Chapter 1

" L ook, I can explain," Anna Webster said, pushing an annoying lock of hair out of her eyes for the tenth time. She forced a smile as she met the furious gaze of Pamela Holt, CEO of Holt Estates, who was sitting behind a large mahogany desk, glaring like a hungry raptor.

"Oh, you can, can you?" Pamela said, raising an eyebrow. She crossed her arms over her formidable bosom and glared at Anna with a gaze hot enough to melt lead. "Well, go on then. This should be good."

Anna swallowed and tugged at the neck of her shirt. Was she imagining it or had it suddenly got very hot in here?

"That house wasn't right for them," she said, spreading her hands and giving Pamela her most charming smile, complete with dimples. "It's better to make sure clients get the house they really want, isn't it? That way they'll be happier with our service and be more likely to recommend us. So I thought—"

"Wasn't right for them?" Pamela cut her off. " That's what you said? From what I hear, your exact words were, ‘it's full of damp, the electrics are shot, and it's overpriced. You'd be better looking at that new estate being built in West Heath.' Or have I got that wrong?" She smiled sweetly, which was utterly terrifying.

Anna shifted uncomfortably in her overstuffed leather chair. She felt like a naughty schoolgirl in the headmistress's office. She'd had plenty of experience with that and the memories were not pleasant.

"Well, I don't think I said it exactly like that."

"You realize you're an estate agent?" Pamela snapped. "You realize it's your job to sell houses? It's not your job to send clients running the other way! They would have signed if you hadn't told them what you did. Instead, they've booked an appointment to see a new build over at West Heath! Why did you say those things?"

"Because they're true!" The words were out of Anna's mouth before she could stop them. "It was riddled with damp. The electrics did need replacing and it is overpriced. I wasn't going to let them buy a rot-box that will probably have them spending their life savings trying to make it livable!"

As she realized what she'd just said, she felt her cheeks flush. Damnation, she thought. Brain and mouth not communicating again, Anna?

Pamela's nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed. "Miss Webster," she said, her voice low and threatening. "This agency thrives on commission. If we don't sell houses, no matter what state they're in, we don't make money and we don't get paid. You're not here to play Mother Teresa."

Anna straightened her back and held Pamela's gaze steadily. No matter what Pamela said, she didn't regret what she'd done. Okay, maybe she shouldn't have been quite so tactless with her clients, but that didn't mean she was wrong. It didn't mean she was going to back down either.

"I'm not trying to be a saint. I'm just trying to be honest. It's not worth the commission if it means tricking innocent families into getting stuck with houses they can't afford to maintain."

Pamela's lips thinned into a tight line and she uncrossed her arms. She ran a manicured hand through her silver bob, a sign that she was very annoyed. Richard from accounts, passing by Pamela's glass office, paused to gawk at the spectacle then quickly ran off when Pamela's steely gaze flicked to him. It was a gaze that promised certain death, or at least a hefty paperwork load for the week.

The silence between Pamela and Anna was broken only by the hum of traffic in the background and the ticking of a grandfather clock standing in the corner of Pamela's office. The office itself was a study in measured luxury with its floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with hefty leather-bound books, numerous plaques announcing various ‘Estate Agent of The Year' awards won by Holt Estates fixed to the wall, and an antique Persian rug which added a pop of color to the otherwise monochrome room.

Pamela reached into her desk drawer. Her hand emerged clutching Anna's resume, still pristine in its glossy folder. As she opened it, Anna could see her own face grinning back from the photo attached to it.

"Pamela, I don't think there's any need—" Anna began, but Pamela held up a hand to silence her.

"Miss Webster," she began, her voice chillingly calm. "Since your graduation from St Andrew's University, you've been involved with eight different jobs in just three years." She raised an eyebrow at Anna, a silent question hanging in the air.

Anna took the smart option for once and kept her mouth shut.

Pamela traced her fingers over the list of jobs on the resume. PR Coordinator for Stintson & Co., Marketing Executive at Rank Health, Content Manager for Brandalysts... The list went on, each job pointing towards a young woman with a lot of talent but not much in the way of staying power.

"Eight jobs in three years," Pamela repeated, pinning Anna with a critical gaze. "I knew this when I hired you, but your qualifications meant I was willing to take a risk on you. You've been with us barely three months, yet you take it on yourself to lose us two valuable clients, thinking you know better than agents who've been with us for years." She dropped the resume onto the desk with an air of finality.

Anna swallowed hard, resisting the temptation to defensively snatch up the document. What was she supposed to say? Apologize? That she'd do better next time? This was no doubt what Pamela wanted to hear, but Anna couldn't bring herself to do it. Truth was, she wasn't sorry. Sure, she'd told those clients the truth and in so doing lost Holt Estates a sale but so what? Pamela was already rich and losing one sale wouldn't make a difference to her business. But for Maggie and Thomas Lanes? They weren't rich and had only just scraped enough money together for the deposit. She wasn't about to let them squander that on a house that would likely turn into a money-pit and have them in debt for years. What kind of person would that make her?

Anna knew only too well that she had a habit of opening her mouth before it had fully engaged with her brain. It had gotten her into trouble on more than one occasion and her best friend, Lily, was always ribbing her for it. But she didn't regret it this time. In fact, if she had her time over, she'd do the same again.

Perhaps that was her problem. Perhaps that's why she moved from job to job, from city to city, floating on the winds of life wherever they took her. She'd never quite been able to make herself fit in, to conform to what others expected of her.

She'd graduated top of her class from university and had breezed through her course, but she'd driven her professors crazy. She handed things in late, turned up to lectures with a hangover—if she turned up at all—spoke out of turn during discussions, and generally made a nuisance of herself. Her report had described her as ‘charismatic', which she knew was just a tactful way of saying talkative, unfocused, and generally a pain in the arse.

Pamela stared at her, eyes narrowed, tapping her lip with one brightly painted nail. "Tell you what I'll do," she said eventually. "I'll give you another chance—"

"Thank you!" Anna cried, jumping to her feet. "You won't regret this—"

"I haven't finished. I will give you another chance if—" She paused and fixed Anna with that melt-lead stare. "If you call those clients back and tell them you made a mistake and the house is perfect for them. Do that, seal the deal, and we'll put this little...episode behind us."

Anna's heart sank. She sat back in her chair, the elation gone, replaced by a horrid sinking feeling. "You mean... lie to them?"

"No," Pamela replied. "I mean... correct your previous misstatement. The house does require work, but it has potential. It's a question of how you present it."

Anna stared at Pamela. "I... I can't do that," she stammered. "It's wrong."

"You mean you won't do that," Pamela retorted, her voice icy. "Don't confuse your stubbornness with virtue, Miss Webster."

Anna felt a knot twining in her stomach. She cast her eyes down on the glossy surface of her resume, where her own smiling face seemed to mock her. Her fingers traced over the list of job titles, a grim timeline of her lack of allegiance. Just do it , a voice said in the back of her mind. Do what you must to keep this job. Swallow your pride for once.

She lifted her chin, met Pamela's stare. "Sorry, I can't do that."

Pamela said nothing. Then she leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her expensive silk blouse. "Then I'm afraid we have no use for you here." She reached for a pen and scribbled something down on a pink slip of paper. "Drop this in at accounts on your way out. They'll see you're paid until the end of the month. Clear your desk and get out. You know where the door is." She flicked the paper across the table towards Anna .

Silence hung in the room, thick and heavy like a summer storm. With an exasperated sigh, Anna pushed herself up from her chair. She turned towards the door, leaving the pink slip untouched on Pamela's desk.

As her hand hovered over the doorknob, she paused. "Pamela?" she said, turning to look back over her shoulder. "I'm glad the Lanes have gone to look at West Heath. I'm sure they'll be happy there. And you can stick your job where the sun doesn't shine."

With that, she stormed out, refusing to look back. She felt a strange sense of freedom as she walked past the closed office doors, lined like soldiers on a parade ground. Well, there it was, another one added to the list. Another bridge burned.

Damn it, Anna, she thought. When are you going to learn?

She stopped only long enough to grab her bag from her desk, then walked briskly to the elevator, her footsteps echoing off the cold marble floor. She was officially done with Holt Estates. Their loss, not hers. Pressing the call button a bit too hard, she stepped inside, kept her chin up, her back straight, and her expression neutral until she'd crossed the reception area, exited through the revolving doors and stepped onto the busy Glasgow streets outside.

Only when she was out of sight of the building's windows and therefore out of sight of Pamela Holt and any of her employees, did she allow herself to sink onto a bench at a nearby bus stop and press her fingers into her eyes to stop the tears .

Again, Anna? she thought. Again? What are you going to do now?

That was the question, of course. She'd been so sure that Glasgow was the place, that here she'd find that elusive thing she was looking for and finally settle down. Seems she'd been wrong.

She drew a shaky breath, rubbing her temples as the noise of the city washed over her. The shrill blast of car horns, the rumble of bus engines, the incessant chatter of people... it was all too loud, all too much.

She took her phone from her pocket and stared at it. There was a missed called from Greg and a text message from Matt. Perhaps she should call one or even both of them. She'd only been on a single date with them and before that it had been Chris and Thingamabob and Whatshisname. They'd had fun, flirted, and laughed, but she'd not wanted to see any of them again.

Her finger hovered over the call back button. What harm could it do? She could call Greg or Matt, arrange a date, and have some fun. After all, she needed something to take her mind off her crappy day. But she didn't press that call button.

None of them were who she really wanted to see. There was only one man she had any real interest in. She'd met him a few weeks ago at her friend Lily's wedding. They'd only had an evening together, but it had been one of the best of Anna's life. They'd laughed and danced, she'd teased him mercilessly and he'd given as good as he'd got. He'd made her feel alive in a way she hadn't for a long, long time.

Anna, though, had neglected to get his number and after the wedding he'd disappeared without a trace. Ever since, Anna had not been able to get him out of her mind. Why couldn't it be him that had left a voicemail on her phone? Why couldn't he be the one that had sent the text message?

She sighed and dialed her mother's number instead. As she waited for her to pick up, Anna watched a little girl in a red coat chase after a flock of pigeons in the square while her mother watched on, laughing. Finally, the call connected.

"Mum?" Anna said.

"Anna, love?" her mother's voice sounded tinny, distant. "I can barely hear you."

There was a racket in the background, the hubbub of voices and the sounds of hammering.

"Where are you?" Anna asked.

"We're in Madrid," her mum explained, a hint of excitement filtering through the static. "Getting ready for the arts festival. I told you about it, didn't I?"

No, she hadn't, but that was nothing new. Keeping their daughter updated on their activities—or even their whereabouts—was not her parents' strong suit. Last she knew, they'd been in Geneva, putting together a grant application for some art project or other. Seems they'd moved again.

"Madrid, huh?" Anna said, a wry smile twisting her lips. "Sounds exciting."

"Oh, it is!" Her mother exuded enthusiasm, not picking up on Anna's lackluster tone. "You should see the open square here. Painters, sculptors, musicians... it's so vibrant."

Anna closed her eyes and leaned back on the bench as her mother launched into a spiel about all the amazing things that were happening in her life. Anna should have expected it. Her parents weren't exactly the stable, reliable type, or very good listeners. Anna had spent her childhood being dragged around Europe as her artist parents took whatever jobs they could to make ends meet. Sarah and Malcolm Webster had never been much for parenting, more interested in their art than their only daughter.

And here she was, unemployed again and on the verge of tears in a bustling Glasgow street, while her parents were off on a new adventure, their life a whirlwind of interesting places and thrilling projects.

"Is Dad there?" she asked.

He wasn't. He was out sourcing materials for their installation, her mother explained before launching into a detailed account of their work—a towering edifice made entirely from recycled junk that was intended to reflect the constant bustling energy of Spain's capital.

Anna listened until eventually her mother ran out of words. "Was there something you wanted to talk about?"

"Yes, actually," Anna said. "It's just that—"

"Oh, hang on a minute, love," said her mother. Her voice became quieter, as though she'd taken the phone away from her ear. "Over there. No, there. The purple one first and then the orange. Yes, that's right."

Anna looked up, letting her mother's voice fade into the background. She stared at the gray Scottish sky as she waited for her mother's attention to return to her .

"Sorry about that, love. What were you saying?" Her mother's voice returned, a little breathless.

Anna paused, contemplating whether to even bother trying to explain. What was the point?

"Oh, nothing," she said at last. "I'll let you get back to your festival."

"Sure, love," her mother's voice was distracted, already pulled back into the flurry of her life. "We'll catch up soon. Love you."

She hung up, and Anna stared blankly at her phone screen. Love you . Such easy words to say, but did they carry any meaning? She popped her phone back into her pocket, pulling her coat tighter around her as a cold wind blew through the city.

What was she supposed to do now? She had no job, no money, and nowhere to go.

She propped her chin on her hand. She wished Lily, were here. She'd know what she should do. Friends since university, Lily had been the calm to Anna's tempest, the cool to Anna's hot. But Lily had recently gotten married and was away on her honeymoon. Anna hadn't called or even messaged, doing her best to give them some privacy, but that had been three weeks ago. Surely they'd be back from honeymoon by now? She could message. Or she could call. Or she could go visit.

She latched onto this last idea, excitement rushing through her, replacing the melancholy. Yes! That's what she'd do! A surprise visit to her best friend was exactly what she needed !

She scrolled through the messages on her phone until she found the address Lily had sent her. She didn't recognize it—it was up north somewhere—but she was sure she'd be able to find it. Throwing her bag over her shoulder, Anna lifted herself from the cold bench and set off in the direction of the train station.

She boarded the north-bound train to Aberdeen and settled into her seat by the window, watching as Glasgow fell away behind her. A strange feeling of relief washed over her. It was time for a fresh start. Another one? the little voice said in the back of Anna's head. How many will it take?

She had no idea. She just knew she had to keep trying.