Sadie's Highlander

by Maeve Greyson

  “I’m sure my sister is just nervous,” Delia hurried to explain. “She knows we always abide by our contracts. Now, what’s your third term?”

  Alec rounded the table, stood directly beside Sadie, and held out his hand. “Ye will be assigned to me for the extent of the six weeks of filming. Private quarters at MacDara Keep will be provided for yer comfort. Ye’ll want for nothing.”

  Sadie’s eyes flared wide, filled with leeriness and shock. “Assigned? To you? And what exactly do you mean by private quarters?” Sadie glanced down at Alec’s extended hand, then slowly lifted her gaze to his face. Her tempting mouth went slightly ajar. She blinked slowly as though trying to fathom what he had just said. “I need a little more clarification, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course she can be assigned to you.” Delia hobbled around the chair and jutted out her open hand to seal the deal. “But I must warn you, she talks incessantly and is usually way more trouble than she’s worth.”

  Alec sent up a silent prayer to the goddesses. Give me the strength t’keep from back-handin’ this foul woman. He ignored Delia’s extended hand, focusing solely on Sadie. “Ye will stay in the guest wing at our private keep and report t’me daily—first thing each morning—for breakfast, in fact. Ye will spend each day of the six weeks of filming at my side, explaining the process t’me and proving that we didna err in granting Realm Spinners Productions access to our beloved park.”

  Sadie clenched her fists in her lap, her unblinking gaze still locked on Alec’s extended hand. “I’ll have to think about that option and get back to you on it. I’m not sure that would be in the best interest of…the uhm…the company.”

  Disappointment twitched in the center of his chest, but admiration for Sadie’s leeriness helped temper the dull ache. Good. I would expect nothing less from a woman who properly respects herself.

  Delia thumped her broken shoe against the back of Sadie’s chair. “She misspoke. Of course she’ll do it. Won’t you, Sadie?” Delia tossed down the shoe and yanked on Sadie’s arm as though trying to put her hand in Alec’s grasp.

  Sadie yanked free of Delia’s hold and stood, quickly sidling away from the chair. “I did not misspeak.” She fixed Alec with a tense, forced smile that made him want to reach out—touch her gently and tell her that everything would be all right. He’d ne’er meant to frighten her or make her think ill of him. He meant no harm in the request. He just wished to get to know her better. Surely, she knew that.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t commit to all the terms right now. I need time to think about it.” She edged back another step, clutching her tablet to her chest. “I’ll have to get back to you. In a day or two. Promise.”

  She had to accept. It wouldna be good if she chose to pass and returned to California. He did his best not to think about that. Surely, she would decide to stay and spend the next six weeks with him. He needed her to choose him and didna particularly like the realization that he’d be sorely disappointed—more disappointed than he’d been in a verra long time—if she firmly declined.

  “I understand how ye might need a day or so to review the new terms.” He lowered his voice and leaned closer to Sadie. “I give ye m’word—ye willna regret choosing to spend yer days with me.”

  Chapter 3

  “No dessert. Just the check.” Delia didn’t look up, just pulled a sleek black wallet out of her bag and selected a credit card from the colorful assortment peeping out of the orderly slots filling one side of the narrow clutch.

  Sadie held up a hand, stopping the waitress before she could move away. “Yes, we definitely want dessert.” She spared a glance across the table at Delia, then beamed her friendliest smile back at the aproned matron in the powder-pink polyester uniform. “Or at least I do. Some of that delicious-looking apple pie.” Sadie paused, nearly drooling in anticipation. “And ice cream.” She straightened in the chair and excitedly drummed her fingertips along the worn metal strip framing the Formica-topped dining table. “And could you drizzle some of that caramel topping all over it? That would be awesome.”

  The middle-aged waitress grinned and winked while patting her own slightly thick middle. “A girl after my own heart. You got it, sweetie. And I think we’ve got some of those crunchy caramel pecan bits back yonder too. How ’bout if I sprinkle a handful of those across that ice cream? Crunchy goodness always makes the world a little more bearable.” She fixed Delia with a disgusted look, pulled the ticket out of her oversized pocket, and slapped it down on the table in front of her. “Here’s your ticket.” Walking away, she smiled back over her shoulder at Sadie. “Your pie’s on the house, sweetie. You’ve earned it.”

  I like you. Sadie grinned. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  “Bitch,” Delia said with a soft uppity snort, glaring at the retreating waitress. Her no tip for you look still locked on the woman, she barely sipped at her coffee. Her look of revulsion worsened. “And not a decent coffee to be had for weeks.” Delia lowered the cup to the table, tilting her head as she studied Sadie with an expression that could only mean trouble. “You know…you’ve sort of got a cute face. And you could even be described as kind of attractive in a chubby Italian-Greekish sort of way.”

  Great. Here it comes. The standard bullshit. Sadie leaned back in the chair, bracing herself for the familiar bullying she’d been tolerating for years.

  “If you’d lose about a hundred or so pounds, you might even be stunning enough to catch a look or two from an average guy.” Delia nudged a half-eaten carrot stick across the small dessert plate she’d insisted her raw vegetables be served on, then took another sip of coffee. “Why don’t you even attempt to better yourself? That’s one of the main things about you that always drove Mother insane.”

  How many times had she heard the if you’d just lose weight you’d be so pretty spiel? Sadie had lost count. Her parents had chanted it to her every time they’d seen her with food. She’d heard the insult so much it didn’t even sting anymore—well, at least not as much as it did when she was a kid. She forced a grin at Delia and held up her glass. “I’m drinking diet soda. Happy?”

  Delia rolled her eyes, then grimaced at the overflowing bowl of apple-pie–ice-cream perfection the waitress plopped down in front of Sadie.

  “Enjoy, sweetie!” The waitress patted Sadie on the shoulder, fixed Delia with another sour sneer, then ambled back to her post behind the dinner counter.

  “Wanna bite?” Sadie held out a heaping spoonful of apple-pie yumminess oozing with caramel gooeyness and chopped nuts. Watching Delia flinch and recoil as though she’d just been offered rat poison was almost better than eating the pie. Almost.

  Delia hissed out an insulted huff, fished her phone out of her purse, and pointed it at Sadie. “I’m going to email Dwyn MacKay and inform him that you’ve had a chance to think about it and you’re accepting Alec MacDara’s offer.”

  The delectable mouthful of pie suddenly turned bitter. Sadie swallowed hard and took a long sip of soda to wash it past the knot in her throat. She’d tried not to the think about Mr. Alec MacDara’s third term. What the hell was the man up to? Why was he so determined to spend time with her? She reached across the table and plucked the phone out of Delia’s hand. She snugged it up against the bowl of apple pie. Delia wouldn’t touch it there. “No. Not yet. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do.”

  “You don’t have any choice.”

  “The hell I don’t.” Sadie covered the phone with her hand. “I’m not accepting those terms until I figure out his angle.”

  Delia made a face and flipped one hand as though shooing Sadie’s worries away. “Are you that dense? For some strange reason the man wants you. Must have a fetish for fat girls or something. Consider yourself lucky. You. With a man like that? Six weeks of riding a prize Scottish stud. You should thank me—and whatever sex god that decided to drop him in your lap.”

  Delia straightened in her chair, a sudden look of concern barely twitching her Boto
x-smoothed brow. “You’re not a virgin, are you?” An evil smirk curled one corner of her mouth. “Of course, if you are, he might grant us an extra few weeks of filming for that additional benefit.”

  The delicious meal of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and butter beans did an unpleasant barrel roll in the pit of her stomach. Sadie glanced around, pinpointing the exact location of the restroom. If Delia maintained her current rant, dinner might be making a quick exit.

  Sadie admitted she’d been drawn to Alec MacDara—what woman wouldn’t be? But the way Delia laid it out, it sounded like an ugly thing. Demeaning and sick. Six weeks as the rented-out whore so Delia could do her filming. And when the six weeks was done—then what? She wasn’t like Delia. She couldn’t detach herself from intimacy and treat it like it was some simple everyday act like brushing her teeth or changing her socks. She’d had relationships before. Real relationships. It had hurt like hell when they’d ended, but at least they hadn’t been anything as questionable as this.

  “I’m not going to slut myself out just so you can make your little film. Spreading your legs to get what you want might be standard practice for you, but it’s not for me.” Sadie braced herself for Delia’s explosion. She didn’t usually stand up to her sister—and when she did, her bank account always suffered for it. Delia would not only hold her paychecks, but she’d also block the meager trust fund deposits. There’d be no income until Delia cooled off.

  Sadie held her ground. She had one credit card that wasn’t quite maxed out. She could survive for a little while until Delia got distracted with another project and needed help pulling it together. She swirled the spoon through the melting ice cream in the dish, making curlicues of caramel and chopped nuts. If she didn’t give in and help Delia, she’d definitely be back to square one on getting any scripts submitted to an agent. Delia might even have her blacklisted. A heavy sigh escaped her. Surely, Delia wouldn’t go that far over this…this deal. What Delia was asking her to do was just…wrong.

  Delia shrugged and took another sip of her coffee. Slowly lowering the cup back to the table, she seemed dangerously calm. “Everybody does it, Sadie. Sex is a transaction. Nothing more.” She looked up and attempted a strained smile. “The sooner you figure that out, little sister, the better off you’ll be.”

  How terribly sad to be so cold and empty. Sadie studied Delia. How had she become so broken? Mean, spiteful bitch or not, Delia was still her sister, and it was times like this that made Sadie feel sorry for her and almost care about her. After all, Delia had suffered a childhood with their cold, disinterested parents even longer than Sadie had.

  Sadie rubbed the worn ridge of the teaspoon handle as though it were a wishing stone. Without looking up from the slightly bent piece of flatware, she forced out the words. “Maybe I could accept Alec’s terms as long as he understands that it has to be strictly business—real business—not the messing-up-the-sheets kind of business. Do you think that would work?”

  A dangerously explosive silence from the other side of the table stretched on entirely too long. Great. Pissed her off even more. Sadie met Delia’s gaze and rolled her shoulders as though readying for a fight. Might as well get the main event started. “Well?”

  Delia looked like the proverbial cat that had just ripped the wings off the canary. Snatching up her untouched butter knife, she flicked Sadie’s hand away from the phone and lightly tapped the rhinestone-studded case. “Word it however you like, little sister. Convince him. After all, words are your gift.” She shoved the phone closer to Sadie and gave a slow wink. “And I’ll even sweeten the deal. If you can convince Mr. MacDara to accept your terms and grant us access, I’ll add you to my team of screenwriters. Your name will be in the credits—billed as one of the leading writers on this project. I promise. This will be the break into the business that you’ve been waiting for, for so very long.”

  Screenwriter. Can I really trust her? Sadie searched Delia’s cold violet eyes for the faintest trace of sincerity. Chilling how the contact-induced coloring always took on an oddly sinister hue—or maybe it was just Delia’s personality shining through. She really wants to film here. Maybe she’s for real this time. Sadie leaned forward, struggling to keep any hint of taking Delia’s bait out of her voice. “How can I be one of the screenwriters if I have to spend my days with Alec and my nights at MacDara Keep?”

  Delia didn’t bat an eye. “The writers will meet at the park in the evenings to flesh out the next day’s scenes for any needed filler. It’s in the contract. You know that. You argued that the MacDaras would never accept that clause.”

  Spend her days with the sexy, enigmatic Alec MacDara and spend her nights writing scenes. Had she died and gone to heaven or was this just another doorway to one of Delia’s levels of hell? Sadie chewed on the corner of her lip, rolling the phone in one hand.

  Delia didn’t say a word, just folded her hands around her coffee cup and waited.

  “You look like you’re waiting for me to take the bait.” Sadie rubbed her thumb across the phone, the raised rhinestones encrusting the case rough as sandpaper.

  With a shrug, Delia coyly attempted a nonchalant smile. “If we don’t film here, we’ll film somewhere else. I won’t lose a thing.” The smile somehow grew cold and threatening as she slowly leaned forward. “But if we don’t film here, I will never give you the opportunity to join my screenwriters again and I will make sure that everyone in the business avoids any and all of your screenplays like the plague. You will be blacklisted in the business, dear little sister. East Coast to West Coast. You’ll be done. The choice is yours.”

  Now there was the Delia that Sadie knew. Delia had enough connections to make so good on the threat that Sadie wouldn’t even be able to get an ad printed in the personals, much less sell a screenplay. “If I convince Alec to accept my version of his terms, I start working with the writers the first night. Deal?”

  Delia nodded and held out a pale hand, her blood-red nails shimmering dark and evil in the fluorescent lights of the restaurant.

  “Absolutely.”

  Sadie slid her hand into Delia’s icy grasp. An involuntary shiver rippled through her. Funny. I figured shaking hands with the devil would be a lot warmer.

  Chapter 4

  “So Dwyn’s gone ta fetch her then?”

  “Aye.” Alec stared out the bay window of the kitchen overlooking the sprawling expanse of the park, which had been left as a peaceful wooded wilderness. Strange how the rugged land of backwoods North Carolina so closely resembled his beloved Highlands. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks to the goddesses. If not for their wisdom in choosing such a place, he sorely doubted he and his family would’ve adapted so well to this strange, chaotic time.

  A soft touch lightly patted the top of his hand. “Calm yerself, son. Frettin’ o’er what could possibly go wrong steals away the joy of the day and poisons hope for the future.”

  Alec shifted away from the window and smiled down at his mother. “Easier said than done, Máthair. She’s different and I wish ta know her better—not frighten her away.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have made it sound as though you wanted her to be your sex slave for six weeks.”

  “Esme Danai MacDara!” Sarinda spun about, swooped across the kitchen, and gave the young girl sitting at the kitchen table a stern shake. “Yer fifteen years old. Where d’ye learn such? A lady doesna speak so and ye ken that as well as I.”

  “If I’m not mistaken, I believe I heard that certain television channel playing soft and low behind our young lady’s door last night.” Miss Lydia, housekeeper extraordinaire and self-ordained grandmother to the MacDara clan, toddled across the kitchen and plopped down a plate of eggs, bacon, and biscuits covered with a thick puddle of sausage gravy in front of the scowling teenager.

  “Do you always have to rat me out?” Esme hissed out a disgusted breath and shoved the steaming plate to the center of the table. “And I told you, I’m trying to lose some weight. I can’t eat
that stuff if I’m gonna fit in that dress I’ve picked out for homecoming.”

  Alec spun a kitchen chair around. He scooted it close to Esme, straddled it, and propped his forearms across the arched back. ’Twas time to set the headstrong lass straight on the skimpy garment the shopkeeper had shown him. “If it’s the dress Mrs. Croft pointed out to me yesterday, ye’ll no’ be wearin’ it no matter how thin ye be. I’ll no’ have my sweet—barely grown, I might add—sister traipsin’ about town lookin’ like the king’s favorite whore.”

  Esme shoved her chair back with an enraged growl, fixed every adult in the room with a look that clearly said she considered them all to be idiots, then stomped up the back staircase.

  “This is yer fault.” Emrys didn’t look up from the biscuit he was carefully buttering, just slowly shook his head.

  “Who’s fault?” Sarinda slid another plate piled high with crisp brown sausages closer to her scowling husband.

  “Yers.” Emrys speared a sausage with his knife, waving it in the air as though he were conducting an orchestra. “Ye prayed for a girl. Our lads ne’er acted in such a way when they were naught but fifteen summers old.”

  “This is a different time, ye old fool. Esme faces more challenges than ye could possibly understand.” Sarinda snatched the knife out of Emrys’s slightly shaking hand, cut the sausage into bite-sized pieces on his plate, then thumped the silverware down on the table. “Eat yer breakfast and leave the raisin’ of our daughter t’me.”

  And here we go. Alec rose from the table and returned to the window. He was in no mood to listen to the argument his parents had been having ever since Esme had developed into such a strong-willed teenager.

  The muffled thud of a car door just below the window caught his attention. The sound shot a white-hot surge of adrenaline through him. She was here. Sadie Williams was finally here.

  He strode across the kitchen and hurried down the winding staircase leading to the main sitting room of the family’s private quarters. Grant, Ramsay, and Ross met him on his way down. He fixed his brothers with the most threatening look he could muster. “Best behavior—the lot of ye, aye?”