“I’ve never seen a replica of such high quality.”
He unfastened it as quickly as he’d put it on and tossed it onto the table. “It’s not a replica.”
She gasped. “What? Good gracious, you just threw it! Shouldn’t it be behind glass? How is it so well preserved?”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I believe I was asking the questions.”
She blanched, horrified that she’d actually reprimanded a potential client for handling his own belongings.
“I am relieved to find that you are interested in artifacts,” he replied wryly. “Are you aware of the upcoming Antique Armory auction?”
“Of course,” she replied quickly, then cleared her throat. “Some of our clients plan to attend.”
“Perfect. Are you free for dinner tonight?” he asked, stuffing the léine back in the satchel.
She bit her tongue. Hard.
“I have reservations at The Colcannon and would love your company. We can continue our discussion there, after you’ve had a chance to go through this information.” He nodded at the white binder. “I trust I’ve passed muster with your office, as no one’s interrupted us.”
Her face gave away her guilt. She hadn’t had a client call the firm out on its in-office first meeting policy before.
“Don’t think another second on it, Ms. Perkins. I’m fully satisfied that this firm shows a high regard for its employees’ safety.” He held out the binder, but as she went to take it, he gripped it tightly until she met his gaze. “I must have your word that this is for your eyes only, Ms. Perkins. No one from your team—legal or otherwise—can view it, or dinner, and all else, is canceled.”
Emma nodded, though his insistence on secrecy gave her pause. “I didn’t get any of my questions in,” she pointed out, feeling the need to lighten the moment. Aidan MacWilliam was clearly a take-charge type.
His face softened, and he chuckled. “All right, then. I enjoy rain, sunsets, and whiskey.”
She laughed. “Not those kinds of questions. But okay. I’ll see your rain, up your sunset by a sunrise, and exchange your whiskey for wine.”
“Your beauty is outmatched only by your wit, Ms. Perkins.”
The cadence of his words washed over her, and she allowed herself to relax a fraction more.
“Keep up the compliments and I think we’ll suit just fine,” she said with another laugh. “All right, Mr. MacWilliam. I’ll keep your contract terms secret. For now.”
“For now,” he acquiesced. “I’m taking you as a woman of your word.” He released the binder, and she felt the thrill of a small victory. “I’ll pick you up here, or at your place?”
“I’ll meet you there,” she deferred.
He pursed his lips, but didn’t argue. “One more question.”
She waited expectantly.
Aidan picked up his suit jacket. “What’s the best piece of advice you give your clients about answering questions?”
“Never answer a question with a question,” she said immediately. “It just invites more questions.”
He smiled, and she felt as though she had passed another unquantifiable test.
“Wise. Perhaps you can walk me out,” he said as he shrugged his jacket back on and picked up the leather satchel. He tossed his empty water bottle into the recycling bin and gave her a conspiratorial wink. “My way in was fraught with predators.”
“Ah. Of the female sort? Perhaps you need a bodyguard more than a publicist.” Emma couldn’t help but let out another laugh.
He gazed at her. “You have a lovely laugh, Ms. Perkins. I hope I get to hear it again soon.” He opened the door for her, then followed her out.
They were almost immediately waylaid by Heidi.
“Oh, Emma, there you are!” she exclaimed in her sultry, I-just-adore-you falsetto voice. She placed her hand upon her chest—more of it was showing than earlier—and gave a small shake of her head. “I’ve been looking all over for you. The deadline for the New York Times piece about your client came and went, and she just tried to cancel your contract!” Heidi placed a hand on Emma’s arm and lowered her voice. “Don’t worry—I wrote something for her a couple of years ago, and once I polished it up a bit, it did the trick. Account and reputation saved! But really, that’s the third time you’ve let her down this month!”
Emma’s jaw hung so far off her face she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to scrape it off the floor.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, you’re with a client. I didn’t mean to intrude.” Heidi held out her hand and batted her eyelashes. “Heidi Swanson, publicist of the year for Price Publicity.”
Aidan’s eyes never strayed past Heidi’s face, and Emma gave him major points for that. Heidi’s chest was so fluffed it was a wonder she didn’t float away.
“Aidan MacWilliam.” He shook her hand briskly. Despite having just been at complete ease with him a moment ago, Emma felt a frisson of intimidation at his stony expression. “You understand that your blatant attempts to discredit Ms. Perkins do you more harm than good, Ms. Swanson?”
“Oh, you misunderstand, Mr. MacWilliam,” Heidi hurried to explain. “Emma and I work together; we’re on the same team.”
“MacWilliam! Pleasure to finally meet you!” Mr. Price boomed as he approached. “Is your meeting over so soon?”
Fraught with predators. She couldn’t have stated it better herself.
“Price,” he replied in the same tone he had used with Heidi. He turned his full gaze to Emma, and though his face remained hard, his eyes softened toward her. His voice firm, he stated flatly, “Under no circumstances can anyone see the contract.” His eyes never left hers. “Absolutely no one. Just you, or the entire agreement is off.”
“Duly noted,” Emma replied, biting the inside of her cheek. Aidan MacWilliam was proving himself to be a very insightful client, and she had the sudden urge to ensure she kept him.
Heidi sputtered, and Aidan’s eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, as though he were enjoying ignoring her as much as Emma was.
“Right, right, Ms. Perkins only,” Mr. Price assured him as he tried to steer him back toward his office. “Do you drink? I have a delicious brandy. Vintage, very good stuff. Care for a glass?”
“He prefers whiskey,” Emma interjected, then pressed her lips together quickly. She hadn’t meant to say that.
Aidan caught her eye, and he let her see the humor lurking beneath his stern exterior.
“I have other engagements,” he said curtly. He gave Emma another kiss on the knuckles (she fought the urge to swoon again), then shook Price’s hand before stepping into the elevator. He didn’t acknowledge Heidi.
As soon as the doors closed, Heidi flipped her hair. “He carries a man-purse. Who does that?”
“It’s a medieval satchel,” Emma said, not troubling to hide her disdain. She didn’t bother to wait for a reply before saying to Mr. Price, “I’m meeting him for dinner tonight to discuss the contract. I’ll need the afternoon to review this binder, and you heard him. I think it’s best if I leave the office for a while to review this.”
Mr. Price didn’t object as she turned on her heel and left, a huge smile lighting her features as Gayle pretended to be busy (and gave Emma a very tiny thumbs-up as she passed) and she made her way back to her desk.
Aidan MacWilliam was definitely an interesting character…and, she admitted to herself, quite a nice piece of eye candy. She grinned again.
Chapter 2
Aidan MacWilliam was not a man to leave things to chance, but some things were beyond even his control—specifically, Ms. Emma Perkins. She wasn’t at all what he was expecting, which was laughable now that he’d met her. He’d been prepared to go into battle—her reputation, his cousin Colin informed him, was for a well-earned steely countenance. She was a talent that her current company hadn’t yet fully exploited, and Colin hoped to steal her away before they did so.
Aidan had to admit, he hoped he could pay attention to the job at han
d. Colin had tasked him with determining if Ms. Perkins was as effective in person as his latest client swore she was. Celtic Connections needed only the best for the head of its PR department, but Colin didn’t want to post the position publicly for reasons unknown to Aidan.
As they were family, Aidan didn’t question him. He simply agreed to meet with the woman, conduct the interview in an unassuming way, and report back to Colin with his impressions.
First impression? Smart. Ms. Perkins was a quick thinker, and witty, too. She was also, he admitted without hesitation, quite beautiful. Her hair was a dark honey blonde, and her eyes were not easily forgotten. The stunning shade of blue, almost violet, was unlike any color he’d ever had the fortune of seeing. Her professional demeanor was well practiced; if he hadn’t been watching for it, he wouldn’t have noticed her subtle, admiring glances.
He chuckled to himself. There wasn’t much he didn’t notice about Ms. Perkins.
There weren’t any pictures of her online or in print—none on the web, her company’s website, or even social media. Aidan had had his own contacts do some preliminary research on her, but she kept the lowest profile he’d ever seen—aside, of course, from his own. He wondered if that was what made her so good at her job—her clients’ “misdeeds,” as she called them, were fixed almost immediately. Most people didn’t even know a transgression happened at all, or it was turned on its head into something positive.
He finished buttoning his shirt and pulled on his most comfortable pair of jeans. His suit was gone; he had showed Emma his friendly business side (and, unfortunately, a little of his not-so-friendly business side thanks to the large-breasted bit of evil in her office), and now he needed to get more personal. Trustworthy; less like a business arrangement, more like a friendship.
Aidan looked around for the hotel key card and cursed. Back home, his security system consisted of a very sharp sword, not that he had to make use of it very often. In fact, he mused, spying the key card on the granite counter in his suite’s large kitchen, the last time he’d had the pleasure of using it was when Colin had visited him in Ireland and they’d engaged in a bit of sport in the back garden.
His fingers flexed. It had been far too long since he’d enjoyed the sound of steel upon steel. He couldn’t wait to have his old sword back; none other had quite the balance to it like that one did.
He flipped off the light and grabbed his black leather jacket from the back of the dining room chair. His suite at the W Hotel was enormous—certainly bigger than his modest cottage in Ireland. The suite boasted two floors of living space. The dining room held a large, polished table with six chairs. The kitchen was modern and sleek, and all black and chrome. A living room and powder room completed the first floor, and the upstairs held two bedrooms, each with its own full-sized washroom.
Opulence. Even after all these years, he still hated it.
Colin had insisted on making the hotel reservations. Pompous arse, he knew how much Aidan loathed lavishness, which was no doubt why he’d booked the swankiest room possible. Their relationship was more like brothers than cousins, and Aidan took great pleasure in the thought that he would get his revenge somehow.
Aidan put his thoughts aside and grabbed his satchel, which was stuffed with treasures sure to make Emma’s unique eyes light up like a Christmas tree. He could only imagine what her response would be. That feistiness and her quick wit would be a boon in the upcoming days.
If she agreed to it.
He frowned. Wayward thoughts weren’t going to be of aid. He needed to remain focused on his end goal—determine Emma’s abilities, get the sword from the auction, and get back to Ireland before Colin could set him up on a date with some new client. Colin had held off so far, but Aidan could sense his cousin’s growing impatience with his determination to get back home. Despite that, Aidan hadn’t any desire to be Celtic Connections’ latest match. He liked his solitude, he liked his peace, and he loved how it grated on Colin’s nerves.
Aidan closed the door behind him and hit the elevator button, sliding his arms into his jacket. He needed to keep his wits about himself, and refocus on the task.
His cell rang, interrupting his thoughts. “Are you downstairs?”
“You bet yer arse I am, and I got another one of those parking tickets,” Cian MacWilliam barked from the other end. “Shite, mate, you’d best have a plate ready fer me at Paddy’s. The bobbies aren’t big Irish fans and they didn’t like me threatening them.”
The elevator dinged, and Aidan grinned at the man standing in the lobby, who doubled as his driver tonight. “They don’t look kindly upon brutes threatening them with swords. I’m surprised you didn’t get yourself thrown in a cell for the night.”
Cian tightened his jaw as he shoved his phone into his pocket. “I would’ve liked to see them try.”
Aidan clapped a hand on his back. “Try to bring the temper down. I’ve got myself an important meeting, and I would appreciate it if you could turn on the charm. I know you have it in there somewhere.”
“She best be a looker,” Cian grumbled.
Surprised by the small jolt of possessiveness he felt, Aidan shoved his hands into his pockets. “Doesn’t matter much, mate.” They walked toward the nondescript gray sedan with a neon orange ticket on the windshield. “This is business, not pleasure.”
Cian spat out an obscenity as he slid the ticket from under the wiper. “I’m in sore need of some pleasure.”
Aidan rolled his eyes as he pulled open the door. “You can have your fun when we get home. Let’s get going already.”
Cian started the car. “I’ve been waiting eight long years to get home. Another twenty seconds isn’t going to change anything.”
Aidan pulled out some papers from his satchel. “It will if you don’t pay attention to the road. Drive on, Cian.”
Cian’s sigh was deep, but he acquiesced. “Aye, my laird.”
• • •
At seven o’clock precisely, Aidan stepped into another world. He was damn proud of this restaurant; he had designed it himself and handpicked the chef from his home country. He hated all the fuss that went with opening a restaurant, so his chef, Paddy, took all the recognition. It was part of their agreement—Aidan remained a silent partner, fronting the money and vision while Paddy created the delicious fare and became the face of the establishment. Aidan preferred it that way. His privacy was worth much more than what the restaurant brought in.
Gregory, the efficient (if stodgy) host, led him through the public dining room, which was anchored to the left of the entrance by a wall-to-wall hearth. The back of it was blackened with soot, and the logs inside it were charred. A stack of logs and peat moss leaned haphazardly against the surround, drawing the eye to the stonework on the walls that looked as though they had stood in place for hundreds of years. The arches that broke the space into clustered areas looked smooth from time instead of a builder’s tools. The tables were crammed together in typical New York style, and the patrons clamored to be heard over the sounds of the open kitchen and bartenders slinging drinks. It was stunning in its authenticity—and if there was anything Aidan was a full expert on, it was medieval taverns.
Gregory led him through a heavy curtain, and when it fell closed behind him, the noise lessened considerably. Emma sat at the table, her golden hair piled atop her head in a haphazard knot, secured with two sticks that looked as though they’d be useful in a fight. Her face glowed in the candlelight, and her eyes brightened when she saw him.
“Mr. MacWilliam, hello,” she said warmly, standing as he came closer. He took her hand again and kissed the back of her knuckles, careful to linger a fraction of a second longer than necessary. He caught her blush.
“Thank you for meeting me here,” he said. He handed his jacket to Gregory and said, “We’ll have whatever the special is tonight. Send back a bottle of Jameson and one of pinot noir”—he looked to Emma, who nodded her assent—“then we’re not to be bothered except by Cian, w
ho will tell the staff of any needs we may have.”
“Very good, sir.” Gregory waited for Emma to sit, then fanned her napkin over her lap. Aidan waved him away, and as soon as the curtain dropped, she sat back and admired the room.
“This is a beautiful restaurant,” Emma said, smoothing the napkin over her lap. She glanced closer at it, then held it up. “Look! This is the same design as the front door!”
He’d been very specific in the creation of that door. The stained glass was thicker than regulation, and looked as though it had been pulled from the Book of Kells—intricately designed images surrounded a capital C. Throughout many of the details, smaller instances of the letter M were interwoven, with leaves of ivy snaking their way around each line of the letter, a sword slicing across it. The linen napkins had that same M embroidered in a light silver, in the corner. He was pleased she noticed it.
“Impressive,” she admitted. “Very impressive.”
“Hmm,” he replied, stroking his chin. “You could be talking of many things. My command of the English language? No, no…we already covered that.” He furrowed his brow in mock concentration, then snapped his fingers. “Ah. You must mean my memory. When a woman says she likes something, it behooves a man to pay attention.”
Emma regarded him curiously. “Actually, I was talking about your command of the staff here. What is it about you that makes them snap to attention? Is it your presence? Your authoritative voice? Your good looks?” she teased.
“Or,” Aidan replied dryly, “it could be that I’m the owner.” He took pleasure in the way her mouth dropped open into a perfect little O. “Which brings me immediately to business. What did you think?” He jerked his head toward the binder, which sat between them on the table.
Emma toyed with the edge of the tablecloth. “That innocent little binder holds a whole lot of information, Mr. MacWilliam.”
“Aye,” he agreed. He kept his breathing even and his face impassive, but he couldn’t control his heart as it sped up slightly.
An Enchanted Spring: Mists of Fate - Book Two Page 3