by Lynn Galli
“Hi, baby,” Dallas cooed from beside me, taking the two steps down into the showroom and practically vaulting into his arms. Their engagement was still a new thing. I didn’t expect her to stop gushing any time soon.
“There’s my babe.” His arms came around her and several seconds of slurpy kisses could be heard, even from across the room and even when I was humming a metal rock tune to myself. Did I mention I’m single? As such, I have an inborn right to be sickened by the sight of a couple in love.
I’d almost forgotten about the woman with the glorious hair until she cleared her throat, pulling her cousin’s attention back so introductions could be made. Dallas didn’t wait for Colin. She leaned down and swept the woman into a hug, saying how nice it was to meet her. I had to hand it to Dallas. As perturbed as she might be that Colin was ruining her picture perfect wedding with his nontraditional choice of best person, she wouldn’t let that get in the way of welcoming his favorite cousin. She must already be in wedding bliss mode.
I allowed one last negative thought about weddings in general before sucking it up and descending the stairs to join the happy group in their joyous festivity planning. As they turned to face me, the smile I’d almost convinced myself was real slid off my face. Cornflower blue eyes pinned me to my spot. Not even that fabulous hair could detract my attention from those colorful peepers. These should be the eyes that Dallas wanted. That anyone who had eyes should want. Forget the apple blossom cheeks, shapely jaw, elegant neck, and full lips, her eyes had the kind of color intensity that absolutely no one could turn away from.
Even as much as I wanted to.
“Ainsley Baird, meet our former executive producer, Skye MacKinnon,” Colin introduced us, and those amazing blue eyes went from welcoming to suspicious in a flash.
“Still living, I see,” Ainsley said in a smooth accent that was as attractive as her eyes and hair and face and lips. GAH! That accent! Soft and musical, gentle with consonants and vowels stretched almost to breaking. I hated that accent. Hated it because I loved it so much.
“Still bitchy, I see.” Okay, so maybe my reply was bitchy, too, but I didn’t need the attitude on the back of the astonishing news that I’d be participating—nay, the MOH—in a church wedding that would be photographed.
We both turned to our respective best friends. She, with a litany of words dipped heavily in Scottish brogue, and I, with seething facial expressions that told them we were in no way going through with this.
“Catch me up here.” Nice guy Colin looked first to bitchy, then to giddy, then to me.
Dallas, her elation filtering her ability to read my irritation, shrugged at him, then looked at me for an explanation. I turned away then back just to make sure Ainsley wasn’t a figment of my anticipated wedding horror. But no. She was real and here again, somehow, when she was supposed to be in Scotland, never darkening my continent again. I thought we’d agreed to that. The one and only thing we seemed to agree on.
“You didn’t tell me you knew her,” Ainsley censured her cousin, but it sounded more like, “Ya dinnae tell me ya knew’r.”
And damn if that accent didn’t make me want to kiss her as much as it always had. As much as I didn’t want to and should be sickened by the very idea.
Two
Colin looked back and forth between us. “The better question is, how do you know her?”
“She was a squatter in my last apartment at Columbia.”
A dismissive noise flew from my mouth. “It’s called subletting.”
“From a roommate I’d chosen and liked.” Her thumb jerked in my direction. “This one didn’t even pay as much as we did.”
“Once again I’ll say that was not my fault nor my problem. Your roommate needed someone to take her spot. She paid the balance, so you had nothing to complain about.”
“Except for the constant stream of people in and out of the place.”
“Study groups,” I interpreted for Dallas.
“And the late night viewing parties,” she continued on.
“Letterman,” I justified.
“And never washing the dishes in the sink.”
“Not my dishes, and I told you that every single day,” I shot back. “Just because the roommates used my dishes and left them in the sink didn’t mean I made the mess.”
“She didn’t let me use her dishes,” she continued to talk to her cousin rather than direct her antagonistic comments at me. We’d both employed this technique with our other two roommates when we shared a tiny apartment near the Columbia University campus. Sometimes it was the only way we communicated with each other.
“One time,” I stressed the words. “I said if she was cooking haggis, she better damn well clean my pots twice so there’s no lingering smell. It was bad enough it clung to the kitchen. I didn’t want it making my mac and cheese smell like tripe.”
She turned blazing eyes to me. “Unrefined American palate.”
Dallas shot an elbow into my side as much to shut me up as to give me a knowing look. Not the right kind of knowing look. She wasn’t saying she understood my complete aversion to this woman. No, she was saying she thought this woman might be good for me. She did this a lot. If the person was a feisty female without a ring on her finger—did she have a ring? Wait. Screw that, who cared if she had a ring?—then Dallas thought she might be for me. She wasn’t like most straight women who thought the one and only other lesbian she knew would be perfect for her lesbian best friend. No, Dallas thought any woman who showed spark or gave me guff or caught my attention for more than five minutes would do. She didn’t care about the woman’s sexuality. She only cared if the woman could get me worked up because Dallas was convinced that was the only type of person who could put an end to my cynical outlook on love.
“Well, this is unexpected.” Colin used his best anchorman voice.
“Can’t wait to hear the whole story,” Dallas said to me then turned to Colin. “And what a cute accent. Baby, you didn’t tell me you had family from Ireland.”
“Scotland,” I corrected then immediately wanted to bite my tongue off. Ainsley didn’t need to know I remembered where she was from, like maybe I’d thought about her after moving out of that apartment years ago.
“Right, England.” Dallas smiled brightly.
“Scotland,” I repeated because apparently I couldn’t clamp my mouth shut.
“It’s all the same, right?”
“No. Scottish or British, not English or Irish.”
Dallas rolled her eyes at me. She was smart, especially about the things she learned for news stories, but if she hadn’t covered it, she didn’t concern herself with it. “I’m not here for a geography lesson.”
“Of course not, why would an American want a geography lesson?” Ainsley snarked, and damn me, I wanted to laugh.
Dallas wasn’t fazed by Ainsley’s snark having gotten used to mine over the years. “Are you from Edinburgh?” She smirked. “See, I know where Scotland is.”
Ainsley’s eyes widened and a smile tugged at her lips. “Glasgow originally, but I work in Edinburgh now.”
“Does that make you a Glasgower?”
“Glaswegian,” Ainsley told her.
“Glas-what now?”
“Glaswegian,” I repeated.
“Ooh, like Norwegian.”
“Except not,” the snarky Scot mumbled again.
She really hadn’t changed at all, not in the fourteen years since I’d packed my rolling suitcase and backpack—all of my worldly possessions—and left the tiny NYC apartment for my first job in broadcast journalism. She’d rolled her luggage out right behind me on her way to the U.K. where she would put her Ivy League bachelor’s degree to work at Cambridge for the first of two post graduate degrees. I never thought I’d see her again. Didn’t expect to see her again, and based on the cool reception I was getting, didn’t want to see her again.
“Let’s all remember why we’re here.” Colin put on his accommodating hat. With
Dallas as a girlfriend, he’d learned to let cooler heads prevail whenever possible.
“Yes, let’s. We’ve got a wedding to plan in three and a half weeks.” Dallas hopped in place. Literally hopped. Because of a wedding. I should really start carrying a bucket around with me. I had a hunch I’d be getting queasy often.
Her words registered and the sound of displeasure that leapt from my mouth this time wasn’t remotely muffled, and I wasn’t the only one making it. Ainsley’s shocked face and voice matched mine.
“I was going to tell you.” Dallas gave me a guilty look. “My church had a cancellation at the end of the month. We had to take it, otherwise I’d have to wait more than a year to marry my love muffin.”
I made gagging sounds as I usually did when she referred to Colin as various food products. “How can you pull a wedding together in three and a half weeks?”
“It’s only Monday, so that’s nearly four weeks,” Colin clarified.
“Well, that makes all the difference.” Ainsley’s sarcasm hadn’t changed either. “Have you gone mad? You can’t hope to get all the family over in time, can you?”
“I’m chartering a plane.” He looked proud of himself.
“But all the planning. There’s a reason people set wedding dates a year after they get engaged. Can’t you just enjoy that for a time?” As much as I agreed with her logic, it sounded like she was discouraging him in general. On principle I couldn’t just outright agree with her, even if it would keep me out of a wedding in a church with pictures.
“We’re getting married in four weeks, cuz. With your help and Skye’s, that is. We can’t do it without you both.”
“Starting with the right tux for you, sexy man.” Dallas slid her arms around Colin’s waist.
“Ainsley and I were just talking about a kilt.”
Dallas stepped back, aghast. “Nuh-uh, no way.”
“What’s wrong with a kilt?” Ainsley’s cornflower blue eyes blazed with suspicion that she usually reserved for me.
“He’s going to look dapper and classy in a timeless designer tux, not like he’s in some costume.”
“I’ll have you know that kilts are the very definition of timeless.”
Dallas chose to ignore her point. “Colin, you’re wearing pants.”
He didn’t take kindly to orders. I should know. I used to be his executive producer. His jaw set, and I knew we’d be in for the first of many arguments over wedding plans. My eyes shifted to Ainsley. Her expression told me she realized the same.
God that hair. Wild and bushy curls that looked like it might hide a nesting doll version of other hairdos. It had gotten wilder and frizzier and curlier and longer since college where she almost always kept it in a braid. And those freckles. She was the only person I knew who had as many as I did, and she was a blonde not a redhead like me.
“I’ll wear what I want, sweetheart.”
“Honey,” Dallas said, her voice dripping with influence. “I’ve been visualizing my perfect wedding for twenty years. It does not include a man in a skirt.”
“Ya don’t know what you’re missing, lass.” Ainsley’s accent always got heavier when she spoke of Scotland or when she’d just gotten back from visiting home.
“You’re just in,” I told her because I was thinking it and because I wanted to avoid the sure blowup Dallas and Colin were about to have over a piece of clothing that Colin had probably never worn before and Dallas shouldn’t care if he wanted to.
Blue eyes pinged to mine. “Did he tell you?”
“Your consonants are especially soft. After a week, you stop rounding every word.” Then it would go from captivating to charming. Or in Scottish speak: bloody charming, which rankled the hell out of me.
“Aye, I remember. It lacks the flat or sharp something or other. It provided endless fascination for you Americans.” Her eyes twinkled with challenge.
“I remember something about dual citizenship, which makes you just as American as all of us.” I learned this little tidbit when our roommate Gwen stumbled upon a U.S. passport. Ainsley was forced to admit to her stateside birth due to her father’s short-term job over here at the time. It made her an automatic U.S. and British citizen. The tick in her jaw now said how much she didn’t appreciate me remembering this about her.
“She’s got your number, cuz.” Colin smiled the smile I’d always thought seemed familiar, but until today, I never recognized it. Had they shared a last name, I might have made the connection sooner. Without that clue, I was left to wonder why his smile triggered something in my brain. Irritation and confusion, mostly, but a recollection that I couldn’t pinpoint until I saw them standing side by side here. The cousins shared dazzling smiles. Annoying twerps.
“Skye should have been a psychologist,” Dallas inserted.
That seemed to diffuse the situation, even if it wasn’t true. At least we could get through this night. Then I’d only have to see Ainsley a couple times before the rehearsal and wedding.
Three
The weekly pitch meeting usually developed more ideas than we could use in a month, much less a week. Today’s was no exception. As the highest ranking exec at the table, it was my role to rein everyone in. My presence was often enough to put a stop to fanciful ideas that cost a mint to accomplish. Not always, as was the case with our highest rated show, the one co-anchored by my best friend. They rarely followed the rules.
“I think it’s a great idea.” Floyd gave his usual comment at these meetings. Having taken over my job as Dallas’s executive producer, he didn’t so much lead the show as he agreed with anything his on-air talent said.
My eyes shot to the news producer’s face. With one look, Van knew I wanted this shut down. We’d break the budget chasing this story.
“Who’s the source?” Van asked Floyd, who promptly turned to Colin to answer.
“He’s calling himself the chief of staff, but he’s the general’s right hand man.”
“And he thinks he can get this interview?” Van asked Colin this time.
“That’s what he says.”
“Assurances?”
“None.” Colin admitted.
“But we’ve got leads with the opposition,” Dallas broke in.
Colin shot her a proud smile. This had been Dallas’s show originally. She’d worked her way up from segments to features reporting on the nightly news until she got the weekend anchor desk position. From there she was chosen as the original co-anchor for this newsmagazine show and paired with an over sixty, conservative, middle America mouthpiece. That he didn’t mesh with a young and vibrant woman who better represented the up and coming set of news personalities wasn’t a surprise. I’d made that point in this very meeting years ago when I was chosen as exec producer. Four years of lagging ratings finally made them take my advice, and Colin was added after a year of weekly tryouts with numerous hosts. On-air, they had a ‘40s rom-com Hollywood magic. Off air, they’d torn into each other about the littlest things.
I tried playing referee until I got promoted past Van’s job and into the director of news content position. At first I felt bad that I was promoted over Van, but he’d been turning down the position for years. Having been in it for six months, I could see why. It was a lot more administration than any journalistically minded manager should want. With my double graduate degrees in business and journalism it suited me very well, even if it was boring me to tears right now.
Van looked at me before saying, “That won’t be enough. We’ve got to have the general or we don’t go.”
“That’s it for the week.” I dismissed the group before yet another story idea could be floated.
“Got anything planned tonight?” Van asked when he saw it was after five already. He spent most nights on his boat fishing with his grandkids and was forever issuing invitations to join them. He worried that I dedicated too much of my life to this job, one of the reasons he never took it.
“Dallas has something going for the wedding and I�
��ve got no choice.”
“She’ll be the death of us all. Mark my words.” Van winked and escaped to his office before one of the reporters could tie him up in the hallways.
My office was on another floor, but I wandered through the newsroom on my way. I missed the day-to-day excitement of coming up with stories and chasing leads with an excellent team.
A cluster of that very team stood around one of the assistant producer desks, laughing and chatting. I wondered if I romanticized my reign as EP when time wasting was kept to a minimum. If I’d witnessed a scene like this, I would have made sure everyone knew I was on the floor.
“You’re pulling my leg,” Floyd, the one who should be putting all these people back to work, said from inside the group.
Then I heard that accented voice again. I hated that it sent a shiver up my spine. Something about the Scottish lilt made it sound like the words were cherished by the speaker before being spoken. It wasn’t the same with a standard British accent. A Londoner could read the most romantic poem ever written and it wouldn’t affect me more than an American doing the same. Give the poem to a Scot and I’d tremble like a Chihuahua. I admit that was one of the problems I’d always had with Ainsley. As irritating as she was, her accent and her intelligence always drew me in. Her hair and eyes and looks didn’t help either, but I wasn’t twenty-one anymore. She was on my professional home court. What possible purpose other than nefarious reasons could she have for being here? I skirted past the group, hoping to remain unseen.
“There’s no way our big boss, the woman who rules this room by tightening a vise every few weeks actually socialized with more than one person,” Floyd said, and I pulled up short. I wasn’t the big boss, there were two levels above me, but to these people, I probably was. What the hell was Ainsley doing running her mouth like this?
“Better than being a hermit,” I spoke up and the group broke into a two semicircles to get a view of both Ainsley and me.
Her smile faltered momentarily before shining brightly again. She’d been having some fun at my expense in my workplace. Antagonizing each other was how we existed, almost from the second we met, but we didn’t go out of our way to make one another look bad in front of anyone but our roommates.