wait until after the party. “If I wait, I’ll worry about the damn thing all night and Grant might pick up on it. Might as well get this over with.”

  She picked up the phone, punched the button for speakerphone, then closed her eyes and held her breath.

  “This is Jonathan Broadbent, attorney for Mrs. Lilian Tasker, and this message is for Ms. Joanna Martin, formerly associated with Asclepius Pharmaceuticals. Please contact me at your earliest convenience at this number. It’s of the utmost importance.”

  “Are you coming down or not? Grant’s getting antsy,” Lucia called out from the hallway. When Joanna didn’t answer, she banged so hard on the bedroom door, it nearly rattled in the hinges. “Come on, Joanna! It’s showtime.”

  Joanna jumped, thudded back against the wall with her hand to her chest, then slid down to the floor. Fucking life. I knew you were gonna hit me in the gut. She covered her face with both hands and propped her elbows on her bent knees.

  “Joanna?” Dead silence, then hurried footsteps across the wood flooring of the bedroom. Lucia stuck her head through the bathroom doorway, then rushed to squat down beside Joanna. “Did you fall? I heard a thud. Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know if I’m okay or not.” Joanna didn’t look up from the marble floor tile between her feet. Mrs. Lilian Tasker, a.k.a. Mrs. Matthew Tasker, hidden wife to Matthew the son of a bitch and the mother to his two children. What the hell did she want? “I don’t have anything left for them to take. What the hell do they want now?”

  Lucia swept Joanna’s hair back, grabbed hold of her chin, and forced her to look her in the eye. “What are you talking about? What’s wrong?”

  “Get my phone.” Joanna pointed up at the bathroom counter. “Listen for yourself.”

  Lucia retrieved the phone, sat on the bathroom floor beside Joanna, then listened to the message. “Oh shit. That can’t be good.”

  “Thanks, Lucia. You’ve made me feel so much bette
r about the whole situation.”

  Lucia held out the phone. “Here. Call him back right now.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Dreading the monster and feeding it with unfounded fears is way worse than fighting it head-on.” Lucia put the phone between Joanna’s hands.

  “You’ve been watching too damn many of Tyler’s superhero cartoons.” Joanna rubbed her thumb across the phone, staring at her muted reflection in the darkened screen.

  “Do it, sweets,” Lucia countered. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever known. You’ve got this, now own it. Don’t you let them win.” She took hold of Joanna’s arm with both hands and squeezed. “And you’re not fighting alone this time. Remember?”

  Lucia had a point, and that alone settled Joanna’s nerves enough for her to find the courage to push her fears aside and take control. “Watch the bedroom door. If Grant comes up here to check on me, I need you to run interference—okay?”

  “You got it.” Lucia hopped to her feet and hurried out of the bathroom. “All set,” she called out. “If he shows up, I’ll just tell him I think you’re queasy ’cause I think you’re pregnant. That should distract him.”

  Yeah. That’ll be a big help. Joanna took a deep breath, punched the call-back number, then silently promised herself she could puke after the call. An excruciatingly polite receptionist picked up the call after one ring and put it right through.

  “Ms. Joanna Martin?” Jonathan Broadbent sounded as though he was at least ninety years old. Either that or the poor man had one hell of a head cold and was about to lose his voice.

  “Yes.” No sense expounding with useless niceties about returning calls or any such bullshit. This needs to be done with. Now. “What do you want, Mr. Broadbent?”

  “It’s not what I want, Ms. Martin. It’s what my client wants.”

  “Which is?” Damn, the man must be padding the estate he plans on leaving his heirs, because if he gets paid by the minute, he’ll be a fucking millionaire by the end of this call. I wish he’d get on with it.

  “Ms. Tasker wishes to meet with you to discuss a business proposition.”

  “A business proposition?” Seriously? “The woman helped fire my ass, Mr. Broadbent. There’s no ‘business’ left to propose.”

  Lilian Tasker had been on the board of Asclepius Pharmaceuticals three years ago. Probably still was, since her father had started the company and still owned a major part of it. She’d been quite cooperative with everything that Matthew’s brother, Mason, had recommended when it came to getting rid of her husband’s lover and ruining Joanna’s life in Chicago as punishment. Payback had been a bitch, and that bitch’s name had been Lilian. Although—in all fairness—Joanna couldn’t really blame the woman. After all, Joanna had been having sex with Lilian’s husband. But in her own defense, if she’d known Matthew was married, he would’ve immediately been labeled “off limits.”

  “And as I’m sure you’re aware, I live in North Carolina now. If your client wants to meet with me, she’s gonna have to come here.” Home court advantage.

  “That is not a problem,” Broadbent droned on in his rasping, nasal tone. “Would you be available tomorrow at noon? At the Brady Townhouse Café?”

  Feeling as though she’d just been gut-punched, Joanna swallowed hard against the burn of nauseating bile rising in the back of her throat. “How do you know so much about Brady?”

  “Let’s just say I take the utmost care of my clients, shall we?” A buzzing in the background, muffled words, then Jonathan Broadbent came back on the line. “Well, Ms. Martin. Tomorrow. Noon. Brady Townhouse Café. Agreeable?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly define it as ‘agreeable,’ but it is ‘do-able.’ Tell Mrs. Tasker I’ll see her tomorrow.”

  “Very good then.” Then the call was disconnected.

  Joanna crawled over to the bathroom cabinets, pulled herself to her feet, then sagged against the counter, sucking in deep breaths to keep from puking. If she puked, she’d ruin her makeup and never make the party. Then Grant would get involved, and that wouldn’t be good. This shit was from her past and her problem to handle. She glared at the redhead in the mirror, then shook her head.

  “You can puke tomorrow. After the meeting.”

  Chapter 19

  The café was emptier than usual for a Wednesday at lunch.

  Great. No witnesses when she either pulls a gun, a knife, or just starts throwing shit and then calls the cops to throw me in jail instead of her. Swallowing hard, Joanna wound her way around the several unoccupied tables and headed for the small two-seat table closest to the windows. If all else fails, I’ll do a superhero dive out the window and run like hell.

  She jumped when a slight movement registered in her peripheral vision. Shit. I’ve got to calm down. She waved away the waitress heading toward her. “Not yet, Mary. I’m meeting someone. I’ll just wait until they get here to get a drink or look at a menu, okay?”

  “You sure?” Mary gave her a dubious look and paused with a menu in one hand and a glass of ice water in the other. “You kind of look a little pale.”

  You should see me from the inside. “I’m positive. Thanks.” If she ate or drank anything right now, she knew for certain her nervous stomach would reverse gears.

  The tarnished bundle of old Christmas bells wired above the café door jingled out a cheery warning that made Joanna’s blood run cold. She didn’t have to look to know that Lilian Tasker had arrived. She felt it—kind of like the feeling she got right before she puked. A throbbing, about-to-be-turned-inside-out sort of feeling. Joanna swallowed hard, then sucked in a deep breath through her nose and softly blew it out her mouth. Must. Calm. Down.

  The firm click of high heels against the linoleum-tiled concrete grew louder, like the ticking of a doomsday bomb. A subtle scent of perfume that probably cost more per ounce than the price of the tour bus wafted through the air as the elegantly foreboding woman slid into the seat across from Joanna.

  She barely smiled and graced Joanna with an imperious nod as she laced her long, slender fingers together and rested her clasped hands on the edge of the table. “Good day, Ms. Martin. I’m glad you agreed to a meeting.”

  Stay calm. Joanna kept the mantra at the forefront of her thoughts, trying to blot out the disturbing comparison of Lilian Tasker to a platinum-blond cat toying with its prey before it snapped its neck and ripped its guts out. Remembering Mrs. Tasker’s no-nonsense-and-don’t-waste-my-time attitude from the rare times they’d crossed paths at Asclepius Pharmaceuticals, Joanna sat taller in the chair and forced a smile.

  Might as well cut to the chase. I know this isn’t a social visit. “Whether my day is good or not might depend a great deal on our conversation.” Joanna folded her hands on the table in front of her, attempting to mimic the woman’s aloof air. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Tasker? I think we both know that you didn’t ask me to lunch because we’re ‘besties.’ ” Damn. I actually sound brave. All she had to do now was keep up the act.

  “No bullshitting and straight to the point. Good. I like that.” Mrs. Tasker smiled and leaned back in her seat. “And do call me Lilian.”

  Joanna nodded, relaxing a bit—a very small bit. The woman’s smile seemed genuinely friendly rather than territorial. Strange. “And I’m ‘Joanna.’ Now—what can I do for you, Lilian?”

  “Work for me.”

  “Beg pardon?” Joanna leaned forward and cocked her head. Surely, she’d misunderstood what Lilian Tasker had just said. She swallowed hard, suddenly wishing that it was late enough in the day for alcohol. I could so use a drink right now.

  Lilian gracefully lifted one hand, motioning to Mary, who was doing her level best to inconspicuously hover close enough to overhear the conversation. “Miss—coffee, please. No cream. No sugar. Joanna?”

  Joanna blinked. “Uhm…yes. Please.”

&
nbsp; “Two coffees, please.” Nodding at Mary like royalty dismissing a servant, Lilian turned back to Joanna. “Much has changed in the three years since you left AP. Your former boss, Mason Tasker, has left my father’s company without a CEO at the helm and while the man was a drug addict and a total ass as well as an embezzling thief, he was quite the savvy businessman—except, of course, where his brother, my illustrious husband, was concerned. I need a new CEO, Joanna. I’m here to offer the job to you. Are you interested?”

  “You can’t be serious.” Joanna gratefully accepted the cup of coffee Mary deposited in front of her and took a sip. This had to be some sort of trap. Some elaborate plan for Lilian Tasker to get revenge for all the chaos that Joanna had unintentionally caused in her life.

  “Why in the world can’t I be?” Lilian delicately sipped at her own coffee, studying Joanna as though she couldn’t fathom why Joanna didn’t understand. “Before the debacle of my imbecilic husband, you were quite the rep. I’ve seen the numbers. Read your reports. Father and I were very impressed and realized what an asset our company lost when you left.”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, I left because you fired me.” Joanna sat straighter, tensing against what had to be some sort of forthcoming attack. “And what about all the rumors? The smear campaign that blacklisted me with any decent company in the United States or Canada?”

  “You’re not a woman to run from a few backbiters, are you?” Lilian leaned forward, cold blue eyes narrowing as she lowered her voice. “You, Joanna, were not my husband’s first indiscretion. Actually, I didn’t mind Matthew’s many dalliances and distractions. They kept him occupied and out of my way. But in your case, Matthew and Mason went too far. When they openly slandered you, they sent some very unbecoming ripples into both my social and business circles.” She straightened in the chair, her face hardening and her look growing dangerously colder. “I will not tolerate being humiliated. By anyone. Ever.”