"What in the bloody?—"
The distinctive notes of "Scotland the Brave" waft through the windows, surprisingly well-played.
I stride to the glass, peering down thirty floors to where a small crowd has gathered around four performers, just as Alana described.
The bagpiper, wearing what appears to be a homemade kilt fashioned from plaid curtains, stands at the center.
"Is that...?"Karina joins me at the window.
"Yes," I confirm grimly."And he's wearing my face on his shirt."
She squints."I think those are actual lyrics they're performing.Listen."
We stand in silence as the distant but distinct sounds of an original composition titled—if the crowd's enthusiastic chanting is accurate—"The Ballad of the Kilted One" rises to our window.
"This is a nightmare," I mutter.
"It's not terrible," she offers."The rhyme scheme is actually quite sophisticated."
I turn to stare at her, and something about my expression must be comical because she bursts into laughter—real, unfiltered laughter that transforms her pretty face.
For a moment, the especially composed professional vanishes, replaced by someone lighter, more carefree.
It's ridiculously and startlingly attractive.
"Sorry," she gasps, composing herself."It's just—your face?—"
"Delighted that my suffering amuses you."
"If it helps, Viktoria can meet us at seven tonight.Her office in Belltown."
"Perfect."I step away from the window as the bagpipe reaches a particularly enthusiastic crescendo."The sooner we solve this, the better."
As I turn back to my desk, my foot catches on the edge of the conference table, sending me stumbling forward directly into the flower delivery.
Roses scatter across the floor in slow-motion disaster.I manage to catch myself on the table edge but not before knocking over a vase of water, which splashes across my shirt and pants in a spectacular display of undignified flailing.
When I right myself, soaked and surrounded by fallen flowers, Karina is watching me with undisguised amusement.
"Don't," I warn.
“I said nothing,” she retorts, a smirk forming inch by inch.
"This doesn't leave the room."
"Of course not."She retrieves a handful of tissues from her desk, offering them."What happens in the office of the Kilted CEO stays in the office of the Kilted CEO."
"I hate everything about this."
"I know."She kneels to help gather the scattered roses, and I join her on the floor."But look on the bright side—we might have our first real lead."
Our hands brush as we reach for the same flower, and there's that jolt again—the same unexpected connection I felt at dinner.
Her gaze lowers before she blinks.“Um, you have some…”
“What?”I glance down and realize that the water spilled all over my pants.And crotch.
You can practically see the outline of my…wee man.
