by Emma Baird
“And moving so far away from your friends and family,” emphasis on the latter. “That must be hard.”
The eyes flitted away. And back again.
“You did it,” he raked his hands through his hair. “Look, one reason I came here was because I was offered the house rent-free. And I don’t have a lot of money to spare. The owner and I share the same godmothers—Lois and Angeline.”
Katya’s jaw dropped. “You and Kirsty? You know the whole Kirsty-Gaby-Jack story, don’t you?”
Zac nodded. “Yes. If it helps my cause, I think Jack and Gaby are well suited.”
Katya’s mind boggled as it tried to process information she hadn’t expected. Zac kept his eyes on her face, a hopeful look there.
“Your godmothers are Lois and Angeline?” she said. “And they visited you the other week. When I told them I was moving to Lochalshie, they didn’t say they knew someone who was moving here at the same time.”
“They can be a bit secretive.”
True. Katya recalled that airport meeting all too vividly. She had prattled on about herself and they had told her nothing.
“So, yeah... Lochalshie. This area is a brilliant place to start a food business,” he carried on. “It’s all artisan this, organic that and customers wanting to know provenance. They want good, local food that has lived and died well. Lochalshie cries out for it.”
“Your vegan pizza?” Ashley stood at the side of the booth, pizzas held in both hands and frown in place. From the look on his face, Katya gathered he’d caught the end of the conversation. She shifted in her seat. How would Ashley take such an insulting sum-up of the local food scene?
On cue the pub fell silent, everyone straining to listen in.
Zac got to his feet, taking the pizzas and the bowl of chips, and extending his hand. “Ashley, is it? My name’s Zachary Cavanagh—though everyone calls me Zac. You’ll have heard I plan to start a food business here? I wanted to pick your brains, and I’ve got a few ideas about how we can work synergistically—I mean, together.”
Ashley eyed him up and down and then slid into the booth next to Katya, his bulk causing the table to tilt back and the lagers to slide towards her. He grabbed them before they could spill foamy liquid everywhere.
“Fish,” Zac said. “I want to specialise in fresh fish and venison as there is so much of it around here. I plan to set up supply lines for restaurants and an online business where customers can buy their meat and fish straight from local suppliers.”
“I don’t do fish,” Ashley said, pointing at the chalk board behind him that also set out the day’s specials—pizzas, baked potatoes and the new house speciality, deep-fried haggis and chips. It seemed to be a Scottish thing. While the loch and the nearby sea had fresh seafood and fish in abundance, the locals shunned them.
“No? But I’ll be working with fresh-produce suppliers too, so you can come to me for meat, fruit and veg, and it’ll be best quality you can get. I’ve also got contacts with wine merchants, and I can arrange heavy discounts.”
Ashley’s eyes lit up. The mark-up on booze exceeded that on food by a long shot. If he was smart, he’d buy in bottles of plonk and charge massive amounts.
“There’s also the pudding option,” Zac continued, winking at Katya discreetly. “You do the legendary chocolate decadence cake, don’t you?”
“Made in honour of lovely wee Caitlin,” Ashley said, and Katya ground her teeth together, wishing she could push the tiny boyfriend-stealing minx face-down into the cake. But yes, when Blissful Beauty’s creator used Lochalshie as the place to launch her skincare and make-up brand in the UK for reasons anyone outwith the village struggled to understand, the local hotel rustled up a calorie-laden treat in her honour.
After the reality TV star also used the Lochalshie Welcome toilets during her visit, Ashley installed a sign in the cubicle telling everyone the world’s most famous bottom had parked itself on its very seat. To date, the loo was one of the world’s most Instragrammed toilets, folks flocking to it so they could settle their cheeks where Caitlin had been. The pudding did well too, photos and hashtags of it appearing in social media feeds all the time.
“Why not consider a frozen version of it?” Zac said. “I bet people would be more than happy to order slices of that with their meat and fish packs.”
Ashley nodded. “Aye, I s’pose. Well, keep me informed.”
As he got to his feet once more, the table wobbled again. He patted his belly. “Might hae to go on that vegan diet you do, Katya. What is it you’re no’ allowed to eat?”
As she listed its restrictions, Ashley’s face fell. The plant-based diet was unlikely to get itself another convert any time soon.
“Slick,” she said, as Ashley left.
Zac reached across and gripped her hand. “I want to make a difference here,” he said, the voice at its sincerest. “Bring more money into the area, but work sustainably too. I’m not just the rich idiot you think I am.”
She raised an eyebrow. It had to be a ploy. Disarm the opposition by admitting you are what they suspect. Though with all that Polish and English vocabulary at her disposal, ‘idiot’ wasn’t the word she would have chosen for Zac. Twat perhaps, or dziób.
He took a giant-sized bite of pizza, the far edges of his jaw moving from side to side as he chewed. Mesmerising once more and too easy to imagine how that jaw might feel underneath her fingers when they kissed.
When? If. And not likely.
“So, the PR consultancy bit?” he asked, still chewing. Normally, Katya would have found it repellent. When Zac did it, she thought it... oh, never mind. “Is that part of your exorbitant fee?”
She nodded. Madeline always said make your fees super-expensive, but let clients think they are paying for more than one skill, in this case copywriting and PR.
“The online business should be up and running by the spring, but when should I publicise it?”
“The Hogmanay ceilidh,” Katya suggested, enjoying the feel of two still-unfamiliar words. “Gaby told me about it—it’s the winter equivalent of the Lochalshie Highland Games. Designed to attract a few visitors and bring in the New Year with a bang. I don’t know what the catering arrangements are, but why not give away free samples of the food your online business is offering and create some buzz?”
Hark at her. Madeline would be proud of her. Dexter too, Mr Marketer Extraordinaire, come to think of it, but she stamped down thoughts of him as firmly as possible.
“There’s a meeting about it in the library next week,” she added. “Why not go along and tell people about your plans?”
Gaby had already suggested Katya attend. “You’ll meet everyone you need to know in the village,” she’d said, “and I promise it’s good fun.”
Katya would be the judge of that—a village committee meeting was unlikely to feature in the top ten of anyone under the age of 50’s list of fab ways to spend an evening. But it would have benefits. Zac could bang on about sustainability and working with nearby farmers. She could wax lyrical about how much she loved the place, mention that she could write promotional stuff for local businesses and iron out posture problems with her new Pilates class.
Zac greeted the suggestion enthusiastically.
“Brilliant idea.”
He’d finished his pizza already, eyes fixed on the rest of hers. “Here,” she said, pushing her plate towards him.
“So... the American,” he held up a slice and bit into it. “He’s no more and you’re definitely single?” More talking, chewing and mesmerising jaw movement.
“Yes. And not looking for anyone to fill the vacancy.”
Especially someone who’s not telling me everything. She kept the last statement to herself, waiting to see what he would volunteer.
“Pity,” he said, “it’s such a waste, you’re gorgeous—and clever too, the perfect combination. I couldn’t believe my luck when I—”
Whatever he’d been about to say was cut off. Katya’s phone bleeped
at the same time as Mhari appeared, taking in the scene with a sly grin.
“Aye, aye Katya,” she said. “I came tae find you because your laptop’s been going mad—someone trying to get you on Skype. LA number, I think.”
Katya’s phone offered the same information—missed call from LA and a voicemail message. She leapt to her feet, heart thumping. There was only one person she knew in LA.
“Bye, Zac,” she said. “I’ll get that writing you need to you for Sunday.”
She was out of the pub before she remembered she’d forgotten to thank him for dinner. Or asked him about what she’d found out about him online.
CHAPTER 13
“Dexie, Dexie—it’s so brilliant to see you!”
To show her excitement, Courtney bounced on her feet, punctuating every word. Dexter’s older sister had given him five nieces and nephews, ranging in age from three to sixteen, and they crushed varying sized bodies to him, all desperate for a hug.
“I’m so glad you’re back in the States,” Courtney said, threading her arm through his. “It’s been too long.”
Not that long, Dexter mused, only a year, but Courtney depended on him. Two years older than him, she acted more like a younger sister than an older one. Despite all those children, Courtney was a kid herself. With three feckless husbands behind her she needed the support more than ever. Jamie, or was it Joe? The last one left her four weeks ago, and Courtney had done what she always did in times of trouble—phoned her younger brother, begged him to drop everything and return to the US to help her cope.
Lucky for him that the Blissful Beauty board decided now would be a good time to look at launching in other countries. And that he had enough money put by to fly Courtney and her kids from Michigan to LA when he returned. The rag-tag bags and battered suitcases told their own story. Courtney and her family had always lived on the breadline. Any money he sent their way vanished in record time, sucked into clothes, education and healthcare-shaped holes.
The sun struck him afresh, bright light beaming through the airport building. Outside the terminal, he took his sunglasses from his jacket. Cars, limos and buses crowded the area outside and he heard sirens, the ever-present background to the city.
“Did you bring any samples?” his oldest niece, Flower, asked him. When you worked with the world’s fastest-growing make-up and beauty company and one headed by a 21-year-old, sixteen-year-old nieces decided that made you their favourite uncle.
“Not on me,” he said, “but next week I can get you whatever you want. Make me a list.”
“Awesome! And can I meet Caitlin? She’s like the coolest person there is. Plus, I told my friends I’ve met her already, so I need details.”
“You lied?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Uncle Dexie, you’re a marketing guy,” she replied. “You lie, like, all the time.”
Parenting at its finest—okay-ing your offspring’s lies and a distinct lack of respect for their elders and betters.
“So, where have you found us to live?” Courtney asked. Blissful Beauty let Dexter use of one of the company’s apartments in the Loz Feliz part of the city near Griffith Park. He’d used it in the past—a three-bedroom place with a spacious kitchen dining area and a living room with all mod cons. If Courtney saw it, she’d hint madly about moving in. Devoted brother and all, he couldn’t cope with Courtney and her chaos. The ramshackle house he’d found for them out in Angelino Heights didn’t compare well. Guilt threatened, but for the sake of his sanity and their future relationship, he needed to keep Courtney away from his new apartment. Besides, hadn’t he’d bunged her enough money over the years?
He told her and said he’d drop them off. “I can’t hang around, though. Sorry, guys. I need to go to the office. Make a start on working out how we make the launch of Blissful Beauty mind-blowingly brilliant.
“Do you wanna come, Flower? Caitlin won’t be there, but I can show you around.”
Flower was a smart girl. She had the potential for a marketing career or anything that rescued her from the dead-end jobs her mom favoured. Flower told him frequently she’d no intention ending up like Courtney, permanently broke and saddled with five children.
Flower shook her head, saying she needed to help her mother sort out their new home, and get ready for starting a new school after the weekend. He breathed a sigh of relief. Well-meant family intentions and all that, but he craved the calm peace of the Blissful Beauty HQ’s offices, shutting the door and flinging himself into work. Plans, emails, Excel spreadsheets and everything else which would take up so much of his time, he’d have no opportunity to dwell on the UK.
He’d been in LA for three days now, and it was beginning to look as if he wouldn’t return to the UK, or at least not to work. And the Courtney thing had reminded him of the ties he couldn’t cut loose. Brought up by a single mother who’d died of cancer when they were both in their teens, Courtney and Dexter clung together. His sister opted for terrible relationship after terrible relationship, and he devoted himself to work and ambition.
Then he met Katya. Life offered other possibilities. He’d tried—flinging himself into mad ventures such as travelling up and down the country at the drop of a hat and hinting she moved to London, which would work out easier in the long run once the South Korean thing was over. But then there’d been that overheard phone call. Desperate to explain, to say she’d misunderstood his intentions, he’d held back instead. The Courtney cry for help had come the day before. What else could he do?
Him and Katya. Just another of those relationships that couldn’t make it. Like a vacation romance, he told himself, the magic depended on the place. Best to put it aside as experience, even if the excitement of those early days still made his body tighten and tingle, its response matching the words he came out with all the time—amazing, beyond brilliant, staggeringly awesome.
And back in LA at the heart of the work that would put Blissful Beauty on the South Korean map, and increase its profit margins tenfold, who couldn’t fail to be excited? He wanted this campaign. It tied into every goal he’d made for himself over the years. If he made global marketing manager for Blissful Beauty as the success of this campaign might do for him, his salary would double.
Sure, the money would be amazing but ego drove him too. Nine months until his thirtieth birthday. The Forbes list of the Biggest Influencers Under 30 came out in July.
Dexter would be on it.
“Babe, you wanna come to the beach with me?”
November was rainy season in LA but so far the skies were cloudless. The weather forecasters promised a day of glorious sunshine and temperatures of 78-85 degrees Fahrenheit.
Caitlin had grown up with minions. Her family’s mega fame and wealth had come a little later to her older sisters, but as the youngest of the family she’d had staff around her all her life. Dexter’s marketing career began in a large pharmaceutical corporate where employer/employee relationships bordered on the excessively formal. Caitlin treated all her staff like bosom buddies. Except that she kinda expected you to jump when she uttered the words. So if Caitlin wanted to bunk off to the beach for the day, that’s what you did.
She’d turned up at the office this morning super early, demanding Dexter accompany her to a yoga class—the kind it cost more money than the average American earned in a day to attend. Her treat. It did the job. As his chest melted to the floor—as per the instructions of the teacher who banged on and on about spirituality while raking in around $400 an hour—Dexter visualised the tension leaving every bit of his body. Off it floated, from his feet, up along his calves, his quads, the lower back, the neck... the head. Okay then, it didn’t quite leave there, but the over-heated room sweated so much out of him that it was too exhausting to dwell on anything.
English girls who forgot you too easily, say.
“I’ve got a ton of work to do,” he said to Caitlin as they left the class, flashes going off to the left of them as they made their way to Caitli
n’s car. Photographers hung out here waiting for that oh-so-valuable unflattering shot. Caitlin was wise to them. She always spent ten minutes in the changing room afterwards ensuring she looked as if she’d worked out but not that much. A glow was nice. A usually glamorous star dripping with sweat, hair plastered to her head and eyes piggy because she’d left off the false eyelashes, brightening eye drops and expertly applied kohl less so. Her tee shirt advertised Blissful Beauty’s Glow Serum, promising it gave you that fresh-from-a-yoga-class glow.
She yanked open the door to her pink-and-silver SUV, its size directly disproportionate to hers. Did she choose these things to make her look super-frail and feminine?
“What’s that saying—it’s an English one so you should know it, right? All work and no play makes Jack or Dexter a dull boy?”
He tried to argue that if he didn’t push on with work for the South Korea launch, yoga classes this expensive might disappear. Unlikely, though. Forbes might label Caitlin the youngest self-made billionaire, but her family’s combined wealth was vast. She shrugged, a super-cute move on one so tiny, sitting so close to the steering wheel it stuck to her chest.
“Dexie...” She shot him one of her killer under the (false) eyelashes looks. “Please come to the beach with me. I’ve got something I need to tell you. Like, crucial? It’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for so long.”
She stuck her hand out, resting it on his arm—tiny fingers topped with long nails exquisitely decorated with varnish and crystals studded in the tips. Was it his imagination but did the hand appear to hint at wanting to move elsewhere? His body—the bones, muscles, skin and flesh Dexter thought he knew inside out—tightened in response.
There was, though, this final thing he could do. “Caitlin, I’ve been thinking about how to further your brand. An autobiography would be a great idea, right?”
