Page 3 of Isla

"No, I need to do it." I yawn, exhaustion settling over me.

"Finish up," Charlie says, gathering empty mugs. "I'll sleep with you tonight."

"Thank you. All of you." I smile at them, failing to smother another yawn.

"G'night, Bug," Lach says, ruffling my hair.

"Night," I murmur, squeezing Cam's hand as he passes.

Jack pulls me into a quick hug. "Let me know if you need anything. Love you."

"Love you, too."

Charlie pulls me out of the chair and down the hall to the guest bedroom. I flop on the bed, descending into sleep almost immediately. I barely feel her untying my boots or easing my jacket off. She had shown up out of the blue a year ago and became the bond that glued our family together. She’s my ride-or-die. My best friend. I snuggle into her side and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

2

The silence is suffocating as I hoist myself into a seat at the empty bar. I closed the pub yesterday in honor of James, but we're open as usual tonight, and I need to be on my A-game. I know that's what he'd want. I fiddle with my phone, trying to drum up the courage to call James' son. I never let guys intimidate me, but this is different. I thought I would spend my entire life in this pub. It's my home. Now that everything hangs in the balance, I can't stop thinking about what'll happen if he doesn’t accept my offer.

I slam my fist on the bar. Fuck this. I punch in his number and hold the phone to my ear. Taking a deep breath, I count to ten before releasing it.

"Thank you for calling Andersen Law Firm. How may I direct your call?" a sweet voice asks on the other end of the connection.

"Mr. Andersen, please."

"May I tell him who's calling?"

"Isla MacLeod."

"Please hold, Ms. MacLeod."

My heart ratchets up a notch as the hold music nearly ruptures my eardrum.Fucking breathe, Isla.

"Andersen."

I jump at his curt voice but quickly recover, pulling myself together. "Mr. Andersen, this is Isla MacLeod. Before I begin, I want to offer my condolences for your father's death. He was a great man."

He grunts.

I clear my throat, plowing ahead with my spiel. "I've been working for your father for years. We had a verbal agreement that I would take over the pub. I'm not sure if he talked to you about it. Or me." I know full well he didn't. He never picked up when James called him.

"He didn't."

"I'd like to make an offer."

"How much?"

Fuck, this guy didn't mess around. "I looked at similar businesses in surrounding towns, and seventy-five thousand pounds seems more than fair."

He grunts again. "I'll have a real estate lawyer look into it and get back to you."

"I'm open to negotiation," I say, unwilling to risk him selling it to someone else. He ignores me.

"Is the pub closed down now?"

"I was planning on opening it today and keeping it open through the sale–if that’s amenable to you."

"As long as you’re aware that you can't keep the money just because you're running the pub in the interim. All proceeds will be transferred into my father’s estate.”

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