As she follows me out, I have one uneasy thought…
Karina Peters may or may not be the cause of this mess—but she just might be the next disaster waiting to happen.
3
OFFICE ARREST
KARINA
My first day of “office arrest” dawns gray and wet—classic Seattle in July.
Rain drums against Callum’s skyscraper windows like it’s trying to stage a prison break on my behalf.
It’s been less than twenty-four hours since #KiltedCasanova exploded online, and already I’m questioning every life decision that landed me here.
Here, being the corner office of one Callum Abernathy, where my desk now sits at a painfully strategic ninety-degree angle to his.
My screen?Fully visible.My dignity?In witness protection.
I sip my third coffee and try not to appreciate how annoyingly cinematic his office looks—glass, steel, and brooding rain.
Like a villain origin scene.
Fitting.
“You planning to admire the rain all day, or are we going to address the twenty-seven press inquiries in our inbox?”Callum doesn’t glance up, but his voice slices across the room like a well-aimed paper cut.
“I’m just soaking in the aesthetic of my professional demise,” I mutter, cracking open my email.“Very end-credits energy.”
“A bit dramatic, aren’t we?”
“Says the man who slapped me with corporate house arrest,” I mumble under my breath.
I’m shocked when he actually catches the mutter.
“Office arrest,” he corrects, finally looking up.His green eyes stormier than the sky behind him.“I prefer to think of it as protective custody.”
“Protective of what?Your reputation or your ‘thighs that could crush a whisky barrel’?”
One brow arches.“You memorized that line rather quickly.”
“It’s been shared seventy-three thousand times.Hard to miss.”
“Eighty-two.”He swivels his screen to show me the updated stats.“Drake PR’s new hire is running with it.”
“Will Drake’s company?”I groan.“Perfect.I’m sure Richard is currently watching my PR funeral in 4K.”
“Speaking of your adoring public,” Richard’s ex-assistant—and Callum’s current one—Alana pokes her head in, pushing a cart loaded with tartan-wrapped chaos.“The first wave’s here.”
“The first wave of what?”Callum asks, accent thickening like storm clouds.
“Gifts.”She wheels in enough plaid-patterned energy drinks to power a rave.“TarTan Energy wants to sponsor ‘Scotland’s Most Electrifying CEO.’”
I bite my cheek to avoid laughing.
“Send it back,” Callum says.
“All six cases?”Alana blinks.“That’s, like, a thousand dollars of product.”
