Page 18 of Kilt Trip

But even the decadence of a shop that sold nothing but baked potatoes wasn’t enough to redeem this shitty day.

Addie grabbed an orange drink that Elyse bullied her into choosing and paid. While she waited, she snagged the stools by the floor-to-ceiling window and checked her email.

From: Marc Dawsey

To: Addie Macrae; Devika Shah

Talking with Amsterdam City Tours about Phase 2 this morning and three other prospective calls this week. Buckle up, we’re about to get busy! Send an update when you have a minute.

The sick feeling was back, twisting in Addie’s stomach. She couldn’t very well write:

Dear Marc,

Things are off to a promising start. Neil speaks of his latest fishing achievements, and I ask insightful questions based on that one time I watched Salmon Fishing in the Yemen. If he’s in a sparky mood, he explains some random bit of folklore on his mind due to the upcoming equinox or a particularly windy day. Maybe he has a bad case of senioritis or some misplaced faith that Logan will take the reins on this one. Either way, the place runs on fairy tales instead of data.

As for Logan, he dumped his trips on another guide for the express purpose of getting in my way. He’s been sitting on reservation-system options for four days and would rather drown in the North Sea than be of any help at all.

I have a sneaking suspicion all their vendors are old family friends and their attractions hold personal sentimental value, because I can’t understand the appeal otherwise. As far as I can tell, The Heart of the Highlands is afloat by some miracle of god, also known as great word-of-mouth references, which, as you know, Marc, cannot be counted toward the bottom line.

Love,

Addie

She smoothed a wrinkle in her skirt that was probably permanent from all the hours she’d spent hunched over this disaster of a business.

All the prospective calls were great for their company, of course—much needed reassurance they could make this work. But it put the pressure directly on Addie like thumbs pushing too hard into the soft flesh under her shoulder blades. She needed to wrap this up and be ready for the next project the minute Marc signed a new contract, and she’d accomplished next to nothing. She couldn’t be the reason their business didn’t pull in enough revenue because she was stuck here with Logan blocking her at every turn.

Elyse slid onto the stool next to her, sunning herself in the window like a sleepy cat. “You have to admit, the prank was a belter.”

Addie raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Maybe for someone who won’t be finding bits of ceiling in their hair for the next week.”

A grin spread across Elyse’s face. “Logan’s been waiting to retaliate against Margaret for the time she switched his background to a screenshot of the log-in screen and he couldn’t figure out how to get into his computer for an entire afternoon. It probably wasn’t even meant for you.”

“Uh-huh,” Addie said dryly, but a smile fought its way past her foul mood. Lunch with Elyse had that effect.

Fork halfway to her mouth, Addie paused, stomach dipping. “What are you eating right now?”

Elyse gave her a questioning look. “Tuna.”

“On a baked potato?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She dug in. “It’s my favorite.”

Trying to stifle her disgust, Addie took a hearty swig of Irn-Bru, coughing from the flavor: fizzy Hi-C mixed with bowling alley. She struggled to keep it in her mouth.

“Fond of haggis? Could try blood sausage next.”

“If you promise to hold my hair.”

Elyse had jumped in like they’d been friends for years, not an acquaintance who’d set up Addie’s computer and apologized for the reprehensible desk arrangement.

In all her travels, she met plenty of genuine, friendly people, but Elyse was different. For one, she was deeply invested in the tea thing, convinced Addie would come to enjoy it after enough forced attempts, as if Addie wouldn’t be drinking Frappuccinos in the Frankfurt airport in a handful of weeks.

She acted like Addie was staying and made her feel included or, at the very least, enjoyed making fun of her accent. Whatever her reasons, Addie appreciated her company every morning and her insistence on eating exclusively baked potatoes for lunch.

Elyse had quickly become more than someone who cured afternoon boredom with office gossip. She’d bypassed the introductory conversations Addie was used to, that only ramped up when it was time for her to move on.

Elyse shifted on the stool, adjusting her tartan wool vest that might or might not have been ironic. “Alright, you need to know the goss if you’re going to make it here. Big Mac and his wife got in a row last night, and she was so steamed she slipped a raw fish in his rucksack. Steer clear of his desk. It reeks.”

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