What was she going to do? She leaned her forehead against the tile wall, feeling the life she had built for herself crumbling around her.
The room phone was ringing when she finally climbed out of the shower. She wrapped a towel around herself and rushed to pick it up.
“Andrea.”
Her heart leaped into her throat at the sound of James’s voice. “We don’t have anything to talk about. I’m sorry.” She hung up on him.
In a daze, Andrea dried her hair, put on her makeup, and dressed in her gray suit. She was just beginning to pack when someone rapped at her door.
She peeked through the peephole and saw James standing there, again dressed in jeans and his leather jacket, his hair wet from the shower. She leaned her forehead against the door and sucked in a deep breath for strength.
“Open up, Andrea. I know you’re still there.”
She blanked her expression and yanked open the door. “What do you want?”
“I’m sorry. I should’ve thought of how you’d feel. I didn’t know this was going to happen.”
So he’d seen the picture too. She sighed and leaned against the doorframe. “It’s not your fault. I just . . . I can’t do this. I’ve been here before, and I thought I could handle it, but I won’t ever be able to get used to this kind of life. I’m sorry.”
“So that’s it? It’s over? You’re giving up on us?”
“James,” she said softly, “there never was an us.”
She shut the door and leaned against it, biting her lip to keep the tears from coming again. It was for the best. Even if she were inspired to try to make whatever this was work, she couldn’t live wondering when her face would show up on a website or in the newspaper. And she wouldn’t ask him to change his life for her.
Andrea folded her clothes into her suitcase with shaking hands. She’d just managed to convince herself she could simulate some level of calm when the room phone rang.
She stared at the red light flashing with each ring, her heart in her throat, until the phone went silent again. She couldn’t move for a full minute. Then her cell phone trilled.
She turned away, not wanting to see James’s name on the screen. A beep indicated the call had been sent to voice mail. It didn’t ring again.
Pushing down unreasonable disappointment, she lifted the room phone’s receiver and dialed the front desk. “Could you please call me a taxi to the airport?”
“Mr. MacDonald already requested a car to take you,” the clerk said. “Shall I notify you when it arrives?”
“Please do,” she managed to choke out. She hung up the phone. Andrea made one last sweep of the hotel room, checking for forgotten items. When the bellman rapped lightly on the door, she was perched on the edge of the bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
The young man’s name tag said Liam. She started at it blankly until he held out a large white envelope. “This was outside your door.”
She knew what was inside before she slid open the flap and withdrew the contract. Her breath caught at the sight of James’s neat signature on the last page, above Ian’s. Of course, he wouldn’t let her leave without wrapping up this last detail. Too bad she didn’t know if she’d gotten the contract because of her professional expertise or his personal feelings for her.
And Michael would always think she’d closed the deal because she slept with James.
She tore the contract in half before she knew she was going to do it, then tore those pieces in half again for good measure. She shoved the ripped papers back into their envelope, ignoring Liam’s puzzled look, and strode down the hallway with a purposefulness she didn’t feel.
Liam took her single bag and followed her down the hall to the sweeping staircase. They’d barely set foot on the bottom step when a dark-haired clerk skirted the reception desk and approached. “Ms. Sullivan!”
Andrea faltered, cursing the overly efficient staff member for remembering her. She couldn’t very well ignore her, though. She paused and waited until the woman joined her and held out an envelope, her scarlet-painted nails a stark contrast to the creamy hotel stationery. “For you, Ms. Sullivan.”
Andrea didn’t need to look at her name scrawled across the front to know it was from James. She shoved it in her purse and handed the contract envelope to the clerk. “Could you leave this for Mr. MacDonald, please?”
The woman took it. “Of course. Thank you for staying with us.”
Andrea nodded numbly and walked through the front doors where a sedan waited for her at the bottom of the steps.
She barely saw her surroundings through the car’s dark-tinted windows, too focused on keeping her breath moving steadily in and out of her lungs. This was just another business trip. She wouldn’t think about what it might have become.
Only years of travel helped her maintain her composure through the security lines and the long wait at the gate. She managed an impressive semblance of control while she marched up the stairs into the plane, shoved her bag into the overhead compartment, and flopped into her window seat.
Then she reached into her pocket to switch off her phone for takeoff and touched something warm and buttery soft instead.
The scarf. She rubbed the patterned lamb’s wool between her fingers and draped it around her neck. Then she leaned her head against the window and poured out her pain in great gulping sobs.
Chapter Thirty-One
James resisted the urge to look out the window of his room to see if the car he’d requested for Andrea had arrived. The fact she’d ignored a dozen of his calls proved it was the only gesture she would accept from him. She was sticking resolutely to her decision, and forcing a confrontation would only make matters worse.
Worse. He barked out a harsh laugh. As if leaving him with no intention of having any contact with him again could get any worse. James took his time packing his bag and vacating the hotel room.
He still had three more days in Skye before he left for Glasgow. He momentarily considered flying directly there since he was already in Inverness, but he couldn’t abide the city right now. He wanted the familiar, beloved scenery of the island. It was the perfect place to brood and curse himself for his own daftness.
He checked out of the hotel, shoving the envelope the desk clerk gave him into his laptop case, then threw his suitcase into the back of his car and pointed himself back toward home. He drove automatically, cataloging the reasons he should move on with his life and forget Andrea completely. He failed miserably. How could he have let her get into him so deeply he could no longer imagine life without her?
He should have listened to Ian. Not that his brother had been right about his intentions, but if he’d been smart enough to let her go, he would never have noticed the gaping emptiness she’d exposed in his life.
He was so engrossed in his own musings as he turned down the road leading onto Sleat that he didn’t see the scattering of sheep until it was almost too late. He jammed on the brakes with a squeal of tires and lurched to a stop just before he would have flattened one of the stupid creatures into the asphalt. It lifted its head and looked straight at him, then lay down in the middle of the road. James laid on the horn, but instead of hurrying out of the road, half the flock decided a nap was a cracking idea and joined it.
James threw his head back against the headrest and stifled the cry of frustration in his throat. Perfect. All he wanted to do was get home and wallow in self-pity, and he couldn’t even manage that because of a flock of mindless animals. Could this day possibly get any worse?
“They lie in wait for motorists and then fling themselves into the road.” He’d been trying to make Andrea laugh. It just figured that he’d get a personal demonstration today of all days.
Beside him on the passenger seat, his phone buzzed, indicating a message. He snatched it up, his heart thrumming as if he’d run a marathon. Only one bar, but a miracle all the same. He dialed his voice mail, where the robotic voice told him he had two messages.
“J
ames, it’s Alice. Call me immediately.”
Disappointment spiked through him when he heard his publicist’s voice and not Andrea’s. What could be so urgent to warrant a call on Saturday? He played the next message.
“For heaven’s sake, James. Will you call me back? Or at least check your e-mail.”
That didn’t sound good. He deleted Alice’s second message and opened his e-mail. The photo that came up knocked the wind out of him: him and Andrea last night, locked in a passionate embrace. He threw his phone into the passenger seat and reached for the envelope the desk clerk had given him. He’d assumed it held the second copy of the signed contract, but when he opened it, a handful of ragged scraps fell into his lap.
Andrea had left him, and now she’d probably lose her job too. He had managed to single-handedly ruin her life.
James held his head in his hands. He hadn’t understood before, but he did now. He’d thought when she said she couldn’t handle this type of life, she’d just been trying to say she didn’t want him. If he’d known about the photo . . .
“It wouldn’t have made a difference.” Heaviness settled over him like an oppressive fog. That was part of his life. He was in the public eye, and the public liked gossip. With his reputation, he was surprised she’d ever entertained getting involved with him at all. He’d been a fool to think they had a future.
After what could have been minutes or hours, the sheep decided to meander off the road. He put the car in gear and drove numbly back to Isleornsay. He only debated for a moment before heading to Muriel’s house. His aunt wouldn’t press him. If he were lucky, she’d have a bottle of Scotch stashed in one of the cabinets. If he weren’t so lucky, he could take out his frustrations on the ingredients for dinner. He’d come up with more than a few new recipes after Cassie left.
He didn’t think it was possible to feel any worse until he saw Ian’s car in Muriel’s driveway.
“Brilliant.” He wasn’t going to back down today or let his brother run him off. He slammed the gear shift into park, shut off the engine, and threw open the car door.
When he entered, Ian sat on the sofa, reading a book with the television turned on low in the background. He took off his reading glasses and set them aside when James stormed into the house.
“She’s gone?”
James ignored the question and passed through the living room to the kitchen. He rummaged in a cabinet and finally found a mostly full bottle of single-malt Scotch in the back. Ian watched him from the doorway as he pulled out the cork and poured a dram into an old-fashioned glass.
“So you’re just going to drink yourself into a stupor?”
“That’s the plan. You here to stop me?”
Ian shrugged, retrieved another glass from the cabinet, and took the bottle.
“What are you doing? You don’t drink.”
“I do when the occasion calls for it.” Ian poured a finger of Scotch for himself. “I think the occasion calls for it.”
James threw back his whiskey with a defiant look at Ian and blinked at the burn down his throat. It had been years since he’d had anything stronger than wine or ale. “Go ahead and say it. I want to be sober enough for you to enjoy it.” When Ian stared blankly at him, James said, “You told me so.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You told me I never thought of anyone but myself. Well, congratulations. You were right. My reputation came back and bit me.” He pulled his mobile from his pocket, brought up the photo, and shoved the phone across the island. “Go ahead.”
Ian looked at the photo and sighed. “I’m sorry, Jamie.”
James blinked. “I thought you’d be pleased to know that, once again, you were right, and I was wrong.”
“I’ve always loved you, no matter what you think.”
“You have an odd way of showing it. When you moved to London with Mum, we no longer existed to you. You had your exclusive school, your rowing. You never looked back.”
“Did you ever wonder what it was like to have to go to London with Mum so she wouldn’t be alone? You and Serena wouldn’t leave Dad.”
“That’s right. Always so self-sacrificing.” James reached for the bottle and poured himself another glass, daring Ian to interfere. “Perfect student. Perfect athlete. If only I could live up to your example.”
“And yet Mum always loved you best.”
James laughed humorlessly. “Right. That’s why she left us.”
“She was unhappy, Jamie.” Ian’s expression turned sorrowful. “She never wanted to live in Scotland. Dad promised her it would be only for a few years. A few years turned into twenty. She got tired of waiting.”
“If she loved us, she would have stayed.”
“And if he had loved her, he would have seen how miserable she was and gone with her. Instead he put everything else ahead of her. The hotel. His students.”
“So that’s why you didn’t tell me he was sick,” James said quietly. “Out of spite.”
“Don’t be daft.” Ian downed his whiskey and thwacked the glass down on the counter. “He needed his will amended, and Mum knows practically every lawyer in London. He didn’t want you two to feel sorry for him.”
“Then why go to you?”
Ian met his eyes, and for the first time, James saw the full force of the bitterness his brother carried with him. “Because he figured I wouldn’t have any sympathy to spare for him. After all, I was the son who abandoned him.”
James pressed his fingers to his eyes. How could things have been so convoluted and he had never known? “You should have told me. I could have said good-bye.”
“Yeah. I should have told you. But he was the one who didn’t want you to know. How could you forgive him for that and not forgive me?”
“Why did you hold on to your share of the hotel, then? Why not sell out your portion like Serena?”
“Because of you.” Ian’s eyes darkened. “I didn’t just lose my father; I lost you and Serena too. I thought maybe, finally, here was something we could do together. But you wouldn’t see past what you thought was my betrayal. You’re just like Dad. Anyone who doesn’t do it your way, you walk away from. You did it with us. And now you’re doing it with Andrea.”
“No. Andrea left me.” James lifted his glass to drink, then set it down again. All he’d gain from getting drunk was a headache. It wouldn’t ease the ache in his heart.
Ian’s anger faded. “Do you love her?”
“Doesn’t matter. She doesn’t feel the same way.”
“For heaven’s sake, how blind could you be? Every single one of us could see she was head over heels for you.”
James put his head in his hands and dug his fingers into his hair. “If she doesn’t want me, I’m not going to chase her.”
“Jamie, men in this family are rubbish at relationships. We fall in love, then we let them walk away from us without a fight. Don’t make the same mistakes Dad and I did.”
“Cassandra—”
“Wasn’t worth fighting for. Andrea is. Unless I’m wrong. Unless this really was just some game to you.”
James hung his head and stared into his glass. He could try to convince himself otherwise, but he loved Andrea. More than his life in Scotland. More than his pride. Drinking himself blind and stupid wouldn’t change matters.
He pushed away from the counter and lifted the bottle. “You done with this?” He recorked it and replaced it in the cabinet, significantly fuller than he’d intended to leave it.
“I’m sorry, Ian,” he said quietly, afraid to turn. “I was unfair. I didn’t understand.”
“Yeah, me too.” Ian clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’m driving back to London tomorrow. Come with me. I’ll drop you in Glasgow.”
“A road trip?” James shot him a frown, but there was no heat behind it. “Why would I want to be stuck in a car for five hours with you?”
Ian smiled. “Because it will give us time to figure out how you’re going to get Andrea back.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Andrea cried through the entire flight back to London, ignoring the flight attendants’ attempts to speak to her until they finally gave up and left her alone. She disembarked at Gatwick, her eyes swollen and her face blotchy, but her tears finally spent, leaving only a blank calmness in their place.
She barely noticed the concerned looks people gave her as she dragged her suitcase through the airport toward the airline’s customer service desk. The polite young agent shot nervous looks at her tear-stained face, but quickly switched her flight from New York to Dayton. It cost her an extra four hundred dollars and added a stop in Chicago, but at this point Andrea didn’t care. She couldn’t go back to New York. Ohio was the only place she had left.
She clutched her new boarding passes and found a quiet spot by a bank of pay phones. It took her a moment to work up her courage to dial Michael’s number.
“Give me some good news,” he said teasingly.
Andrea swallowed and stared at the pitted airport floor beneath her feet. “I didn’t get the contract.”
Silence stretched so long, she checked her phone to see if they were still connected. Then he said, his tone chilly, “That’s unfortunate. You realize you’ve put me in an awkward position here, Andrea.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t think sorry will cut it this time. The board had doubts about approving you for the vice president position, and I went to bat for you. Now . . . I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go.”
Andrea’s mouth dropped open. She’d said she needed this deal to save her job, but somehow she’d never really thought he’d fire her. “You’re letting me go because I failed to close two deals? After the millions—”
“Not because of your performance, Andrea,” he said. “Because of your actions. Or don’t you remember your contract stipulates a certain standard of professional behavior while on company business?”
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