His stomach fell. The weight of the pot in his palm, coupled with the new design—made everything come together for him.
“It’s to help with your presentation,” Rhiannon said. “The aesthetics are important, too, don’t you think?”
“It’s a brilliant idea.” Kristin turned to Malcolm. “Read the labels. The bottom one says, ‘Born in Vermont, with love.’”
Yes, he agreed it was eye-catching and beautiful. It also showcased the product as the high-end, luxury item that shockingly, he hadn’t seen until now.
And just like that, visually seeing the product as it was—a dainty, high-end specialty purchase—Malcolm understood exactly what had been bothering him about the proposal; the problem that was making everything not work.
Distribution. Sage was a company that sold to low-priced, big-box markets all over Europe and, increasingly, North America. That’s what they did, their core business. But even big-box stores were looking for organic, all-green lines these days. Hence, the acquisition of Aura Botanicals.
But Aura had been able to integrate well with Sage because Aura was packaged in inexpensive plastic bottles. Even though the ingredients were organic, they were relatively low-cost organic. In other words, they weren’t too highly priced for the big-box-store shoppers.
Born in Vermont, on the other hand, wasn’t meant for this market at all. High-end, organic-food grocery stores, new-age healing shops, New England–based gift shops and the internet—that’s where this specialty line fit best.
Sage isn’t equipped to handle this type of product line.
How could he have been so blind? He’d made a basic, elementary, strategic-marketing mistake. One that someone like him—highly trained and experienced—shouldn’t have made. This stuff was like breathing to him.
And yet, Malcolm had jumped right into the details—into creating and filling spreadsheets with numbers—without first evaluating the proposal for what it really was. He’d been blinded by his feelings for Kristin, perhaps, even by her burgeoning friendship with his sister.
“I’ve been using this hand cream all week,” Rhiannon remarked. “I’m always scrubbing my hands with harsh detergents to get the oil paint off, so I’m fussy about what I use. This product is truly remarkable.” She laughed, glancing at Malcolm. “I sound like a walking advertisement, don’t I?”
“Aye, you do,” Malcolm muttered.
“That’s how Laura always talked,” Kristin said, agreeing with Rhiannon. “You understand her vision completely.”
Rhiannon beamed.
Malcolm said nothing.
What the hell was he going to do?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
OVERNIGHT, MALCOLM’S MOTHER and her crew had transformed the great hall of the castle into a reception area to rival any Highland wedding. The Ceilidh band arrived and set up their staging. The caterers unloaded their truck. The castle changed from a place of quiet serenity to a raucous, busy house party.
That afternoon, Malcolm dressed in his kilt, complete with sporran, coat, waistcoat, flashes and ceremonial dagger. He went downstairs and waited for his uncle on a cold, hard bench, sitting in the dining room by the unlit fireplace while his uncle settled in upstairs, changing into his own family kilt.
As Malcolm had expected, his uncle was late. He’d entered with his bodyguard, had kissed his sister—Malcolm’s mother—and could be counted upon to dance one reel, partnering with the bride, of course.
Then he would leave. Such was life with his elusive, demanding uncle.
But before he left, his uncle would likely stop by and visit Rhiannon in her studio. Malcolm was one of the few people who knew that John Sage kept just one piece of artwork in his private office at Sage Family Products, and that artwork was painted by Malcolm’s sister.
She was the only person in their family that his uncle seemed to honestly keep a soft spot for. Maybe it was guilt over not being able to rescue her earlier—leaving her with those monsters for eleven days, all those years ago. Malcolm really wasn’t sure; they’d never discussed it, and Malcolm wasn’t inclined to now. He didn’t see where it would help any of them. He only knew that if he let himself get angry with his uncle—if he let himself fall back on old habits and think about the past—then there was a good chance he would make it worse for his sister.
Nothing to do but go forward. Malcolm leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
In the great hall, the Highland band tuned their instruments. At any moment the music and the dancing would start. Malcolm had asked Kristin to wait for him there; that he would join her when he was finished dressing.
He’d needed to think before their meeting. He hadn’t completely discussed strategy with her, but in his mind, he’d chosen which direction to take. He’d only had two choices, really.
He could present the recommendation that he would have reached two weeks ago, before Kristin had ever set foot in Edinburgh. This was the safe conclusion; the practical answer.
Or, he could advise that Sage Family Products invest in keeping the Vermont factory open, albeit with a limited crew.
As a business decision for Sage Family Products, it was risky.
It was also the option that Malcolm had finally chosen to push.
He stood and stretched his arms, pacing. Today was a historic day for him. He was choosing his own selfish interests over a practical business interest.
His uncle would realize this immediately. Malcolm could see the resulting train wreck of a discussion coming from half a mile away.
His uncle would say no, of course, because his uncle always chose the prudent path. This decision would stand. Malcolm was pretty sure he would lose Kristin over it, and that would be that. Life would just have to go on, the same way that life had gone on after the police had stormed that warehouse and untied him and rescued his sister all those years ago.
Malcolm braced his palms over his family’s stone mantelpiece. Stared into the flames of the now licking fire.
He absolutely did not want to lose Kristin. He loved her with an all-consuming passion, this sunny, free-spirited woman. She was the one complement to his serious rock of a persona, and he had fallen in love completely with her, down to his soul. And he didn’t see that there was a way of returning from it. He didn’t want to return from it; his constant sense of vigilance and emphasis on safety had put him in a prison of his own making that he didn’t want to be in anymore. He saw no way out of it except to blow up that prison and set himself free.
The first step in this process seemed to be blowing up his uncle’s solid opinion of Malcolm as a levelheaded man of business.
So be it.
The music had stopped within the great room. A general hush seemed to fall over the assembled wedding guests. Malcolm adjusted his belt and sporran, then gathered up the detailed report he and Kristin had written together, and prepared to face the consequences of his decision.
Inside the great room, Malcolm waited on the fringes, joining with his cousins and relatives in turning his attention to the central staircase. His uncle stood at the top, resplendently outfitted in his mother’s Stewart tartan, which most of Malcolm’s male cousins wore, as well. Malcolm wore his father’s tartan; his one contrarian move. Until now.
Kristy. Malcolm clenched his jaw. He purposely was avoiding searching her out in the crowd. He stood still, his hand involuntarily gripped into a fist as his uncle made his slow, grand entrance down the stairway. The assembled party clapped and cheered, as they always did for his uncle—the man whose signature graced the monthly checks deposited into his family’s trust fund accounts.
Finally, the applause died down, and the fiddles started up again. Malcolm remained where he was, waiting, while his uncle partnered with Cousin Gerry’s new wife to head up the reel.
He glanced at his watch. The reel would
last approximately four minutes. Then, his uncle would call him in to the sitting room, his impromptu study, and that meeting would likely last approximately four minutes, as well.
The decision would be made quickly: yes or no. Go or no go. Eat or starve, for many members of Kristin’s community. Love or lose, for Malcolm and Kristy.
Feeling resigned, he searched for Kristin’s face in the crowded great hall. She stood apart, gazing intently at him, also. Life with her was never predictable, except maybe, that the sight of her always made him smile.
He winked, just to send her reassurance. She looked beautiful. She wore the silky rose-colored top and her short black skirt. Her blond hair was up and off her face, giving her an air of sophistication that was new to him. He couldn’t wait to dance with her. Hell, he couldn’t wait just to touch her again.
Another hush fell over the great hall. Malcolm followed everyone’s gazes.
Rhiannon descended the staircase. His sister had on a simple black dress with the MacDowall tartan—the same plaid Malcolm wore—draped around one shoulder. Her head held high.
She walked directly to Kristin, then took her hand and led Kristin to meet John Sage in the middle of the room, before everyone.
Malcolm leaped into action. He strode to Kristin’s side.
“Uncle, this is Kristin Hart—I believe you’ve already met her, albeit briefly,” Rhiannon was saying to their uncle. “Kristin has been staying with us this week. She’s been a great friend to Malcolm and me.” She smiled at Kristin. “Uncle, I hope you will listen carefully to the details of her company, Born in Vermont. This is one of her products.” Rhiannon passed the jar of hand cream to John Sage. “I’m very fond of it. It’s a therapeutic, aromatherapy hand cream. I’ve been using it after I paint. As you can see, I like it so much I designed the labels for it.”
Uncle John gazed at Rhiannon’s handiwork. “As always, my dear, it’s exquisite.” He moved to return the jar to Rhiannon.
“No, that’s a gift for you, Uncle.” Rhiannon kissed his cheek and left the jar in his outstretched hand.
Then, with dignity, Rhiannon kissed both Kristin and Malcolm on their cheeks, as well. She headed back up the staircase to her bedroom suite.
Malcolm knew what that had cost Rhiannon, as did most everyone else in that room. He watched his sister with a lump in his throat. She cared about Kristin. She cared about him, too, but there was nothing more he could do for her, other than what he had planned.
The lull in the conversation ended. Talking commenced. The music restarted.
Uncle John turned politely to Kristin. “It’s nice to meet you again.”
“I’m pleased to meet you as Malcolm’s uncle,” Kristin replied. “You’re important to him, and as such, you’re important to me.”
His uncle laughed. Malcolm was willing to bet that was the first time anyone had ever called the great John Sage, “Malcolm’s uncle.”
“So,” his uncle asked Kristin, “how long are you in Scotland for?”
“I have a plane ticket home reserved for next week.”
“Wonderful,” he said. “Well, if I don’t see you before then, Kristin, good luck with your endeavors and have a safe journey home.” Then, to Malcolm, he murmured, “After I meet with your cousin Gerry, you and I will talk.”
* * *
KRISTIN WATCHED THE emotion flicker over Malcolm’s face. For the past day, her heart had continually gone out to him. She appreciated how difficult it was for him to present this report to his uncle. She had decided to support Malcolm as best she could, to give him the space he needed and to allow for his occasional bouts of brooding. To just let him be himself, as Malcolm let her be herself.
But it was the introduction by Rhiannon which she didn’t understand the significance of. His uncle already knew who Kristin was. Why had Malcolm seemed so shocked by the encounter?
“What just happened?” she asked him quietly.
“Rhiannon has never come downstairs while the cousins are here,” he murmured. “This was the first time.”
“She did that for you, didn’t she?”
“Actually,” he said, turning to her, his gaze softening, “she did it for us.”
Kristin swallowed. Honestly, she didn’t know what she was feeling about what Malcolm had just said. Were they a permanent couple? Did she want them to be? She wasn’t sure about that. All she knew was that she’d hated that Malcolm had been upset—she wanted him to be happy. She wanted only good things for him.
Without him knowing it, she’d been observing him sit on the bench in the dining room, looking as if he was getting ready to line up for a firing squad. Kristin suspected quite strongly that he planned to take a hit for her. That he hadn’t been completely truthful about what he was going to recommend to his uncle, or what the ramifications might be for him. She’d asked, but Malcolm hadn’t shown her his final numbers.
Yes, of course, those spreadsheets concerned her. But more than that, she realized she cared enough about him to appreciate that he was starting to matter more to her than getting the green light for Born in Vermont did.
“May I please see the final numbers?” she asked again, indicating the bound report in his hand.
He paused.
“I won’t hurt you, Malcolm,” she said. “Not ever. Please, show them to me.”
His mouth twisted, but he passed the report to her. She flipped to the pages that, by now, she knew so well.
The final numbers he’d inserted were quite optimistic. Likely, with little basis in reality.
She closed the report. “This is what you’re giving him?”
“I already gave it to him,” Malcolm answered. “I left a copy in his dressing room.”
He had? She shook her head. “No matter what he decides, I’ll always appreciate what you and Rhiannon, but mostly you, did for me.”
“Kristy, honestly, if we stand a chance at all, then it’s because my uncle has a soft spot for Rhiannon.”
“Yes, I can see that he adores her.”
“She has never come out at family gatherings like this,” Malcolm said. “Usually, she hides in her room. I really believe that what she did tonight happened because of you. You helped her take that step.” His voice lowered, and he smiled sadly at her. “You’re a treasure, Kristy. You’re the castle. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Before she could answer, a man in a gray suit, possibly John Sage’s bodyguard, stopped before Malcolm. “Excuse me, sir. Mr. Sage is ready to see you in the other room.”
“Shall we?” Malcolm said to Kristin.
Her chest feeling squishy inside, she took his offered elbow. “Thank you for including me. I know you would prefer not to.”
“There’s a lot on the line for you, too. I understand why you want to be present.”
“What do you think our chances are?” she asked.
Straightening his shoulders, he winked down at her. “I’d say that luck is on our side. We found a ruined castle in the middle of nowhere, didn’t we?”
This man was such a prize. Her vision was getting blurry, and that was too bad, because Malcolm in a kilt was an image that she could stare at all night long.
She squeezed his arm, the wool from his black, silver-buttoned Bonnie Prince Charlie jacket smooth and warm to her touch. “Remind me to corner you later. I’ve always been curious about what a Scotsman wears under his kilt.”
“Ah, lass, all you had to do was ask me.”
And while Kristin bit her lip, Malcolm led her proudly across the great room and past the fireplace in the dining room—the plaid carpet matching the tartan kilt that Malcolm wore—to the inner chamber where John Sage was ready for them both.
* * *
MALCOLM WAS READY, as well.
He held out a chair for
Kristin to sit, across the table from his uncle, and then Malcolm hauled over another chair from the side wall and placed it beside Kristin’s.
His uncle steepled his hands and regarded Kristin’s presence with a raised brow.
“Hello, Uncle,” Malcolm said. “You and Kristin have already met, twice, I believe, so I’m sure you need no new introductions.”
His uncle smiled at him. “Yes, I see you brought a date for the wedding.”
Under the table, Malcolm’s hand rested on Kristin’s. Glancing at her, he nodded as if to a business colleague. She calmly met his gaze and nodded back. She knew how to best play this meeting, even if it meant deferring to him to handle any slights sent her way.
“I won’t lie to you, Uncle,” Malcolm said smoothly. “Kristin means a great deal to me. But that doesn’t mean that our business plan isn’t sound.”
“Yes, I already read her version earlier in the week, the one without the numbers included.” His uncle waved his hand. “Well done, my dear. It was intriguing to me.”
“Thank you,” Kristin said.
“That’s why I was interested in seeing Malcolm’s projections.” His uncle held up their report. “I read your revised proposal. I can see that a lot of effort has gone into it, on both your parts. This is a well-thought-out plan.”
“So, what’s your decision?” Malcolm asked.
His uncle tilted his head. “You and I both know that, while I would do anything for you and Rhiannon, this investment doesn’t fit with our established business strategy.”
Malcolm heard Kristin exhale. Under the table, he clasped her hand and squeezed it. To his uncle, he calmly nodded.
“You’re right,” Malcolm agreed. “It doesn’t.” But he stared at his uncle, placing both palms on the table. “I’m asking you to move forward with it anyway.”
His uncle put his finger to his lips. Silently he contemplated Malcolm.
Malcolm maintained the stare.
The Sweetest Hours (Harlequin Superromance) Page 25