by Carrie Elks
When she walked over to Lachlan’s office to collect him, Anneka was leaning on the frame of his door, talking quietly as he looked up at her. As soon as Lucy appeared behind her, Lachlan’s eyes slid over to hers, and he smiled. ‘Hello, Lucy.’
Anneka turned to look at her. ‘Hi, Miss Shakespeare.’
‘I hear you’ve been looking after Lachlan for me,’ Lucy said, nodding at the intern. ‘Thank you.’
‘She makes a good cup of coffee,’ Lachlan said, standing and unplugging his laptop. ‘Thanks, Monica.’
‘It’s Anneka,’ the girl corrected him.
‘Of course it is.’ He grimaced. ‘Thanks again.’ He nodded as Anneka walked out of the room, clearly miffed at the way he’d forgotten her name.
Lucy couldn’t help biting down a smile.
Lachlan followed Lucy over to her office – much bigger than the visitors’ cubicles, with a small table in the middle where they would be able to work a little easier. ‘I’m sorry about Anneka,’ she said, as he laid his laptop bag on the table. ‘She’s young but very keen. I hope you managed to get some work done, too.’
He glanced around her room, taking in the view of Edinburgh, the old sandstone city a contrast to the sleek lines of her office, with its modern glass-and-steel furniture. There were photographs everywhere – framed ones on her desk, snapshots pinned to her board, and some affixed to the walls that separated her office from the ones beside her. He looked more closely at them. Some showed Lucy standing with some other girls and an older man – her family, maybe – while others had her grinning in cities and tourist sites across the world. Some he recognised – Machu Picchu, the Taj Mahal, Sydney Harbour Bridge – while others he couldn’t place at all.
‘Do you travel a lot?’ he asked, still taking the photographs in. She looked so different in them – out of her sharp suits, with her hair flowing in the breeze. There was a easiness to her that he hadn’t seen whenever they’d met. She was relaxed and clearly enjoying herself.
‘Sometimes,’ she said, pulling a water bottle and two glasses from the table on the side. ‘Not as much as I’d like any more. It was easier when I was training – I had more time and I could get student discounts too. Nowadays getting away takes a bit more planning.’
He picked up a photograph of her standing at the top of a tall building, Manhattan laid out in a chequerboard pattern behind her. ‘The Top of the Rock,’ he murmured, still looking at it.
‘That’s right. I preferred it to the Empire State Building. It felt less touristy, which I know sounds stupid since it’s a tourist attraction and all. But it had this buzz to it that I liked.’
‘I prefer it too,’ he agreed, smiling at her. A thousand questions came into his mind – about what she’d seen, where she’d eaten. It was strange to imagine her in his city, maybe haunting the same locations he did. They could have passed each other in the street and he wouldn’t have known. ‘What’s your favourite place to visit?’ he asked her, wanting to know more.
‘I loved New York, of course,’ she said. ‘But Sydney was great, too. And then there’s all the European cities – full of history and culture. Lisbon’s gorgeous, and Barcelona is full of life.’
‘How about Paris?’ he asked her. ‘Do you like it there?’
Her cheeks flushed. ‘Would you believe I’ve never been? I always mean to, but it hasn’t happened. It’s so close that I always think I’ll go there next time, but then something else crops up.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘You’re going to tell me you’ve been there, aren’t you, and put me to shame?’ She passed him a glass of water, their fingers touching as he took it. A tiny pulse of electricity – static from the floor – passed between them.
She looked as shocked as he felt.
‘It’s one of my favourite places,’ he admitted, smiling at the red on her cheeks. ‘I can’t believe you haven’t been. Has your boyfriend never taken you?’
‘What boyfriend?’
As soon as the last syllable escaped her lips a look of horror came over her face. She glanced at him for a moment, then looked away almost immediately. But it was long enough for him to see the truth in her eyes.
She’d been lying about having a boyfriend.
There was silence in the room, apart from her soft breathing and the thrum of his pulse in his ears. He lifted the glass to his lips, moistening them, as he tried to find the right thing to say. But there was nothing that he could think of to end the awkward moment, to take that look from her face.
Nothing apart from changing the subject completely, that was.
‘Shall we talk about tomorrow’s meeting?’ he asked her. ‘I know we don’t have much time, and I wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.’
Her shoulders relaxed, the faintest of smiles crossing her lips. ‘Yes, let’s do that,’ she said, gesturing for him to sit down at the table. ‘I’ll just get the files out and we can make a start.’
Lucy rarely drank on a week night, and almost never more than one glass, and yet that evening she found herself pouring out a second, filling the generous goblet two-thirds of the way. She twisted the lid back on and put the bottle back in the fridge – which was where it would stay for another day – and then sat down on the sofa, lifting the glass to her lips.
As she swallowed the cool Sauvignon, she closed her eyes, savouring the crisp bouquet. Even though it was chilled, the alcohol immediately warmed her stomach, relaxing her in a way she hadn’t felt for days.
What a bloody mess, and it was all of her own making. Though Lachlan hadn’t mentioned her boyfriend – or lack of one – at all for the rest of the day, a couple of times she’d caught him looking at her, a question in his eyes. He didn’t have to verbalise it either, she knew exactly what he was thinking. Why the hell had she lied about something so stupid?
It was a question she kept asking herself, too. She’d just made herself look completely foolish in front of a client, and though he’d been kind enough to change the subject, he couldn’t help but think less of her for that.
That hurt, because his opinion of her mattered.
It was only eight o’clock, although it seemed much later, maybe it was the exhaustion kicking in. She’d be on better form tomorrow. She’d put this awful day behind her, along with her imaginary boyfriend and any stupid attraction she felt towards him whenever he walked into the room.
She had another chance to prove how good a professional she was. And this time, she wouldn’t ruin it.
Taking another mouthful of wine, she pulled her laptop towards her. The screen automatically flickered to life.
She moved the cursor until it was flickering over her inbox, but then diverted it to her internet explorer, bringing up the search box. Her fingers hovered above the keys, hesitating at what she was planning to do. Because it was wrong and it was unprofessional and it proved she was losing the battle.
She drained her wine glass. What the hell, she’d be professional tomorrow.
Before she could think about it twice, she typed Lachlan’s name into the little grey box, then pressed enter with her finger. Almost immediately the screen filled with results, and a line of little square images appeared, depicting Lachlan in different poses. In some he was alone, in others with a partner. She ignored them, clicking on the first article instead. It immediately took her to Business Buzz, a financial news website with an irreverent edge.
A photograph of Lachlan loaded up. He was wearing a dark business suit, a striped tie cutting through his white shirt. He was leaning on his desk – well, she assumed it was his desk – looking as relaxed as ever. Did nothing faze him? She scrolled down to the article, her eyes quickly scanning the words, looking for something – anything – that gave her some insight.
Thirty-four-year-old Lachlan MacLeish may come from good stock – his father owned the Fiesta Cruise Line, after all – but this up-and-coming entrepreneur is fast becoming a businessman to be reckoned with, and all in his own right. His company, MacLeish Hold
ings, was set up in 2007, possibly the worst time to start a business in recent economic history. But rather than let the subprime collapse slow him down, MacLeish saw an opportunity, and threw himself right in.
‘I learned from my father that the best time to start anything is right now. If you wait for the stars to align, and for everything to be just perfect, you’ll be waiting for ever.’
A self-confessed workaholic, MacLeish has built his business up from nothing to a company employing over 2000 people in the space of ten years. But it’s not the size of his staff that’s impressive, it’s his portfolio that covers everything from hotels in Miami to steel mines in the Midwest. If it’s profitable, MacLeish wants in on it.
Growing up in a poorer part of Miami was, says MacLeish, the best sort of education he could have hoped for. ‘It was on the streets that I learned how to fight for what I wanted. I also learned that winning isn’t the same as not losing. You have to keep going until there’s no contender left.’
A small quote aside, MacLeish is less forthcoming about his relationship with his father. Duncan MacLeish Snr. was a notorious figure in the Miami business scene. Known locally as the Scottish Onassis, he built his own business up from scratch, creating a fleet of cruise ships from one broken-down boat.
His son was remarkably quiet on the subject of his relationship with this side of the family. ‘It’s a private matter,’ was all he said when asked about whether he attended his father’s funeral, and if they were on good terms when he died. Nevertheless, this is one businessman you should look out for. With fingers in a whole lot of American – and international – pies, Lachlan MacLeish isn’t going anywhere, apart from right on up our highest earner list.
She moved the mouse, fully intending to click on the next article, but then stopped herself.
Enough was enough.
She closed the browser, and pushed on the lid to close down her laptop. She felt dirty, as though she’d been browsing through porn rather than reading what turned out to be a fairly innocuous article.
She was better than this. She was a professional through and through. She might have made an idiot of herself this morning, but she would make damn sure she didn’t do it again.
She was Lucy Millicent Shakespeare. She ate American businessmen for breakfast.
12
The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers
– Henry VI part II
It was as if her admission yesterday morning hadn’t happened at all. As though she hadn’t shown him a tiny chink in her armour, revealing her soft skin beneath. He looked at her from the corner of his eye as they were waiting in the reception area, taking in the black fitted skirt and jacket, the high-necked blouse, and those shoes that should have looked sensible, yet made her legs look amazing. Not that he was looking.
She looked calm, collected and completely unaffected. Not to mention as attractive as hell. Even more attractive now he knew she didn’t have a boyfriend after all.
She was still his attorney, though. He should remember that.
‘Mr MacLeish, Miss Shakespeare? They’re ready for you now. Please take the lift to the top floor, and you’ll be escorted to the meeting room.’ The receptionist smiled up at them.
Without waiting for him, Lucy walked over to the lifts and pushed the button. By the time Lachlan arrived the doors were opening.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked her.
‘I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?’ She looked serene. ‘I’m used to meetings like this. They’re nothing to be afraid of.’
The lift started moving, and Lucy reached out for the handrail that circled the inside of the cabin. Automatically he reached out to steady her, his hand brushing against her waist. She looked up, surprised.
And he immediately pulled it back again.
‘Are you ready for this?’ she asked him. ‘It’s a lot more personal to you than it is to me.’
‘I’m fine, Lucy. In fact, I’m great.’
‘So I’ll do most of the talking, as we agreed,’ she said, as the floor numbers ticked over. ‘Feel free to add detail when you need to, but I want you to remain in the background as much as you can.’
‘I’m good with that.’
‘Let’s not leave them in any doubt we’re going to fight this. Show no weakness.’ This time she smiled.
‘That’s what I like to hear.’ He grinned back.
They came to a halt and the metal doors slid open, revealing a man standing on the other side. Almost immediately Lucy walked out, and offered her hand. ‘Sinclair, it’s good to see you again.’
As soon as Lachlan stepped out, she introduced them. ‘Sinclair, this is my client, Lachlan MacLeish. Lachlan, this is Sinclair Dewey, representing your brother.’
‘Half-brother,’ Lachlan murmured.
That earned him an eyebrow raise from Lucy.
‘Can I offer either of you a drink?’ Sinclair asked them, as he led Lucy and Lachlan through a pair of double doors embossed with Dewey and Clarke, Solicitors on them. They followed him down the corridor into a large, wood-panelled boardroom at the far end.
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ Lucy replied. Lachlan shook his head in response, too.
On one side of the room were two large screens. One of them displayed Duncan MacLeish Jr., and on the other was the boardroom they were standing in, showing all three of them in their shining glory. He’d sent his apologies for not being there in person, but Lachlan couldn’t pretend to be sorry. Having his brother thousands of miles away, his image on a flat screen put Lachlan immediately at an advantage. And that was exactly the way he liked it.
‘Please sit down,’ Sinclair said, pointing at the chairs opposite him. A man in his late fifties, he was well known in Edinburgh circles for only representing the richest people in the city. He turned to the screen. ‘Duncan, can you hear us?’
‘Yes, I can hear you.’
Lachlan stared at his brother for a moment, but Duncan was too busy looking at his phone to notice him.
‘Well, let’s start by saying that this meeting is without prejudice, as we agreed. And on behalf of your brother, I’d like to thank you for coming today, Mr MacLeish.’
Lachlan nodded, but said nothing. He glanced at Lucy from the corner of his eye. Her face betrayed nothing.
‘As you know, we’re here to discuss the claim you both have over Glencarraig Lodge.’
‘And the title,’ Duncan added, his voice loud through the speakers.
‘It was my impression I’m the only one who has a claim,’ Lachlan said mildly. ‘I’m the one named in my father’s will, after all. And I’m his eldest son.’
‘Not a legitimate one, though,’ Sinclair pointed out. ‘And my client believes he has a fair claim on the land and the title.’
Lucy shuffled her papers, and all attention moved to her. Lachlan hid a smile. Point well made, he’d shut up now.
‘Perhaps you can start by explaining why your client wishes to claim ownership of the land and title,’ Lucy said, looking first at Sinclair and then at Duncan. ‘As far as we know, he’s shown no interest in it for years.’
‘Because it’s mine,’ Duncan said. ‘I’m the eldest legitimate son, I was brought up to be heir. Ask anybody, they’d tell you it’s true.’
Lucy looked at the man on the screen. ‘When did you last visit the estate, Mr MacLeish?’
‘What?’ Duncan frowned. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Miss Shakespeare, my client’s claim on the estate has nothing to do with when he last visited,’ Sinclair pointed out.
‘I’m simply trying to work out his connection to it, and why he wants it so much,’ Lucy replied, her face completely relaxed. ‘Because if he has no connection then he really has no reason to stake a claim.’ She gave a little laugh, though Lachlan could tell it was fake. ‘I think we can all agree that there’s no way my client coerced his estranged father to leave it to him, and I’d be extremely surprised if your client believe
s their father wasn’t of sound mind when he made his will. So that means you need to demonstrate a strong and continued link to the Glencarraig estate and title in order to make a case.’
Duncan leaned forward, until his face was only inches from the screen. ‘I went there all the time when I was a kid.’
Lucy nodded. ‘So the last time you went there was at least sixteen years ago?’ she asked. ‘Can you tell me why you haven’t been there since?’
‘No he can’t.’ Sinclair put his hand up. ‘This isn’t a court of law, Lucy,’ he reminded her. ‘We’re simply trying to avoid litigation, because it’s not in anybody’s best interests.’ He nodded at Lachlan.
Lucy looked down at the papers Lachlan had given her. ‘Maybe I can ask another question instead?’ she suggested. ‘Mr MacLeish – Duncan – have you ever attended a MacLeish clan gathering?’