“We always do, don't we?” Shannon says with great sympathy. “We always think they're not like that, because we would never pick someone who is like that.”
“And then I did.”
Amy's words pierce me. Make me not want to be 'like that.'
Because I’m damn well not.
“Is it too much to ask to find a guy who doesn't need my star to shine a little less so his can seem brighter?” Amy goes on, gutting me further.
She's asking Shannon, but she's also asking the world.
“No,” Declan answers firmly. “It's not too much to ask. But guys like Davis are everywhere in business.”
“They're in sports, too,” I add. “I'm no’ one o' them, but there's plenty.”
Amy looks up at me, her face serious, studying me.
“You may have earned your nickname, McWhoremick, and be a playboy, and a cocky jerk, but I will give you that, Hamish: You're not someone who needs to diminish a woman in order to feel better about himself.”
I flatten my hand against my chest. “Did hell freeze over, Amy? Because I believe ye just paid me a compliment. Sort of.”
“Don't get used to it.”
Harry's pulling on my shirt. “Now. We're late.”
Before I can turn to leave, Amy's at my shoulder, on tiptoes in her heels. She plants a sweet kiss on my cheek, my arm going around her, palm across her shoulders.
“I mean it, Hamish. Thank you.”
“I get a kiss for being a decent guy? How good do I have to be to get a shag?”
Harry's started walking away but hears it, laughing his arse off.
She pulls back and smacks my chest. “And there you are, back to being the lout. You have to ruin everything.”
“Naw, Amy. No’ everything. But I am who I am and I won't change for anyone. Remember that. Don't ye dare let people like Davis make ye feel like ye need to change, either.”
And with that, I join Harry, jogging toward the exit of the stadium, ready for the trip back to Amherst College. I'll need the miles to burn off the lust she just triggered in me.
Worse? The deeper need.
Enjoying Shopping for a Highlander? Get the audiobook, narrated by Shane East and Emma Wilder, for the full reading experience.
2
Amy
Maartensi Management is one of the biggest management consulting firms in the world. I'm in my final interview with them. Mergers & acquisitions, risk management, resiliency consulting, reputation management, taxes and auditing, legal, marketing–you name it, they have a division for it.
And I'm here for a risk management position. If anyone knows how to protect against risk, it's me.
“Amy, we're at the final interview stage, as you know,” Quintana Lopez says to me, folding her hands neatly on the desk in front of her, the dove-grey tailored suit she's wearing set off by a perfectly tied red-patterned scarf and white silk shirt. Dark eyes meet mine, her face framed by a short salt-and-pepper cut. She's a rare woman in business letting her hair go natural, and I admire it.
There's a gravitas to her, a calm power I hope to emulate one day.
“Yes.”
“And we have a bit of a change in the job offer.”
Nothing good can be coming next.
“Okay.”
“As you know, there are normally different roles for risk management, reputation management, and marketing, but this is a special case.”
I'm intrigued but also a little sick. What's she getting to? This is my seventh interview. They've done a full background check. I'm here in New York City and this is the third interview in two days. A wall of windows spreads behind Quintana, with a sweeping view of the city that I covet.
In my own office like this, someday.
“Sounds special,” I reply, unsure how to handle this.
She sighs, which makes my pulse jump. “There's no easy way to say this. We have a new project that just came up, and your connection to the McCormick family is exactly why we think you'd be perfect for it.”
That's not what I expected to hear.
“Because my sister is married to Declan, you think I'm perfect for it? Is this in the coffee industry?”
“No. It's in athletics.”
“Oh, so the connection is to Andrew McCormick? He owns a chain of gyms in the Boston area. I talked about it with him at Easter, just last month, in fact.”
“It's not Declan or Andrew McCormick.”
I frown. “Then it's James?”
A manila folder, under her manicured fingers, slides toward me. “It's him.”
I open the folder to find Hamish McCormick's brooding face staring back at me, in black and white, from a high-end fashion house shoot.
“You want to hire me because of Hamish?” I choke out.
Bzzz
Quintana's assistant interrupts us. “Ms. Lopez? Mr. Previte is here.”
“Send him in.” Quintana gives me a sympathetic but firm look I can't interpret. “Hamish McCormick's agent is here. Jody Previte. He can explain the details.”
So many questions swirl through my mind, most of them involving expletives, but I'm not blowing my big chance at a six-figure job because Hamish McCormick is somehow wreaking havoc on my life.
A man in his early forties comes in. He has a slight paunch but the stride of a former athlete, and he’s wearing a sport coat, dress slacks, and loafers. Every part of his clothing is pressed and immaculate, all of the pieces perfectly tailored and hand-stitched. I'm guessing it's a ten-thousand-dollar ensemble. Maybe twenty with the watch.
He has half-rim glasses and very short hair, almost military-style, like a crew cut that decided at the last minute not to have such hard edges.
“Amy. I've heard so much about you. Jody Previte,” he says as he walks in, shakes my hand, then moves on to Quintana.
“You have?” I shouldn't squeak like that, but I'm losing the self-control I've cultivated so carefully when it comes to corporate life. The introduction of Hamish into all my plans is unraveling me.
I have to stop this. Now.
“Hamish speaks quite highly of you. Heard your family rescued him on Thanksgiving.”
“You tried to warn him,” I reply, remembering. “He turned off his phone.”
Quintana gives me a shrewd look. “Amy's already zeroed in on the issue without knowing a single detail about the job, Jody. I knew she'd be perfect.”
“The issue?” I ask politely, appreciating the compliment but not understanding what it implies.
“The issue is Hamish,” Jody says with a sigh. It's a knowing sound, the kind made by someone who’s weathered many years in a challenging industry. “Or Hamish's libido, to be precise.”
Oh, I have plenty of experience with that, I think but don't say.
“You mean the sex tape.”
“I wish I only meant the sex tape, but yes–that's one example.”
“And it's a problem because some of the endorsement deals are being threatened,” I guess, earning nods from both of them as if I've passed a test.
A test I know damn well I'm taking now. Think, Amy, think!