London Tides: A Novel (The MacDonald Family Trilogy Book 2) (14 page)

There was only one person with whom she wanted to celebrate.

Chapter Fifteen

When Ian stepped off the lift onto the second floor, Ms. Grey was waiting in a perfectly pressed suit, an attaché case on the ground next to her feet.

“Ms. Grey, you’re early,” he said. “Reception doesn’t come in until nine.”

“I wanted to get a start on setting up my desk, sir. I hope you don’t mind. I arrived a few minutes ago.”

“Not at all. Welcome to MacDonald Enterprises.” He unlocked the door and stepped inside the office space, flipping on the lights as he went. The hum of fluorescents followed them through the empty reception area.

Ian stopped in the reception area outside his office. “This is your desk. Paperwork is already waiting. If you can fill that out straightaway, I’ll have you set up with a code for the computer system by midday.”

“Code?”

Ian smiled. “Considering the kind of media attention James receives, we keep information under fairly strict control. As my assistant, you’ll be privy to most of that anyhow. That’s why there’s a confidentiality agreement in the pile.”

Ms. Grey looked completely unperturbed. “That makes sense. Before I start, what can I do? Should I turn on the copier and make a pot of coffee?”

“I would appreciate that, thank you.” Ian crossed into his glassed-in office and set his briefcase on the desk. Could it be true? A capable assistant? What were the chances he could actually keep her?

After sorting through the hundred messages in his email in-box, he went straight into a marketing meeting. Ms. Grey handed him a sheaf of completed forms when he returned. “I’m ready when you are, sir.”

“Give me a moment, then, and we’ll go over your duties.” Ian returned to his office, hung his coat on the hanger on the back of the door, and grabbed his coffee mug.

He seated himself in front of Ms. Grey’s desk. “All right. As you might have already guessed, we’re a small operation. Five full-time employees, including you and me. James’s assistant, Bridget, does reception and phones. She reports directly to him. Then we have Elizabeth, the marketing manager who works with his publicist—who of course has other clients and works from her own office—and Douglass, the graphic designer and de facto IT guy.”

She nodded, taking notes, though Ian expected she memorized every word. “You will be assisting me with the company’s operational duties. All financial information comes through me, whether it be royalties and residuals or the monthly P and L from the restaurants. My brother works directly with his head chefs and front-of-house managers on menus, ordering, and accounts payable. I make sure all the information is properly gathered and in line with previous months. It’s redundant, but since James isn’t as involved as he was in the beginning, having an extra set of eyes on the restaurants’ books keeps everyone honest. Still with me?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Let me show you the network. We’re paperless, so any statements or reports get scanned in and then shredded immediately. I’ll log in.” He leaned across the desk for the keyboard, pretending not to notice Ms. Grey’s flinch. So his speculations had been correct after all.

He walked her through the network filing system and software, and then sat back. “Pretty straightforward for you, I’d think. What we do is relatively boring.”

“It all seems perfectly reasonable, sir. I’ll get started and let you know if I have any questions.”

Ian nodded, then returned to his own desk. In truth, he had handed off several of his own daily tasks as a test, which left his day significantly lighter than usual. When his mobile phone beeped from his desk drawer, he pulled it out and found Grace’s text message waiting. He smiled to himself as he texted back a rather unhelpful suggestion for dealing with her nervousness. Her immediate sarcastic response elicited a chuckle.

It wasn’t like Grace to text him just because, though. She probably was legitimately nervous. He keyed in a more serious response.

You’ll be brilliant. I promise. Just tell him why this means so much to you.

The office intercom buzzed, and he punched the flashing light. “Ms. Grey?”

“Mr. MacD—that is, your brother, James—is on line two for you.”

“Thank you.” He switched over to the active line. “Good morning, Jamie.”

“Morning. Another new assistant?”

Ian caught the thread of amusement in his brother’s voice. “Hopefully my last for a while. Ms. Grey can transfer calls and make coffee, and her eyes didn’t glaze over when I explained the computer system.”

“That sounds promising.”

“Quite. So, what’s up? You’re usually too busy gazing lovingly into your gorgeous fiancée’s eyes to call me here.”

“That’s still on the agenda for later, after Andrea finishes with the contractor. He made the mistake of lying about why we’re a week behind schedule. It didn’t go over well.”

“I can imagine.”

Jamie had originally met his American fiancée when Ian hired her to consult on the renovation of the family hotel on the Isle of Skye. Now that she’d moved to Scotland and formed her own hospitality consulting firm in Inverness, they were using the renovations as the first project in her portfolio. From what Ian had seen on his last trip to Skye, Andrea was running the job with equal measures of charm and intimidation.

“You still haven’t told me why you’re calling,” Ian said.

“Right. I didn’t get your reply to the wedding invitation.”

“You didn’t?” He shuffled papers in his in-box, then opened several drawers of his desk until he laid hands on an ivory vellum envelope. Still unopened. “It’s sitting right here. I must have forgotten to post it.”

“I already know you’re coming, since you’re the best man. I just need to know if you’re bringing a plus one.”

Now Ian remembered why he hadn’t opened it. There was nothing worse than attending your younger brother’s wedding alone, and he’d fooled himself into thinking that avoiding the matter would make it go away.

He tilted the envelope back and forth between his fingers before he placed it firmly on the surface of his desk. “I’m bringing someone.”

“Really? You’re seeing someone?”

“Something like that. Just don’t mention it to Mum.”

Jamie paused on the other end of the line. “Why not?”

“You know how she is. If she knew, she’d have a private detective on the case in thirty seconds flat. When will you be back in London? There are a few things we need to go over in person, and I’m not about to interrupt your wedding with business.”

“After the honeymoon. We’ll stay in the flat for a few weeks before we head back to Scotland.”

“Fair enough. Let me know the dates, and I’ll put it on the calendar.” Ian said his farewells and then hung up the phone. He was certainly capable of going to the wedding alone, but now Grace was back in his life.

A woman Marjorie had once thrown out of Leaf Hill for daring to challenge Marjorie’s treatment of her.

No, there was no way this could go wrong.

He was following that thought to its inevitable conclusion when his phone beeped again.
Done! Heading through Westminster. Lunch?

He glanced at the clock. It had been little more than an hour since the last text message. Did that mean it went well or poorly?
Wouldn’t miss it. I can get out of here in 30.

They decided on a little café not far from the office, and Ian turned back to his work. As he went through the third statement, he dragged off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. What he’d told Ms. Grey was true. Most of what he did all day was mind-numbingly boring. He essentially preserved his brother’s income streams and played babysitter to all the various employees, vendors, and contractors who worked for Jamie. He was quite literally his brother’s keeper.

But that was the way the world worked. A perfectly fulfilling career was a myth perpetuated by television and self-help books. Wasn’t it?

When he met Grace in the narrow café, she was already seated with a glass of sparkling water in hand, head bent over her mobile. His eyebrows lifted. He was used to seeing her in jeans and Doc Martens, but now she wore a slim-cut black suit with several strings of glittering glass beads around her neck.

The hostess saw him, but he waved her off and maneuvered himself behind Grace. He bent to murmur in her ear, “Mind if I join you, beautiful?”

She turned her head just enough for him to see the mischievous glint in her eye. “I don’t know. My athlete boyfriend might object to me having lunch with a handsome stranger in pinstripes.”

Ian chuckled and took the seat across from her. “Is that what I am? Your boyfriend?”

“Do you want to be?” She gave him a sultry little smile that made his wool suit jacket suddenly feel a little too warm.

He reached for her hand across the table as the waitress arrived to take his drink order.

“Sparkling water for me as well.” When they were alone again, he said, “I take it the interview went well?”

“I think so, yes.” She recounted the conversation, from Mr. DeVries’s praise of her artistic vision to his reluctance to put her forward to the board for consideration.

“So he’s hesitant because you didn’t finish university? That’s mad! Henry thinks you’re a lock for a Pulitzer nomination!”

“Well, in the end, I convinced him that my experience more than makes up for my lack of education. He’s going to put the application up at the next board meeting.”

“That’s fantastic,” Ian said. “I know you’ll be perfect.”

“And the potted palm isn’t even the worse for the wear. What about you? How is your day so far?”

“Fine. Ms. Grey started work today.”

“Shouldn’t that please you? You said the last several assistants didn’t work out.”

“Let’s just say I’m feeling uncharacteristically contemplative. I was explaining my responsibilities to my new assistant and realized how dreadfully dull it all is.” He leaned forward across his folded arms. “I’m going to be forty years old, Grace. What am I doing here?”

“Besides having a midlife crisis during your lunch break?” Her teasing smile coaxed one in return from him. “What’s this really about?”

He leaned back and drummed his fingers on the table. “I don’t know. Pathetic whinging. Forget I said anything. I don’t want to ruin our celebration.”

Grace studied him for a minute, then rose and tossed a banknote on the table. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

“But we’d planned—”

“Hang the plans. Are you coming?”

Ian shrugged apologetically to the server, then followed Grace out of the café. Once out on the pavement, he looked to her. “Where to?”

“I don’t know. Let’s just walk for a bit.”

“I really do need to get back.”

“Why? James isn’t around, so you’re the boss. And your capable assistant has things well under control, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then loosen up that tie and let’s go. How often does London get sunshine, even in July? It’s criminal not to enjoy it.” She took a small digital camera from her bag and slipped its strap around her wrist. Then she threaded her fingers through his and tugged him down the street.

Their progress was slow, in a pleasant, unhurried way, punctuated every few blocks by Grace raising her camera and snapping shots of passersby or buildings or a cluster of birds. What there was about the typical cityscape to inspire her, he didn’t know, but gradually he managed to stop thinking about the work awaiting him back at the office and let himself enjoy watching her. There was something unreasonably sexy about her careless confidence, the easy but competent way she handled the camera.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said.

“You’re delusional.” She smiled at him, though. “Maybe delusional isn’t so bad. Oh look, shawarma. Let’s eat here.”

“This place is good,” he said. They stepped up to the little shop wedged between a news kiosk and a leather tourist shop and ordered lamb shawarma. Then they found a nearby bench on which to perch while they ate.

“Shall we take bets on my ability to keep
tzatziki
off my trousers?” Ian asked while he peeled back the foil wrapper.

“You should stop wearing suits.”

“For greater ease of shawarma eating?”

Grace chuckled, then took a sip of her fizzy. “Because they suck the life out of you. It’s like cuff links are your Kryptonite.”

“Cuff links keep my sleeves together. Besides, that would make me Superman.”

“Well, then, Superman, you should kiss me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Kiss me. You didn’t seem to have a problem with it anywhere else. But you weren’t wearing a suit then.”

“That logic is completely mental.” He laid his arm across the back of the bench, then leaned over and pressed a light kiss to her lips.

She cocked her head and considered. “Point proved.”

“Hey!”

“You call that a kiss?”

“In public? Yes.”

“That is pathetic.”

He gave her a mock scowl. “Are you trying to make me angry now?”

“No, I’m trying to make the point that you are two different people, and I wanted to have lunch with the one who would kiss me like he meant it.” Her eyes glinted with challenge.

He wrapped his hand around her lapels, then pulled her close enough to press his lips to hers again. She smiled against his mouth before she softened to him, sliding her hands beneath his jacket so her fingernails could trace shivery trails down his back through his shirt.

It was Grace who pulled away first, a little breathless but utterly self-satisfied. “Well.”

Ian cleared his throat. “I win.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I win.” Grace gave him a naughty little grin before she turned back to her shawarma. “That was a rather impressive public display of affection. Next thing you know, you’ll be wearing a pullover to work. Of all the horrors.”

Ian laughed and nudged her leg with his knee. The grin she shot back unexpectedly wormed into his chest and gave his heart a firm clench. He pulled off his tie and draped it around her neck. “You’ve made me see the error of my ways. I might even go back to work tieless.”

“You’re so very brave.”

He reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers. Before he lost his nerve or she shifted the topic to a joke again, he said, “I have something to ask you.”