The elevator dings mercifully, saving me from having to respond to that particularly mortifying accusation.
As we step out, his twenty-something year-old assistant Alana looks up with wide eyes."Sir, Highland Hammocks is on line one about an underwear endorsement, and the Seattle Tribune wants a statement about being named 'The Most Eligible Highlander in Tech.'"
Callum closes his eyes briefly, as if praying for strength.
His phone pings with a new notification.He glances down, his expression darkening to thunderous levels.
"And now," he says with deadly calm, "my grandmother is texting me from Scotland asking if the 'assets list' is accurate."He fixes me with a glare that could cut glass."So, Ms.Peters, would you care to explain exactly how my personal anatomy became today's trending topic?"
My phone buzzes one final time with a message from my mother:
MOM:Sweetheart, what's a Kilted Casanova and why is your boss one?
If the universe wants to kill me, it could at least have the decency to be quick about it.
2
THE SCOTTISH INQUISITION
CALLUM
Ten minutes after discovering my physical attributes have become internet fodder, I'm pacing the length of our glass-walled boardroom feeling my blood pressure tick to new levels.
Seattle's summer rain lashes against the windows, matching my stormy mood as afternoon darkens toward evening.It's poetic, really—if poetry were written in caps lock and mild fury.
Karina Peters—Marketing Director of our Seattle office and my brother’s ex—is sitting prim and proper in one of the leather chairs like she’s waiting for a job interview, not a corporate inquisition.
I rifle through her HR file in my head.
Karina Peters.OriginallyPetrosianinstead of Peters.Americanized a generation ago.
Forty-one.Six months with Abernathy Corp.
Loves Nora Ephron, 90s power ballads, and—based on her dating history—has truly abysmal taste in men.
Her curly dark hair is pinned back in some kind of professional updo.Her eyes—same color—are locked on me like I’m a threat she’s already planning to neutralize.
Smart woman.
Because right now, I am the biggest threat in this room.
"Let me get this straight," I say, the words sluggish on my tongue."You want me to believe someone else used your login to post a graphic breakdown of my...assets...on our corporate social media?"
"Yes."Her voice doesn’t waver."Exactly."
"And this post just happened to include very specific knowledge of what I wear under my clothing?"
A pink flush creeps up her neck."I didn’t write it.I swear.I’ve never speculated on your—undergarments.”She clears her throat.“Mr.Abernathy, I’m still finding my footing here at Abernathy Corp…not to mention, I’m still recovering from the Richard disaster.Trust me: I don’t have the time or the inclination to analyze your anatomy.”
The mention of my younger brother makes my jaw tighten.
Richard Abernathy.King of terrible decisions.
Two months ago, he thought it’d be cute to embezzle funds and run off with a twenty-four-year-old Icelandic knitter named Anka.
Midlife crisis, Abernathy-style.
I was yanked out of our Scotland office in the middle of a major acquisition to clean up his mess.
