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Oh, please. We had a quickie. That doesn't automatically translate to "Thane Buchanan rocks the bedroom every time." He might be terrible if we made love the right way---on a bed with plenty of time to take it slow.
"Here's your office, Rebecca."
Fiona nearly shouted that statement.
I blink swiftly, trying to clear my head of thoughts of Thane Buchanan. "You didn't need to yell at me. I can read the words on the door. Rebecca Taylor, Chief of Marketing and Advertising."
"Aye, you heard me the fourth time I told you." Fiona smirks. "You were thinking about Thane, aye?"
"No. I was...thinking about lunch. I'm getting hungry, though it's still morning." Oh, hell, who am I kidding? Yes, of course I was thinking about that man. But I do not want to tell my boss that I'm fantasizing about the man who owns the company.
Fiona clearly understands the situation. She's tactful, though, and doesn't push me to talk about Thane. Instead, she explains the electronic door lock to me, though she also tells me that I probably don't need to lock the door. The workers here are like family. But Thane insisted on securing the premises. It's something to do with his former line of work, but Fiona doesn't feel comfortable revealing that information to me.
"If Thane wants to tell you, he will. That's all I can say."
"No problem. His backstory probably isn't relevant to my job, anyway."
Fiona winks at me. "I knew I'd hired the right woman for the job. Now, would you like me to help you get settled in? Or do you prefer to dive right in and work it all out on your own?"
"I'm the diving-in kind."
"All right, then. Ring me if you need anything."
"Thank you, Fiona."
While she trots down the hall, I step into my new digs. The door shuts behind me with a soft click. And I lean back against the door, sighing as my shoulders slump. I'm exhausted, and it's barely ten o'clock. I had flown to Scotland two days earlier, so I would have time to adjust to the time difference. After years of living and working in Boston, I realized it was time to make a change. Take a risk. Shake up my life. Can't get more shaken up than moving across an ocean to a country where the people speak with strange accents and use unusual phrases.
Scotland is gorgeous. But that's not the main reason I took a job here.
For an hour, I sort out my new office, getting everything the way I like it. My new digs don't resemble my old office in Boston. I wouldn't want a carbon copy of my former life. After forty-nine years on Planet Earth, I'm ready for an adventure.
Thane Buchanan has already given me that.
I push aside thoughts of him and continue setting up my office. That doesn't really take long. I have a desk with two file drawers and two tall file cabinets tucked into the corner of the room. Only after I've organized all of that do I amble over to the venetian blinds and roll them up to see what's beyond the windows.
Holy cow. I have a stunning view of the mountain Thane had mentioned. Does it have a name? The river doesn't, but I'll need to ask somebody about the mountain. A forest blankets the slope on this side, but I can't tell what the other face looks like. I can't see the river, most likely because of the forest. Despite the cloudy sky, the landscape leaves me in awe. Thane had also told me about a castle that sits somewhere on the mountain, but I don't remember the unpronounceable name of that structure.
As my gaze glides down the mountainside, I notice a large stone building that lies maybe fifty feet from the distillery itself. I wonder what that structure holds. It must have something to do with making whisky.
My cell phone rings.
I rush back to my desk, snatching up my phone. The caller ID shows me who it is. "Courtney, what's up?"
"Just checking on you. This is the first time you've ever left the United States, and you're in a country where the people use weird words."
"Are you talking about the UK? Or Scotland specifically?"
"Whichever." Courtney pauses---for dramatic effect, no doubt. "How's it going at your new job? Can't believe you wanted to work at a whisky company. You never drink anything harder than a glass of chardonnay."
"It's time for a change. Maybe I'll go wild and sample the company's whisky while I'm here."
She laughs. "Come on, Mom. You aren't the wild type."
My daughter has a point. I've always played it safe in my personal life, though I often took chances at work. Nothing that would qualify as wild. Professional chances aren't as intriguing as the personal variety.
I settle onto my cushy executive chair and kick off my wellies. Then I set my feet on the desk. That's a wild thing to do, right? "Aren't you supposed to be at work right now? Your father paid for your education, so we both expect you to sprint up the corporate ladder and become a billionaire by age thirty."
"Cool moms aren't supposed to tell their kids never to skip out on work."
