Page 20 of Kilt Trip

Attaching trinkets to all the keys was childish and also deeply satisfying. Logan would despise it. When she was done, Addie stepped back to admire the miniature bagpipes swaying and coming to rest against the wall.

That bit of revenge enacted, she headed to the desk she shared with Logan. Any levity she’d recaptured at lunch evaporated when she spotted the dartboard Logan had hung earlier in the week, directly behind her chair. The bull’s-eye lined up with her nose when she was sitting.

A yellow jar of assorted pushpins and other office supplies sat on Logan’s side of the desk, and feeling immature and adamant about it, Addie tipped it over. With one finger, she rearranged the paper clips to spell out bawbag. The Scots slang Jack had taught her was really coming in handy.

Locally inspired insult—Addie, 1 point.

She settled on her side of the desk—in the ergonomic chair—and opened her laptop to send Marc an update. Even though she’d already read his email, her heart kicked a wild beat at the sight of his name. Addie shoved a pencil a little farther into the bun that had turned messy with the stress of the day.

She was flying blind on a project that determined her firm’s entire future. As a brand-new consultancy, their every client needed to have profitable tours—for their own cash flow and to keep Dawsey’s reputation intact. She couldn’t fight the thickening unease that even the smallest setback could wreck Marc’s faith in her. He was counting on her, the one person who’d always cheered her on. He’d pulled her out of an absolute nose dive the night of her college graduation, when her life could’ve spiraled in a completely different direction.

That day, her dad had flown in for a celebratory dinner. Maybe she’d hung too many hopes on that gesture, forgetting how this always went.

Common sense had abandoned her on the first glass of wine. “Do you think Mom would be proud of me?” she asked.

Brian sank back into his chair, into himself, his voice whisper-soft and haunted. “I don’t want to talk about Heather.”

Mechanically, he ate the rest of his rigatoni. Addie, the waitress, the room full of people, none of them existed. He might not have noticed when she paid the bill, when she got up and left.

In that moment, she’d stopped holding out hope for the apology she wanted, the overture she craved, the return to the family they’d once been.

With nowhere else to go—pitiful as that was—Addie had swiped her newly minted employee badge at the office where she’d interned—the only place she felt any claim to. She stopped before each shiny, framed print of faraway destinations. Imagined floating in the aquamarine waters of Tahiti and swinging along a rainforest canopy in Costa Rica. By the end of the hall, the pain in her heart had scabbed over.

Marc had been at his desk, tie discarded. “Shouldn’t you be rip-roaring drunk by now?” When he noticed her raccoon eyes and the red cap and gown slung over her arm, his gaze softened. “Want to talk?”

“My dad—” Addie croaked. Cleared her throat. Tried again. “My... Nope. No, actually, I don’t.”

“When life feels like too much, Damien and I get on a plane.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “You know what you need? The French Riviera. Devika starts a new project in Cannes next week. Join her. She can teach you everything you need to know. For people like us, life can be one big adventure.”

Addie had taken his advice—worked her ass off to prove he hadn’t made a mistake entrusting literally anything to a twenty-two-year-old. She was still hustling, making sure he never regretted including her in his new venture—their new venture.

She wouldn’t let him down or watch Marc and Devika turn into the kind of ex-coworkers she never saw again. Logan wasn’t going to derail the dream team over some childhood nostalgia bullshit.

Addie heard a snort, and then a box landed with a crash on the desk, sending the shiny metal paper clips flying like shrapnel. She jolted back. “Hey!”

“How was lunch?” Logan asked, resting his arms on the top of the cardboard filing box. “Have you tried The Abbey yet? Great nachos.”

So she didn’t announce her presence on that tour. Get over it.

He tapped the top of the box with papers haphazardly sticking out the sides. “I heard you needed cost breakdowns. These invoices should help.”

As much as she appreciated Elyse’s intervention, the idea of piecing together costs from literal scraps of paper sent a wave of panic through her belly like a Category 5 hurricane heading straight for their fledgling business. She didn’t have time for this.

Most clients revolved around analytics. At best, someone handed her a flash drive of everything she needed. Even the Atlantic City Scavenger Tours had more documentation than here—and it was run out of some guy’s basement.

Logan crossed his arms on top of the box and gave her a gloating smile. She fantasized about hurling ninja stars into his thick forehead.

Knowing a more hygienic way to draw blood, Addie picked up the phone receiver and dialed. The smug curl of Logan’s lips slipped as the ringing sound trilled in her ear. “Hello, Alasdair?” The color drained from Logan’s face. Addie couldn’t hide her grin. “This is Addie Macrae. I’m a consultant with The Heart of the Highlands Tours, and I’m conducting satisfaction surveys of The Heart’s preferred vendors.”

Logan glowered at her from his chair, his stare burning a hole in the center of her forehead.

“Do you have a moment to chat with me?...Great!” Addie locked eyes with Logan. “To start off, on a scale from one to five, how would you rate their level of professionalism?”

She held up three fingers and overexaggerated a wince.

Logan leaned across the desk on his forearms. “He’s an old fishing friend of my dad’s. There’s hardly a need for formality,” he hissed.

Addie dismissed him with a wave of her hand as she asked the next question. Logan turned the spray bottle Elyse had given her for the fern until the nozzle pointed directly at Addie.

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