Page 39 of Wild Scottish Beauty

I’d looked over the contracts Sheila had sent, largely because I’d promised her that I would, but also because she was right—if I didn’t take the spot, then my brother would, and he only sold mass-produced fake crap. At the very least, I could send tourists home with authentic gifts, plus, based on Sheila’s predictions, create a small factory’s worth of jobs for locals. All in all, it was a sound business decision, even though I’d have to step away from what I largely loved to do—crafting custom kilts.

“I’m having display designs mocked up for your approval now. I’ve got a few of our more enterprising employees mocking up some design options that would be easy enough to produce in larger volume. Hopefully, we’ll be able to get both the display designs and product suggestions to you within a matter of weeks.”

“Scarves?” I asked, knowing it was one of the easier products to make quickly.

“Scarves, bowties, wool cottage socks, tartan bags, pens, whisky glasses?—”

“Whisky glasses?” I interrupted.

“A partnership I’m teasing out. You’ll see in the presentation. Wouldn’t hurt for you to have a wee chat with Munroe either. I could see an easy collaboration there.”

“Wouldn’t he need to do something with duty free or VAT then?” I asked, checking the time and moving the laptop to the fireplace mantel in the main store before I bent and began tostack wood.

“He’ll have merch. Even if he can’t sell liquor, there’s other options. Have a chat with him and see.”

“He’s still mad at me for beating him at pool.”

“Do you have to beat everyone?” I could hear the annoyance in Sheila’s voice even when I couldn’t see her face, and I bit back a grin.

“Can’t help that I’m a legend, lass.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt?—”

I brought my head up, narrowly missing banging my head on the mantel, to see Willow framed in the front doorway that I’d unlocked earlier that morning. I’d taken the bell off the door, the damn thing driving me crazy half the day, and now Willow’s eyes darted between Sheila’s smiling face on the screen and mine.

“I’ll just leave you to your call then.” Willow gave me a wink, implying that I was speaking to a date, and breezed past me into the back room. My head swung in the direction she’d just gone.

Nobody went into my workshop without my permission. My mouth gaped open, but nothing came out.

“Is that your new intern then?” Sheila beamed at me, correctly interpreting my expression. “Try not to chew her head off, Ramsay. She works there now too.”

“But…” I had never considered she’d invade my inner sanctum. Which was weird, of course. The shop was only so big, so naturally she’d have to come through my back workshop, even if she just needed to get something from the storeroom. This was how having employees worked.

“Go be a boss.”

“I don’t like being a boss,” I hissed.

“So you’ve told me, repeatedly. And yet, you’ve built anempire with very little turnover. Seems people like when you’re a boss.”

I narrowed my eyes at Sheila, and her grin widened.

“She’s pretty. Loved her skirt.”

“Don’t start.” On that, I closed the laptop quickly, because I, too, had loved Willow’s skirt. At least the quick glimpse I’d gotten of it.

Sparkles.

Who wore a black sparkle mini skirt to work?

Willow did, apparently.

“All finished? Sorry I interrupted,” Willow said, coming to stand in the doorway between the back room and the main shop looking like a damn sunflower that had popped up in the middle of a plowed field. She wore a loose button-down blue tartan shirt, cuffs rolled, and ends tied at the waist of her very short, very sparkly black mini skirt. Tights so dark they could be leggings lined her curvy legs, and low-heeled suede boots completed the look. She’d pulled her hair up in a messy ponytail, fastened with a silly bow, and I wanted to pull an end of the ribbon like a besotted schoolboy.

She was fresh, and bright, and just so … out of place here. Her very existence jarred something in me, and I forcibly had to work myself to close my mouth and swallow, before turning back to the fireplace to finish what I’d started.

I needed something to do with my hands lest I do something crazy like dive them into that mass of hair and drag Willow’s lips to mine. I was an adult. An adult with a strong code of ethics and morals. I didn’t date employees, I didn’t use my position of power to intimidate or harass, andI certainly didn’t hit on my best friend’s little sister. After a stern talk to myself, while Willow watched me in silence, I set a match to the tinder, and a cheerful flame lit the wood.

“Bit of a chill this morning. That should sort it out,” I said. Straightening, I turned.

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