Chapter 6

Ramsay

Ididn't have time for this.

Or at least that was what I was telling myself. Somewhere along the way as a business owner, I'd learned that there were times when it was easier if I just cracked on with doing things myself. And this was one of those times. No way in hell was I allowing Willow to work in my shop.

I already had enough distractions as it was.

Checking my watch, I strode to the long table that hugged one wall of the workroom tucked behind my shop and flipped the slim laptop open. Settling onto the stool, I paged through my planner to look at the month ahead and answered the video call that popped on my screen.

"Good afternoon, sir. How are you today?"

I rolled my eyes at my cousin Sheila, who was also my virtual office manager, and a damn good one at that. Razor-sharp wit combined with an excellent eye for details made her the perfect addition to Ramsay Kilts. Even so, she'd been making noises about hiring more help recently, and I knew I'd have to give her the go-ahead to do so. It would have to be under her management though, as I certainly didn't have the time to train more staff.

Let alone a gorgeous American with the kind of body that was made for a man's hands.

"You only call me ‘sir' when you want something. Out with it."

"It's Louise's wedding in May. In Portugal. I was hoping?—"

"How long?"

"One week?"

"Approved."

"Grand, that's grand. Mark the dates down." Sheila nodded to my planner, and I dutifully flipped ahead to cross out the dates that she would be gone. "Next up, we've got the financials for the Edinburgh stores. First quarter is looking to shape up for your best yet, profit margins are up, particularly now that you've cut the bus ad campaign."

"I never should have approved that." My publicist had insisted that an ad campaign for our kilts would be huge on city buses, but it had barely moved the needle on sales.

"It's a data point. Worth trying out, but now you know it's not for us. I'd like to try a TikTok campaign though."

"TikTok?" I glared at her, as though she'd just suggested we sell cocaine in our custom sporrans.

"Bloody hell, Ramsay. Tell me you've heard of TikTok."

"Of course I've heard of TikTok. I just don't know why my kilts need to be on TikTok."

"Because people love looking at pretty videos of Scotland, even more so if there's a hot man in a kilt in them."

"Where are you finding these hot men in kilts?"

Sheila raised an eyebrow at me. I recoiled.

"Absolutely not."

"Och, come on! Who better to represent the brand than the owner?"

"No. Next item on the list?"

"No to TikTok or no to you being in the campaign?"

I sighed and tapped my pen, looking up as a knock sounded at the front door to the shop. Holding a finger up to Sheila's pouting image, I walked to the doorway and glanced out to see a group of women peering through the window. Ignoring them, I returned to the video call.

"No to me being in the campaign. But I'll have final say on the direction you take with TikTok, so don't start any campaigns until I give you the go-ahead."

"Aww, and here I was going to sneak the half-naked men coated in honey past you."

That caught my attention, and I glowered at her.

"Why in the world would you coat a man in honey?"

"It's less shiny than oil, but still gleams."

"Won't it just look like piss?"

"You think? Huh, I'll have to look into it."

"You can do that off the clock, Sheila. I'm not paying you to test out honey on naked men."

"More's the pity, I'm sure. Right, then. Carrying on. A spot has opened up at the airport."

I rolled my eyes.

"We've been over this. Move on."

"I think you need to hear me out because your brother is trying to shoehorn his way in, but I managed to get the leasing agent to give us twenty-four hours before he opens it to other applicants."

My blood heated at the mention of Andrew. It was impossible not to. Traitor.

"Our kilts are custom-made. What do you suggest we do for an airport store?" I shouldn't be open to the idea, but the thought of my brother getting prominent placement with his fast-fashion, cheaply made crap, which he passed off as authentic Scottish merchandise, made me want to punch my fist through the computer screen. Not that any of this was Sheila's fault, it was just the closest thing to me. Instead, I drew multiple circles on the paper, stabbing little holes into the corner of the cover, while Sheila rushed through her pitch.

"I think you could choose one or two tartan favorites, our bestsellers maybe, and produce those in common sizes. Then we go all accessories. Bowties, braces, bags … all of that can be made ahead of time without having to be a custom order. We have enough data to know what our customers like best, so we produce a lot of it. The revenue stream from this positioning would employ an entire new warehouse of employees at our production facilities."

She knew just where to fire her shots. It was vitally important to me that my employees lived and worked in Scotland, and each product was made with a careful eye to detail. Kilt-making was a time-honored tradition, and I made sure that each of our orders was crafted with that history in mind. But I also knew we were approaching a recession and that many employers were making cuts. If I was in the position to provide more jobs, I wanted to do so.

"What data do you have that supports purchases at that price? My brother's shite products would likely sell better."

"Maybe, maybe not. I'll send you the financials. I did a lot of research on high-end boutiques and their placement in airports around the world. Turns out, many people forget to buy gifts while traveling and are willing to splurge before they hop on a plane home. The data supports it."

"Send it over. I'll look at it today and get back to you by"—I checked my watch—"before end of day. I'm going to the pub for the match later."

"Look at you being social." Sheila gave me an approving nod.

"Hardly. I need to eat. And there's beer."

"Will any of your friends be there?"

"I dunno." I shrugged a shoulder. "Likely?"

"Aww, you have a man date to watch the rugby. See? You're growing. I knew moving to Loren Brae would be good for you."

"From my understanding, you're my cousin, not my mother, Sheila. I don't need you to hover over me."

"Not hovering. Just observing."

"I didn't see discussion of my personal life on today's agenda."

"Oh, speaking of!" Sheila continued unperturbed, tucking a pencil behind her ear. "Did your intern arrive?"

"I'm not talking about that."

"Wait, what happened?" Sheila's eyes sharpened. "I thought you'd agreed to this."

"Changed my mind."

"That's not like you. Usually, you're a man of your word."

My back went up. Sheila wasn't wrong. Once I'd given my word or agreed to do something, I rarely backpedaled. I didn't like people who were indecisive or changed tracks constantly. If I said I would do something, I did it. Which made me even more annoyed that Sophie had surprised me with Willow as an intern. If she'd just told me who was coming, I would have told her no.

You could have asked for the name of the intern.

"She's not a good fit."

"She?" Sheila perked up, dropping her chin onto her hands, and fluttered her eyelashes at me. "Tell me more."

"No."

"Oh, come on, Ramsay. Have a wee gossip with me. I'm bored."

"How can you be bored? You date a different guy every week and go out every night."

"Och, that's nothing interesting. Tell me about her."

She's perfect.

I couldn't believe that thought landed in my head, and once there, it burrowed in like a bear getting ready to hibernate for the winter. Horror filled me. Willow was not perfect. Sure, she was a stunning woman, but certainly not perfect. At least not perfect for me. Perfect for someone else. Away from me. Far, far, away from me.

"There's nothing to tell."

"Ramsay. Come on, give me something. I'm your manager, after all. I prepared an entire training program for this intern. You can't just call it off and not tell me why."

I grimaced. Why had I hired a family member again?

"She's Miles's sister."

"Oh. Well, that shouldn't be a problem, right?" Sheila crinkled her nose as she thought about it, and then her eyes widened. "Ohhhhh. Oh. You fancy the lass, don't you?"

"No."

"Ramsay! You do, don't you?" Sheila's eyes lit and I growled, literally growled, as a smile widened on her face. "You've never had a problem hiring friends before."

"She's not suited."

"Why? Does she hate clothes? Criminal history? Passes wind a lot?"

At that, I rolled my eyes and reached for the top of the computer.

"It's not happening. Goodbye, Sheila."

"You've got a crussshhhhh," Sheila sang just as I slammed the computer closed and buried my face in my hands. Great. Now I'd never hear the end of this.

Fighting down the irritation that threatened to make me call Lachlan and tell him to rein in his woman, which I knew would go over about as well as a fart at a funeral, I picked up my phone and called Miles instead. I might as well deal with this sooner than later, and the last thing I needed was to have him chew me out because I'd canceled his sister's internship.

"Ramsay! I was just talking about you today. How's it going, man?" Miles's face filled the screen, and a knit cap pulled low over his head, snow blanketing the yard behind him.

I still remembered the first time I met Miles, attempting to skip rocks on the banks of Loch Mirren. Instantly hearing his American accent, I was intrigued and had decided to show him how a real Scot skipped a rock. Except my rock had only gone two hops and his three, and before I'd known it, we'd entered an epic competition that had secured our friendship. Now we saw each other once a year on an annual trip somewhere, and though I didn't talk to him weekly, Miles was still an important part of my life.

"Hey, mate, how goes it?"

"Yeah, good enough, doncha know? Business is good, even in this weather."

"Cold?"

"Shit, man, another foot of snow forecasted for tomorrow."

"I don't know how you do it." I'd visited Minnesota twice, once in the summer and once in the winter, and I far preferred the summer. The winter wind had felt like someone was trying to carve into my face with an icy scalpel. My nose hairs had frozen instantly, my eyes had watered, and I'd, quite literally, gasped for breath when I'd stepped outside. All while the neighbor jogged by with a fuzzy hat on and had waved cheerfully like it was a balmy summer's day.

Don't get me wrong, growing up in Scotland had thickened my skin against cold weather. It wasn't warm in Loren Brae by many standards, but it wasn't Baltic. The days at least reached zero degrees Celsius. The lot of them in Minnesota were mental, I'd concluded. Nobody could survive, let alone thrive, in such conditions. Or I suppose with the right gear you could, but why? Why would you want to?

"Just used to it, man."

"I wanted to talk to you about something."

"What's up?" Miles's face instantly sobered. I wasn't one to call him much for advice or to talk matters of the heart, but we'd had enough important chats through the years to know when the other needed us.

"Your sister's here."

"I knew it! I asked her if she was going to see you and she denied it." Miles shook his head and glowered into the phone.

"That's not the worst of it. She's meant to be my new intern."

"Wait, you hired her as an intern and didn't tell me? What the hell, man?" Miles leaned back from the phone, affronted.

"I didn't know, mate. Sophie, who owns MacAlpine Castle, and is my best friend's girlfriend, badgered me into taking on an intern. Said she wanted to design a line of custom kilts for the castle shop. She didn't tell me who the intern was."

"Ah, okay. So, what's the problem? Did she screw up already?"

I tilted my head at that, the tone of his voice putting my back up the same way that Sheila's comment about keeping my word had. Why would Miles think she'd screwed up? Did she have a bad track record or something? I realized now how little I knew about Willow's life because, well, I never really asked Miles about it. We talked about work and girlfriends and planned the occasional guy's trip together.

"No, not at all. I barely saw her." Just pressed her luscious breasts against my chest while my hands gripped her thick thighs and my body begged to take her to a dark corner of the castle and sink into all her softness. Fucking hell, I was doomed. Even thinking about how her body had felt against mine earlier was causing an uncomfortable reaction.

"This is great, actually. Finally someone who can keep an eye out for her since she refuses to let me."

"You want me to look after her?" I kept my expression flat, hoping he couldn't read anything untoward in my eyes.

"Yes, please. Last dude she dated stole from her and slept with her only employee. The job before that? Tried to make her model lingerie for their ad campaigns instead of letting her design. The job before that one? Boss put his hands on her and tried to force her to sleep with him."

My blood boiled.

"His name?" My voice took on a sharp edge.

"I took care of it, bro. But thanks. She just needs a win. I'd hoped it would be here, in Minnesota, but she's allergic to me at this point."

"Maybe because you have the approach of a bulldozer?"

Miles laughed and looked away from the camera before turning back.

"Pot calling the kettle black and all that."

"Touché."

"Just look out for her, will ya? I feel better knowing she's there with you. And don't tell her I said that. Oh, and I wouldn't mind updates since she's pissed at me right now."

Great, now I'd been put in the position of protecting her and reporting back to her brother.

"Maybe it's best not to work with her. I don't want you coming after me if it doesn't work out. Doesn't sound like she's had a great track record at her jobs. Is she even a good designer?"

"Oh, hell yeah, she's great. Wait until you see her stuff. It's not her work ethic that's the issue, Ramsay. She's just so damn na?ve. She'd give any dude off the street a roof for the night if he needed a place to sleep. How she didn't get mugged regularly in New York City I do not know. She's the most optimistic person I've ever met, and I think I'd be less worried if I saw she'd sharpened some edges. Unfortunately, the only person she seems to have claws with is me." Not, quite. Och, I had a glimpse of those claws myself. At least now I understood why she'd been so antagonistic toward me when she first spotted me. What had she accused me of?

"I don't need you reporting back to my brother."

"We're hardest on those closest to us."

"Maybe. Either way, just keep an eye on her, yeah? I gotta run, my contractor's meeting me for a site walk-through."

"Aye, no problem, mate. Catch up soon."

I hung up and stared across the shop, my annoyance with Sophie growing even more. Why had I ever said yes to her proposal? This was all Lachlan's fault. Checking the time, I stood and grabbed my coat. He'd be at the pub tonight.

And I'd be happy to take my grievances out on him.