Chapter 4

Eilidh's POINT OF VIEW

I sat at the small nook desk, my fingers tapping lightly on the pen in front of me. The espresso store buzzed with quiet chatter, the scent of freshly brewed espresso blending with the crisp air that had drifted in through the door. But nothing could calm the nerves knotting in my stomach. I’d been reviewing files for hours, and the assembly was just hours away. Everything needed to be ideal.

My eyes had been glued to the display screen, seeking recognition at the numbers; however, my thoughts kept wandering. What if the provision didn't come through? What if they returned with something completely different? My mind began to race, spiraling into a multitude of unique instructions. My father’s economic troubles felt like a weight on my chest, pushing down more difficult with every passing 2D.

I heard the door open, a chilly gust of wind sweeping the interior. I didn’t look up at the start—perhaps hoping I should hold my awareness, perhaps hoping I wouldn’t recognize the individual coming in. But then I felt it. It was the unmistakable presence of a person who knew me well. As someone approached, I could hear the smooth shuffle of footsteps and the sound of material brushing against the ground.

I looked up just in time to see him: Alistair MacLeod. I froze, my breath catching in my throat. He was my colleague at Dunmore Group. He had left the company not long ago to pursue a better opportunity. And now, right here, he turned to take walks towards me, finding it irresistible, and turned into the most ordinary issue in the international.

His gaze met mine, causing the world to pause momentarily. His face went from impartial to wonder, then quickly masked with a professionalism that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

I was unprepared for this situation. This is no longer the case.

“Long time, no see,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.

Alistair blinked, and there had been a brief hesitation earlier than he walked towards the desk, pulling out the chair and sitting across from me. The distance between us felt like a chasm; however, the air around us thickened with unspoken words. We hadn’t spoken in months, and now here we were, going through each other like strangers.

The silence lingered. It became awkward, thick with the entirety neither person wanted to mention. But I wasn’t here for small talk. I wasn’t right here for a reunion. I had a process to do.

I drove a stack of papers closer to him, the burden of the documents pulling at my wrist. “Here are the papers,” I said, retaining my tone cool. “If everything appears properly, you may sign them.”

Alistair picked up the papers; his eyes skimmed over the top one; however, then his expression changed. His lips parted barely as he regarded the next page. The numbers. Seventy million. His eyebrows arched in surprise.

“Miss MacLeod,” he stated, his voice cautious, “this is… nicely, it’s higher than I expected. The Dunmore Group can only offer 40 million.”

I felt my jaw tighten, but I held my ground. I have been looking ahead to this. It became the identical old track and dance. Lowball, haggle, undercut. I wasn’t going to play alongside.

“I can’t take delivery of 40 million,” I answered, my voice corporate. “Seventy million is the asking price. And that’s non-negotiable.”

His gaze flicked to me, studying my face as if he were seeking out any sign of a weak point. But there was none. I am done with this again-and-forth. The negotiation, the video games. This turned into the rate, and it wasn’t changing.

Alistair didn’t respond right away. His hands tapped the papers gently, his mind definitely running via options. For a moment, I thought he would possibly ward off once more. But instead, he leaned back in his chair, eyes nonetheless on me.

The anxiety within the room made my pores and skin move slowly, and I started out packing my matters, accumulating the papers lower back right into a neat stack. I become geared up to leave. This wasn’t well worth it.

“Miss MacLeod, wait.” Alistair’s voice stopped me as I stood up. “Let me make a name. I’ll test with the better-ups. Maybe we are able to come to a few agreements.”

I hesitated, my eyes narrowing as I studied him. I turned into achieved; however, the deal ought to still be worth it. My business enterprise needed this. I should see the frustration in his eyes, and I wondered how much of it became actual. How much of it was part of the game they played?

“Fine,” I said, subsequently giving in. “Call them. But I’m not wasting any more time.”

Alistair stepped aside, pulling out his phone. I watched him dial the variety; however, my gaze drifted to the window. The sky had darkened, clouds swirling, hinting at the rain that was sure to return. It mirrored the tight knot in my chest, the strain constructing with every second.

At the Dunmore Group headquarters, Ruaridh MacKinnon sat in his workplace, his eyes narrowed as he listened to a record from his advertising crew. His sharp, calculating gaze by no means wavered as he absorbed the statistics.

When his telephone rang, his expression soured. He disliked interruptions during his transition to work. He allowed the phone to ring twice before responding with a snarl.

“What is it?” His voice becomes curt and cold.

Alistair’s voice came through, explaining the scenario—Eilidh MacLeod’s refusal to decrease the fee. Ruaridh’s frown deepened as he processed the words. He didn’t like this. This was not the intended course of events.

“No,” he responded firmly. “That’s an excessive amount of. We can’t justify that type of provision.”

Alistair hesitated, and Ruaridh observed it without delay. Something approximately turned off his tone. Alistair was not the type to hesitate, especially not in front of him. Ruaridh felt a shift in his mind and a shift in his gut. There was a disconnect in his thoughts.

He tapped his hands on the table, his thoughts walking via the alternatives. The deal. It became unstable. Seventy million became steep. Too steep. But there has been something in the back of his mind telling him to go along with it.

After a long pause, Ruaridh sooner or later exhaled, his voice sharp as he gave the command.

“Fine,” he said, his tone brokering no argument. “Tell her we’ll meet her rate. But there’s a situation.”

Alistair changed into silence on the other end of the line, processing the unexpected shift. “What’s the condition?” he asked carefully.

“I want her to explain why her business enterprise is worth seventy million,” Ruaridh answered, his voice chillier than earlier. “I’ll meet her individually. Tell her I’ll be there.”

Alistair was silent for a moment longer earlier than responding. “Understood.”

Ruaridh hung up the telephone without another word. His palms drummed rhythmically towards the desk, his gaze lost in the distance. Something felt off about this complete scenario. He couldn’t place his finger on it, but the feeling gnawed at him, tugging at the threshold of his mind.

Back at the coffee shop, Alistair ended the call and turned back to me, his face betraying a feel of urgency.

“Miss MacLeod,” he commenced, his tone a good deal more one of a kind now. “I’ve spoken with the higher-ups. They’ve agreed to your fee. We’ll honor the seventy million.”

I stared at him, disbelief washing over me. “Just like that?”

Alistair didn’t reply right away. His eyes darted to the papers in the front of him, and he shuffled them quickly, then signed at the lowest. “The deal is performed,” he stated, sliding the pen in the direction of me. “You simply want to sign, and we’ll be all set.”

I reached for the pen, but something felt wrong. The suddenness of it all. The ease. It didn’t take a seat properly. I signed besides, pushing the paper returned towards him, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had become off.

“Done,” I stated, my voice flat. “But there’s one thing you must recognize. I’m now not sticking around. The moment this deal is settled, I’m out.”

Alistair nodded, his expression unreadable; however, I observed how his gaze lingered on me for only a fraction too long. There was something unstated within the manner he looked at me; however, I didn’t have the energy to unpack it.

I stood, gathering my things, equipped to depart. But then Alistair’s voice stopped me once more.

“Miss MacLeod,” he stated, his tone a touch too calm, “Mr. MacKinnon desires to see you. He’ll be coming to the workplace soon. He insists that you explain in person why your agency is really worth seventy million.”

The air in the room shifted. My coronary heart dropped. Ruaridh MacKinnon. Of course. I needed to have regarded he wouldn’t stay out of this. He became the one who was referred to as the shots, the one pulling all of the strings.

A shiver ran down my spine, and I couldn’t combat the unexpected wave of hysteria that washed over me.

Why did he need to meet with me? Why did he want me to provide an explanation for myself? I had no solutions, and the questions gnawed at my mind.

I walked out of the espresso keep, the weight of the arena on my shoulders. The typhoon outside seemed to mirror the turmoil inside me.

What was Ruaridh MacKinnon gambling at? Why did he need to be satisfied with me?