The Great Scot (8 page)

Because, as she'd so rightly pointed out, he wasn't exactly innkeeper material. And if she'd picked up on that inside of thirty minutes spent together…what chance did he have with the paying guests? He argued the point anyway, maybe more to convince himself than her. “I've devoted two years of my life readying this place for that exact eventuality, what makes you think I'm not wholly invested in the idea?”

She lifted a shoulder and scrubbed the back of her hand across her nose, leaving more paint as she did so. “What did you do for a living when you lived in the city?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” He had to curl his fingers inward against the renewed urge to cross the room and rub the paint off the tip of that pixie-like, upturned nose of hers. “And how did you know I lived in the city?”

“Brodie mentioned it, or maybe it was Alastair.” She waved her brush. “It's common knowledge. And I'm just curious. I'm trying to adjust my view of you.”

Why it mattered what her view was, he had no idea. But he found himself answering anyway. “I traded stocks. Why do you look so surprised?”

She lifted her shoulders again. “I have no idea, really. Actually, that occupation seems to suit you.”

“You don't even know me.”

“You know what I mean, your general demeanor. You seem more suited to the hustle and bustle of big city life, I guess is what I'm saying. You're very…intense. Stock trading is an intense occupation. That's all.”

So she thought him intense, did she? He recalled that moment on the dance floor when she'd first bumped against him. Then again, just now, at the top of the stairs, when they'd been wedged in the doorframe. It had been a rather charged moment, but he assumed it was his own folly, given the fresh memories of his morning shower activities.

“So,” Erin went on, “what is it about opening Glenshire's doors that bothers you most?”

“Who said it bothered me?”

She just gave him a stop kidding yourself look and continued. “Are you afraid she'll come up lacking? Or is it a heritage issue, beneath the family name to take in boarders, that kind of thing?”

“I'm no' afraid of what people will think of Glenshire,” he responded truthfully. He was a wee bit more concerned what his guests would think of him, but only because he needed their patronage to keep the place from complete ruin. Were it up to him, he'd have far rather continued managing his stock portfolio, investing as wisely as possible, and repairing the place as the funds became available. But while his personal portfolio had benefited them all over the years, the market was too unpredictable to trust their fortunes exclusively to his investment prowess, no matter that he was still largely successful at it.

And, frankly, sitting in this drafty auld place, tapping away at a computer terminal as years passed by, wasn't exactly an enticing future for him to contemplate either. “As to opening her doors, it's no' beneath us. It's far from the first time Chisholms have taken on the role of host within these walls.” It was the first time they'd charged money for the privilege, but she was far too nosey for her own good. No need to give her any more information than was necessary.

She bent and dipped her brush in the pan, and he couldn't help but notice the way her pants pulled tight across her bum. Huh, he thought. Not much of one there, as it turned out. Her legs were a bit on the spindly side, too, though she wasn't all that narrow of hip or waist. Add to that her long arms, which gave her the appearance of being taller than she really was. She straightened and turned back to the trim work, reaching above her head. She wasn't skinny, more gangly, like a baby giraffe, all stick limbs, blocky torso, and slender neck.

No, not at all his type. There wasn't a sleek, sophisticated bone in her, nor the curves to make up for their absence. He shook his head slightly and returned to his own spot of trim. And thought about his morning shower. And started to get hard all over again.
Christ.

“So you're doing it for family, then. Clan leader, oldest son commitment,” she commented after a few minutes had passed, as if there hadn't been a break in their conversational flow.

He wondered if she had any inkling of how keenly aware he was of her. She didn't seem conscious of her impact much at all, to be honest. Maybe because she typically didn't make one, not of the sort he was thinking about anyway. And why was he thinking like that? He really had to reconsider the whole monk thing. And he would. Just as soon as she left town. “Like all that came before me, we do what we must to maintain the family assets,” he said, at length.

She finished carefully running her brush along the inside edge of the sill, before turning to face him once again. “But that doesn't mean you have to like it.”

He stopped and looked at her. “No, no it doesn't.” He found it impossible to be anything other than candid in the face of her own easy frankness. And yet, he wondered how she would respond if he were the interrogator and she the object of his inquisition?

She propped her brush on the pan and wiped her fingers on the edges of his increasingly paint-spattered loaner shirt, then grinned at him. “So, why don't you let me get you away from all of this?” She gestured to the room as if she were a game show presenter. “An eight week, all expenses paid vacation. You'll come home to a place in better shape than when you left it, starting with us finishing up all this detail work and including any reworking and refinishing necessary for our production, and with the added bonus of a nice check to put in the bank as well.” Her grin broadened. “A win-win proposition. I don't see how you could turn it down.”

Standing there like that, all twinkly eyed, cocksure smile, and paint-spattered cheeks, he was having a hard time remembering why he was fighting this so hard himself. A chance to get away for eight minutes would have been more than welcome at this point. Had he anywhere to go. He missed the city in some ways, but not the drama that went along with it. Too many ghosts there, not to mention Maribel's family and friends, who were well meaning, but suffocating. Even a short visit would allow them to drag him right back into the emotional birl he'd spent the past two years successfully working his way out of. But he hadn't exactly found an even footing yet in Glenbuie, either. He was living in a sort of surreal limbo.

So Erin's offer to escape the life he'd somehow found himself inhabiting was far more attractive than even she could have known. And she never would. Surreal or not, fulfilling or not, his commitment was here. And if his marriage had proven anything, it was that when he made a commitment, he stuck with it. No matter what.

The fly in the ointment here was the money. He needed it. Or more to the point, Glenshire needed it. But he couldn't, wouldn't, relinquish the place to a cordon of strangers, and allow them the kind of unfettered access they'd likely demand. He couldn't risk his heritage in that way for any amount of money or accidental repair riders attached to the contract. Some things weren't reparable. However…perhaps there was room for a compromise.

“So, what do you say?” she said, cocking her head to one side as he continued his silent regard of her.

“I canno' vacate the premises here,” he stated flatly.

Her entire body seemed to vibrate then. She'd sensed victory within her grasp. But her voice when she spoke was calm, even. “I promise, we would ensure that any—”

He held up his hand. “I'll no' vacate the premises.”

To her credit, she said nothing. She wasn't a fool, far from it from what she'd displayed so far.

“As noted previously, the other wing of the house is off limits to guests. I'll need to see exactly what you're offering me in terms of compensation for relocating or rebooking my guests. And I'd also need to discuss in detail exactly what adjustments your crew would make to my home in order to set up shop here.”

“We have resources that you don't. I could have a team of people in here less than twenty-four hours from now. We could finish a lot of this type of—”

Again he silenced her with a raised hand, or brush, as was the case. “I'll need a free flow of communication throughout the production.” He could see that didn't set well with her at all. He completely understood her reluctance to have the owner underfoot, but she'd learn he wouldn't be swayed on that point. “To that end, will you be staying for the duration of the filming?”

She looked surprised by the question. “Why do you ask?”

“I realize you'd prefer me not to get in the way of your filming, and I'd definitely prefer to steer as clear of the entire endeavor as possible.”

“So let us put you up in town, then,” she offered quickly, banked excitement in her tone now. “We would pick up the tab, of course, and I'd work it out for you to get frequent reports and updates, addressing any concerns you might have. We've done this for seven seasons, now. Trust me, we know what we're doing.”

“Be that as it may, I'm responsible for the welfare of my family's heritage. We've done so for over four centuries now, and we're quite good at it as well.”

She gave him a rueful smile. “Point taken. Surely we can come up with some kind of compromise that will ease your concerns and make the entire event as easy on both sides as possible.”

She'd used the word event, but he'd heard the word ordeal. It would be both, of that he was certain. “I've already come up with such a plan. But you hav'nae answered my question.”

“About me staying on? I'm usually on site through pre-production, scouting out the various local spots we'll use for some of the outings taken by our contestants, but once everything is in place, I'll be heading back to the States. We've been picked up for another season already because we shoot two a year, so I'll be working on scouting the next location while they're filming this one.”

He frowned. “That will be a bit of a problem then.”

She frowned, too. “Why is that? I'll make certain they set up a direct line of communication with a production assistant before I—”

“We communicate well enough. You understand my concerns here. I don't see the need to develop another association when this one is working just fine.”

“But—”

“I won't be relocating to town, Erin.”

“It would be so much easier for you, trust me. You'll see that—”

“Why don't we cut to the chase here, as you Yanks say.”

It was her turn to look wary now. “Okay.”

“How badly do you want to lease Glenshire?”

Like any good businesswoman, she said nothing, but her folded arms and set stance spoke for her.

“In exchange for my staying here and giving advance approval on all improvements or adjustments, I will agree not to interfere with any of the filming.” Her rigid stance relaxed somewhat at that. “However,” he added, “that is only if you agree to stay and be my direct line of communication from the production crew.”

“But anyone can—”

“You strike me as a very straightforward person.”

“I'd like to think so.”

“Then I trust you'll continue to be that way throughout. If I'm to turn over four centuries of my heritage to be bandied about by a crew full of camera jockeys who could hardly appreciate the unique history of what they're dealing with, then the very least you can provide me is the utilization of the one person I've developed any sort of trust with.” He put his paintbrush down and stepped around the pans on the floor until he was directly in front of her. “Barring any unforeseen glitches that might arise in the actual contract and require further discussion, do we have a deal?” He stuck out his hand.

She looked from him, to his hand, then back to him again. “Nothing is set in stone until you sign.”

It was clear on her face she still thought to bargain with him and get her way on certain matters. Little did she know who she was dealing with. “Deal?”

To her credit, she held his gaze directly as she took his hand in a surprisingly firm shake. “Deal.”

He gestured for her to leave the room before him. “Then let the deliberations begin.”

“G
ood work on this, MacGregor. I knew I could count on you.”

Erin accepted the rather hearty thump on the side of her arm with as much grace as possible, struggling not to drop her boss' bags as she helped him unload them in front of the hotel. Unfortunately Tommy had grabbed an earlier flight than expected out of London, so she'd missed the chance to pick him up at the airport in Inverness, thereby also missing her one chance to fill him in on Dylan's little contract stipulation while they weren't surrounded by a million other people. She liked to get yelled at with the smallest audience possible.

“Thanks, but there are some details we need to talk about. I had to make a few concessions.”

Tommy heaved the last duffel bag onto the pile. He was fifty-five years of age, a short man who came eyeto-chin level with her. If she were barefoot at the time. He had vivid blue eyes, a wide mouth stocked with more teeth than seemed humanly possible, and a shock of white hair that ringed his otherwise tanned head. His voice was gruff with both bark and bite, made all the more ominous by his thick, bushy eyebrows, still heavily peppered with the original black hair, all of which served to complete the deranged leprechaun look he sported most of the time. “What kind of concessions?” he demanded, slamming the door shut and moving around to the driver side of the vehicle.

Erin took a step behind him. “Well—”

One of the many production assistants who had invaded Glenbuie in the last forty-eight hours since they'd begun moving the production up from London raced around the car. “I can get that for you, Mr. Marchand. We have a lot reserved in the back of the hotel for you.”

“More money, right? Bastards always want more money.” Tommy barely glanced at the assistant. “Keys are in it. Make sure they get back to me or Tanya, a.s.a.p.”

The young P.A. nodded and all but leapt into the leased Range Rover, but Tommy wasn't paying him any attention. “The exposure his little inn will get from our involvement will keep him booked up for years, but no, they always want more money.”

Erin didn't bother to point out that it was no “little” inn. Tommy had seen the exterior shots she'd taken. “Actually, he accepted our initial lease offer.”

Tommy paused, then started looking around for someone to start moving his mound of baggage. “Good. Where's Tanya?” he demanded, already distracted. He snagged the arm of the nearest person he could reach. “Find Tanya for me. She was supposed to meet me in the lobby at one.”

Erin could have mentioned that he'd just barked orders at a hotel employee, not a staffer, but there was no point in it. Besides, the hotel was small enough that she assumed the bellman probably knew where Tommy's number one assistant was anyway. Especially given that she'd probably been the one barking orders at them until now.

“This place better be worth the hassle, MacGregor, or your ass is the first one I'm selling down the river to the suits.” His satellite phone chirped to life. He ignored it. “I want to hear about these concessions. The isolation of this location from any major city support puts a major cramp on our already constrained budget. And I don't need to remind you how far behind schedule we are.”

“Glenshire can easily house the cast and site crew. And I've worked out an agreement with the hotel in Glenbuie to accommodate the rest.

“Fine, fine.” Once Tommy agreed to something, he didn't want any additional info. In typical fashion, he moved directly to his next point. “I need at least two trailers on set, in addition to the production trailers. Did you work that out?”

Erin mentally scrambled to figure out how to meet that demand. “It will be a bit cramped for space, but there is a rear utility entrance and courtyard. It means having production trucks a little closer to the house, but there isn't any other space. You'll have to be creative with camera angles in terms of shooting around them, but there isn't much back there that you'd likely want to use on camera anyway.”

Tommy nodded, satisfied. For now. His phone went off again and he ignored it again. “Concessions. What did we give in on?”

Erin forced herself to stay relaxed, calm, as if this were no big deal. Hard to do when she knew damn well he was likely to pop an artery. “Mr. Chisholm is going to stay on property.” She lifted a fast hand. “I did everything in my power to get him to agree to move off site. And it isn't to say that we won't get him to change his mind once he sees what it's like living with the chaos.” Though, privately, she doubted anything would budge him. She was a tough negotiator, but he'd been tougher. “He didn't ask for more money, so we banked there. But he stood firm on this. I fought him on it, but it was clear this was a deal breaker. He's protecting four hundred years of his heritage and there is no way he's—”

“You know I hate having to contend with the owner, Erin. It wastes considerable time and money. We can't be babysitting him and still—”

“Well, see, you won't have to.” Where was Tanya when she needed a good interruption anyway?

“Meaning?”

“He doesn't want to be directly involved in the actual process any more than you want him to be. He just wants a clear line of communication.”

“He certainly doesn't need to be on site for that. Everything is outlined in the standard agreement and the rest can be handled via phone, fax, or e-mail. If they have such a thing in this godforsaken outback.”

“He won't budge on this, but I've worked out a line of communication with him that will relieve you and the immediate crew from any contact—”

“You gave him an assistant, didn't you?” Tommy slapped his thigh, then barked at another assistant to find Tanya. “Do you know what that's going to cost me?” he shouted, turning his attention back to her. “Fine, then. We'll just give him yours.”

“Actually—”

“You think you can just freely disperse my already over-extended manpower? You'll have to make the sacrifice. Dana will have to handle it.”

“It's me,” she said. “He'll only work with me.”

“
What?
” It was amazing how much emotion a small man like Tommy could pack into a single word.

“I'm going to be on site for at least the next two weeks anyway,” she hurriedly said, before he completely imploded. “I'll have time to get him used to the process, build his trust. Hopefully by then he'll be so sick of dealing with everything we can get him moved off site completely.”

“You're killing me here, MacGregor.”

“If worse comes to worse, I'll leave Dana here to handle him, but I really don't think it will come to that.” Privately, Erin knew her assistant would be thrilled with that little assignment if it came to pass. But Erin had far too much to do, and needed Dana's assistance too much to let that happen. She pasted on a big, confident grin. “I'll make it all work. I've never let you down so far, have I?”

Tanya chose that moment to come rushing out of the hotel. “So sorry, I've been tied up—”

“See that you do make it work,” Tommy instructed Erin, then took Tanya by the arm and hustled her into the hotel.

Erin waited until Tommy was out of sight before heaving a deep sigh of relief and heading inside.
Well. That hadn't been too bad
. She stepped over piles of luggage and scooted over to an unoccupied corner before pulling out her binder and scanning her notes. She had a meeting at three with Daisy to go over date location ideas. Dana wouldn't be coming in for another couple of days, as Erin had assigned her to scout the final weekend excursion site in Paris. Erin had been looking forward to scoping out that particular location, but thanks to Dylan's demands, she couldn't risk leaving before Tommy arrived and was brought up to speed. Dana was ready to take on more responsibility anyway, and this date event was a good, hands-on place for her to start. Still, Erin couldn't help but think that she could be wandering the Champs Élysées at the moment, and not dealing with the insane accelerated schedule Tanya had just thrust on them in their first team meeting earlier this morning.

“Oh thank god, there you are!” Another of Tommy's personal assistants pushed his way through the cluster trying to check in, waving a stack of little pink slips. “Will you please talk to him already?”

“Talk to who? Tommy? I just spoke to—”

He looked both bedraggled and bewildered. Not unusual when you worked for Tommy. He shoved the stack of slips into Erin's hand. “Make this go away,” was all he said, then disappeared into the clamoring throng once again.

Erin fanned through the crumpled stash, her attention immediately snagging on the one common thread in each note. The name in the “From” box at the top of each slip. Dylan Chisholm. She'd sent word to him yesterday, along with the bare outlines of the new production schedule, and told him she'd be in touch sometime today to go over details and personally answer any questions he had, as they'd agreed. Apparently Dylan hadn't been patiently waiting for her to find time to call. She flipped quickly through the rest of the pile, but the message was the same on each. “Have Erin MacGregor contact me a.s.a.p.”

“Great.” She sighed, checked her watch, before glancing longingly at the lobby stairs that led to the upper floors…and her room. Her nice, quiet room, away from the mob, away from the madness. Where she'd hoped to spend a whole forty-five minutes in peace before tackling the new pile of work Tanya had just thrust in her lap. She hadn't liked two of the four date locations, or either of Erin's backup sites, which meant working overtime to come up with alternate locales. Hence her meeting with Daisy.

She gave a final longing look at the staircase and the nice warm bath she wasn't going to get—again—then resolutely pushed her way through the crowd and out the back of the hotel to the tiny car lot where her rental was parked. She'd wanted to set the damn show in Brigadoon, she could hardly complain now that she'd gotten her way. Shoving her pink slips into her satchel, she tossed it on the passenger seat, and pointed her car in the direction of Glenshire.

Halfway there, she had a little brainstorm. If Dylan were going to make himself a general pain in her ass, which, clearly, he was going to, then she might as well find a way to make it work for her, right? He wanted to stick his nose in? Well, she was about to let him.

By the time she pulled into Glenshire's rear service entrance, which was already clogged with a stream of vans and crew trucks, she had a plan firmly in place. She absently nodded and waved at the guys who were presently streaming in and out of the house, running miles of cable, toting lighting fixtures, barking orders. It all looked completely normal to her, but she knew it was quite the opposite for Dylan. She pretended not to see the men's aggrieved expressions as she ducked past on her way through the central part of the house.

It didn't take long to find him. In fact, she heard him seconds after hitting the second floor landing.

“I dinnae much care what the contract stipulates. There's no need to go stringing lights and mounting cameras in every bloody corner!” Dylan's bark echoed through the halls. “That plaster isn't going to hold those brackets. One good tap and the whole face will crumble down upon your Charming Prince's pretty head. I'm savin' ye from a certain lawsuit.”

“Erin!” The poor crewman who was the target of Dylan's current tirade all but leaped upon her the second she turned the corner into one of the two main upstairs hallways where four men were mounting cameras and installing lighting. “Thank god, you're here.” His fingertips dug into Erin's arm as he all but dragged her to his side. Jaw clenched into a sorry facsimile of a smile, he said, “Mr. Chisholm has been expressing some doubt regarding the installation process. Perhaps you could discuss this with him privately while I get back to directing the crew?”

She wasn't given any time to answer, but was instead all but thrust directly in front of Dylan. “Um, sure,” she said, pasting on her own bright smile. “In fact, I need to talk to Mr. Chisholm anyway.” The relief on the faces of the workers was so complete, she was surprised they didn't do the wave. She turned to Dylan. His jaw was set, his legs braced apart, arms folded across his chest, every bit the Great Scot. “We need to talk.” She cast a quick glance over her shoulder. “In private, if you don't mind.”

He shifted his intent gaze from her, to the crew who had paused in their banging and drilling, then back to her again. His jaw flexed and a vein pulsed along his temple. It was only when, after what felt like an eternity, he finally gave her a curt nod, that she realized she'd been holding her breath.

Trying not to release it so fast that she became light-headed, she cautiously motioned for him to lead them both out of the hallway.

“I want nothing more done in this hall until I've had a chance to discuss things with Ms. MacGregor,” he ordered, sounding exactly like the clan chief that he was. He stepped over power cords and shifted around the ladders and dollies with surprising grace for someone his size.

Something she had no business noticing at the moment. It was bad enough he still snuck into her dreams at night.