The One

by Kristin Vayden

  “Why you—” The rogue wheel of my carry-on hit a hole in the tile, causing the bag to rock wildly, twisting the handle and causing me to stumble. Coffee sloshed from my cup as the lid popped off and landed beside my now soaked, once white, Teds.

  “Shit.” I stomped.

  I glanced up, blowing my bangs out of my face just in time to see a dark-haired man approach the woman who had stolen my suitcase. They were too far away for me to hear their words. But he pointed to me then lifted the nametag towards her.

  The woman gestured wildly, but stalked off, leaving him with the suitcase.

  I waited. Did he think it was his too? Or had he seen the whole thing and actually helped me out?

  He pulled the handle up and started toward me. Several people walked in front of him, and I couldn’t see his face. I craned my neck, but others kept walking and blocking my view. As he came closer, I caught a glimpse that made my heart stutter to an almost halt.

  He seemed familiar, but that could be because he looked like a stunt double for Gerard Butler. Strong shoulders flexed through his white shirt. Blue eyes met mine. Dark chestnut hair curled slightly, matching the week’s growth of a beard that accented a strong jawline.

  Hello, Scotland.

  My trip just improved one hundred percent.

  Yet as he got closer… something seemed even more familiar. I couldn’t put my finger on it… but it was almost as distracting as the grin he flashed me as he approached.

  “I believe this is yours,” he spoke in a thick brogue.

  My knees turned to butter… and he was a raging fire. Needless to say, I was melting more and more with every moment he trained those baby blues on me.

  “Th-thank you.” I accepted the handle.

  “Ah, American, eh?” he asked. “You wouldn’t be Roxi’s friend?” He tucked his hands in his pockets.

  “Roxi?” I asked, and for the first time since starting this whole forsaken idea with her… I was actually thanking her. I mean, God bless my best friend. God bless Scotland, God bless EVERYONE. “Actually yeah. I’m Roxi’s business associate, Meredith.” I held out a hand, thankful I had not abandoned the standards and fixed my makeup.

  He froze.

  “Meredith?” he asked, his tone almost alarmed. He glanced to the suitcase and back to me, as if putting the name with the face.

  “Yeah… Meredith Blane.”

  “You’ve gotta be shitting me.” He took a step back. “I’m going to kill her.” He ran his hand through his hair, tousling it more.

  “I’m sorry, but have we met?” I asked, my own hackles rising. I mean, what was wrong with me?

  “Oh, yeah. We’ve met.” He turned to me and shook his head. “Bloody hell this is a disaster. Merry, your friend just signed you over to the devil.”

  “In a foreign country with Satan… awesome. Can you please just tell me what’s going on?

  He shook his head, let out a long sigh, and grabbed the handle of my suitcase. “My stepsister is going to owe me a debt so large she’ll never pay it off.”

  “Stepsister?” I stopped, my head spinning.

  No.

  No, No, No! Roxi wouldn’t do that to me.

  She’d promised — okay, maybe we were in eighth grade when she promised, but still…

  “Kirby?” I watched as he paused, the muscles in his shoulders tensed, and he turned and looked over his shoulder.

  “No one, and I mean no one calls me that anymore.”

  “No way,” I whispered. There was no way that… Kirby… Roxi’s stepbrother from her mother’s marriage number three was the Greek god in front of me.

  “If I had known that, then I wouldn’t have—”

  “Yeah, I bet that right now you’re putting a few things together in that pretty little head of yours.” He jerked the handle of the suitcase and started toward the parking lot.

  “A few,” I retorted, staring at his back as my carry-on wobbled behind me.

  “For the record. No. I haven’t forgiven you,” he spoke with an exasperated tone.

  And there was nothing like being with someone from your junior high years that made you revert back to your immaturity.

  “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t take it back even if I could.”

  He stopped so abruptly I almost ran into his back.

  His solid, warm back.

  I had to stop this! It was Kirby for heaven’s sakes! The guy Roxi and I had pranked… well it was a bit more than a prank.

  “Some people never change. You were petty and immature then… I can see you haven’t changed at all.” His eyes lowered to take in the outline of my body. And holy crap if I didn’t feel his gaze like a searing touch to my skin. “Nope. Nothing has changed.” He shrugged dismissively.

  “Hey! That’s unfair.”

  “Calling it like I see it. Victoria’s Secret can only do so much—”

  “So can socks!” I shouted.

  He stopped again. “Hmm… I guess the tables have turned. I don’t need any help in that department… and it looks like you can’t find enough help.” He yanked the handle and crossed the street, weaving around a bus and darting up the curb.

  “Wait!” I called out as another bus passed me. His retreating back made me fume as I glanced to the cars approaching and rushed across the street, wincing as the horns honked. I ran as fast as my stupid bag would let me and caught up.

  “I think we got started on the wrong foot,” I offered, panting and out of breath. Damn. Yoga wasn’t exactly cardio.

  “No. I saved your luggage. As I see it, you owe me,” he replied, his brogue totally distracting me.

  That and his eyes.

  Shit, I had to get it through my head that this was Kirby.

  Nemesis.

  Bane of my existence.

  The very reason I celebrated October fifteenth — the day he left for Scotland to live with his mom!

  “Fine. I owe you. I’m big enough to admit that. What do I owe you?” I did air quotes with two fingers of my one hand as the rest were wrapped tightly around what was left of my topless coffee cup.

  “I can’t think of anything I’d want from you, so it’s an IOU right now.” He shook his head as he approached a car in the airport garage. It was a black Mercedes SUV.

  “Nice.”

  “Unlike you.” He opened the trunk and effortlessly lifted my suitcase in. Pulling the carry-on handle from my hand, he all but tossed that into the back as well. “Wheel broke? That’s what you get for buying shit luggage.”

  “Missed that,” I answered, heavy on the sarcasm.

  “Get in.” He went to the left side of the car and opened the door. Naturally, I went to the right. “Like hell am I letting you drive my car, Merry.”

  “Merry? Really? Are we twelve?” I asked. I hated that nickname! Which of course, he knew all too well. I glanced to the car and felt humiliation wash over me. Yeah, it was Europe. I wasn’t on the passenger side; I was on the driver side.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled and walked around and paused. Kirby was holding the door open for me. “Are you being nice or will you try to shut it on my foot?” I asked, my eyes narrowing.

  “Just because you’re American doesn’t mean I have to act like I am too.” He gestured impatiently to the open door.

  Sliding in, I whispered, ”Thanks.”

  But just to be careful, I tucked my foot in quickly.

  He settled into the driver seat and started the SUV. The engine thrummed with power as he whipped out of the parking spot and accelerated through the garage.

  “Uh, in a race, NASCAR?” I asked, holding on the seat.

  “Impatient to be rid of you? Yes.” He pulled up to the meter and paid the fare.

  “Lovely.”

  He pulled onto the road and I relaxed slightly. “So why did you even agree to this? I mean, last I knew, you and Roxi weren’t even actually related or acknowledging one another.”

  “Yeah, well that changed last Christmas when my dad re-married he
r mom.”

  “Again?”

  “Yeah. History repeats itself and all that.”

  “So, you’re her stepbrother again.”

  “Yeah. Lucky me. Which in and of itself isn’t enough of a reason for me to do her any sort of favor, but let’s just say that I always pay my debts, and this is the last one I owed her.”

  “For what?”

  A scowl creased his forehead. “What is this? The Spanish inquisition? I’m sure as hell not telling you. Roxi isn’t as bad as she was years ago. It’s been good to have her as family again. My dad’s matured a bit more, and I think Miranda is in a better place too.”

  “Miranda…” I shook my head. Roxi’s mom was both a wonder and a terror. “She could never quite get over your dad. Loved that brogue.” I shook my head as I smiled.

  “Yeah. I think they’re happy. For the moment.” He shrugged, and the scowl eased from his expression. “So how did you get roped into this?”

  “I … don’t know. Which is the usual answer for when Roxi involves me with anything.”

  “Yeah. I get that.”

  We rode in silence for a few minutes. But that silence was eating at my already shot nerves. “So what have you been up to? What do you do now?”

  “I own a few businesses, pubs mostly. It works for me.”

  “And I’ve gotta ask, since Roxi is involved and all, you do actually know she expects me to… uh, date you… right?”

  “Yeah.” He gripped the steering wheel making the leather squeak slightly.

  “Yeah,” I echoed. “This is not going to work. I’ll skew the results because I’m emotionally involved—”

  “Emotionally involved? It’s the brogue, lass.” He wagged his eyebrows at me. “That and my tight arse.”

  “Emotionally involved as in I have a predisposition to dislike you… strongly,” I corrected, narrowing my eyes.

  “Yer loss.” He accented the words so thickly I almost missed them.

  “I’ll have her re-arrange the schedule so that I meet the millionaire guy first. That will give her time to find a suitable replacement.”

  “Listen to you… all professional and using big words. I’m not surprised. You always had the brains of the two of you.”

  “Meaning that Roxi has the beauty? Yeah. That’s true,” I admitted with a soft sigh.

  “In some ways, yeah… but Roxi is the driven, eat you alive or thrive type. You’ve always been a bit more perceptive.”

  “Was… that a compliment?” I asked, slightly shocked.

  “Don’t let it get to your head.”

  “I’ll try … so much praise is making my ego inflate.”

  “I’ll be sure to take you down a notch or two.”

  “Lucky me.”

  I pulled out my phone and sent off an e-mail to Roxi, telling her about the change in plans. A few seconds later, I got a text with a phone number.

  No apologies.

  Nothing.

  “If she wasn’t my best friend I’d…” I huffed out a breath, trying to think of something.

  “You never were the cutthroat one.” He chuckled. “Of that we have something in common.”

  “No apology, no ‘hey guys sorry I totally blindsided you.’ Nada.” I whistled.

  “Typical.”

  “This next guy better be good. She owes me after the last one.”

  “What happened with these guys?” he asked in a mildly interested tone.

  “Well, one guy was a local guitar legend. Think total urban lumberjack type. I don’t know where she found him, but let’s just say the only honest thing I wrote about was his eye color.”

  “That bad, huh? What did he do? Take you to the forest and chop wood?” he teased.

  “Ha, nope. That I could have handled. He took me to his urban farm. Key word. Urban. The cherry was when he asked me if I wanted to pet his cocks.”

  Kirby coughed twice then turned to me. “You’re shitting me. Cocks? Plural?”

  “Yup. Then he introduced me to his two Rhode Island Red roosters and six hens.”

  “Ah… Cocks. Roosters. I get it. Weird, but I get it.” He shifted his shoulders as if totally uncomfortable with the topic.

  “He tried to get me to kiss one — I kid you not — and when he handed one to me, it flapped wildly and I let it go, naturally. And did you know chickens could fly?”

  “Uh, actually I rather assumed they could, at least a little bit.”

  “They can. And when you have a chicken farm on the top of a twenty story building…”

  “Damn.”

  “You could say that. Of course, the date ended with him sobbing over a mutilated chicken carcass, and you know what?”

  “I — no. Do I want to know?”

  I grinned as he gave me a wary expression drawing his dark brows together over his blue eyes. “All I could think was KFC, and how good a bucket of extra crispy would taste about then.” I lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “Naturally, I didn’t suggest we go get one.”

  “Wise. Since he was in mourning and all.”

  “Exactly. Needless to say, the last time I saw him, I was slowly backing away while he held the chicken in his arms, pressed against his flannel shirt, his beard brushing the feathers as the tears rolled.”

  “No way.”

  “You can’t make this stuff up.” I held up my hands.

  “Was that the worst? How many of these guys have you, uh… researched?”

  “Dated,” I corrected, shuffling my feet to keep from squirming in my seat. “I’ve had to actually date these guys. You know, at first, Roxi made it sound almost interesting. Fun and sexy. This is not sexy. Chickens? Not sexy. The Jock? Yeah, he was the best of the group, but he still had me checking my phone every few minutes to see if I could duck out.” I rolled my eyes. “The alpha male? Yeah, it’s not what it’s cracked up to be.” I shuddered, thinking of Kurt.

  His soft chuckle filled the suddenly too-small SUV. “I don’t look so bad now, do I?”

  “Let’s just say you’re fitting right in,” I shot back.

  “Kitten’s got claws. Too bad you won’t get to use them.” He blew me a kiss.

  “Yeah, that’s always been a fantasy of mine. Oh, how you read through me,” I spoke with bored sarcasm. “Alas, Kirby! How long I have waited for this moment—”

  “Shit, you have to stop calling me that,” he muttered, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

  “Huh?” I dropped the hand I had strategically placed to my forehead like the damsel in distress.

  “Kirby. No one. And I mean no one calls me that. Ever.”

  “Why?”

  He glared at me as if to say, ‘must you ask?’

  “Just asking!” I held up my hands in surrender.

  “I hate that name. As soon as I moved I told everyone my name was Kirk. Then when I got to the university they started to call me Church, since Kirk is actually another name for a church—”

  “Yeah I get that… but… Church?” I studied him. He didn’t actually look like a Kirby… but Church? I’d never really thought of that as a name. It didn’t quite fit. “I don’t think I can call you Church. You look anything but holy.”

  “Believe me, I’m not.” He sent me a smoldering look then flicked his gaze back to the road.

  Damn if it didn’t make my stomach tighten with awareness. I could easily imagine all the ways he was sinful. But that was last thing I needed him to know.

  “I think I’ll stick with Kirby.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment and leaned his head back on the car headrest. It was just a short moment, but I gripped the seat even as he glared toward the road once again. “No. You cain’t.”

  “Yes, I cain,” I replied with an attempt at the Scottish Brogue.

  “That was bad… don’t try that again. It’s an insult to my language.”

  “You’re language is English.”

  “Which you Americans butcher.”

  “Which you Scottish—”


  “Ah, nope. Stop right there. Remember you’re at my mercy. I’d tread carefully.” He gave me a dangerous grin.

  “Not afraid. I have way too much dirt on you… Kirby. Just remember that.” I grinned mischievously and then turned to look out the window.

  “Shiza.”

  “Swearing in Dutch?” I tisked my tongue. “Aren’t you impressive.”

  “Aren’t you a pain in my arse, and I’ve only been around you for twenty minutes,” he spoke through clenched teeth.

  “Believe me, the feeling is mutual.”

  As we passed through far too narrow streets, I scanned through my e-mail, and a text showed up from the millionaire bachelor.

  “Hello,” I whispered, scanning his short message.

  “Talking to yourself? That lonely, Merry?” Kirby asked.

  “Ignoring you.”

  “Answering me is not ignoring me.”

  “Grow up.”

  “You first.”

  I sighed and re-read the text.

  Hello! How about we meet at the Conan Doyal? 8pm, tomorrow?

  “What do you know about the Conan Doyal?” I asked Kirby.

  “Decent pub, middle of the New Edinburgh. Why?”

  “Millionaire wants me to meet him there.”

  “Not bad. Pretty good whisky.”

  “Ah… that’s right! Scotch Whisky! I need to try that while I’m here.” I spoke mostly to myself.

  “Can you hold your whisky?” he asked with a challenging tone.

  “You’ll never know.”

  “Pity,” he spoke so softly I almost missed it. Then pretended to, because I didn’t want to explore just what that could mean.

  Because behind the smoldering gaze, solid shoulders, nice ass, and killer smile, was my nemesis. And as much as I was tempted to look past it, history reminded me to never let my guard down.

  Ever.

  “I’m meeting him tomorrow at eight.” I sent off a text that confirmed everything.

  “Don’t waste any time, eh?”

  “Nope, I’m all about getting this done. Like a band-aid. Rip it off.”

  “Romantic.”

  “Believe me, nothing about this has been romantic. If anything it’s killed every stereotype, every fantasy, and every romantic thought I’ve ever had.” I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes. The caffeine from my half-spilled coffee was waning and jet lag was slowly conquering.