“I don’t have time to explain everything, but you need to trust me.”
She looks at me suspiciously. It's then that I notice the women sitting at the large butcher block table in the kitchen. Flora, Nan, and Paisley hold steaming mugs, all eyes on me.
"Come over here, lassie," Flora says, unperturbed. “Tell us what the matter is.”
The door’s nearly being broken down by the barbarians chasing me. They’re pounding and yelling.
Islan rolls her eyes. “I’ll sort them out.”
She opens the door and one nearly shoves past her. She feigns falling back.
“Back the fuck up!” she shouts. “If I tell your Captain you knocked me over, there’ll be hell to pay!”
“She ran away!” one of the blokes says, wagging a finger my way.
Flora sets down her teacup and fixes him with a superior look. Her tone is haughty. “Ran away from what? You’re acting as if she’s a wee bird that flew the nest. But she’s hardly running away. She’s standing here in the Cowen Clan kitchen, plain as day.”
“Mr. Cowen said to keep her safe at his home, and she snuck out,” one of the lads says, frowning with a surly look on his face.
Flora stands with her hands on her hips. “She’s hardly going to harm anyone standing here in my kitchen. Now you two go on, we’ll take it from here.”
They give each other a look, and Flora scowls. “If you don’t leave here immediately, I’ll call Mr. Cowen and you can explain your disobedience to him.”
They still don’t leave, so she pulls out her mobile. “Fine, then, I’m sure Leith will love that I’m waking him up.”
“No, ma’am, we’ll go on, just need to make sure it’s alright with Mac is all.”
She rolls her eyes and starts to dial. “Mac’s on his way to the airport.”
“No, ma’am, we’ll take our leave, then,” one of them says.
They leave, and Islan gives her an approving look. “Oh, Mum, love it when you play hardball,” she says with a grin.
“Aye, so do I,” Paisley says.
Flora smiles and looks my way. “Now, Bryn, come over here and tell us what’s the matter.”
I have to trust them. I have to.
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to say it. In one rushed breath I blurt out, “You need to help me get to Paris.”
Chapter 19
Mac
I arrive in Paris late at night, as they’re only an hour ahead of us.
It’s been a long fucking day, and I feel like absolute crap.
There has to be another way than breaking up with Bryn. There has to be.
I text Leith when the plane lands.
Mac: Any word about what she’s done?
A moment later, I get a reply.
Leith: Nothing. No move from her father, none from the Aitkens crew.
Did he make me break up with her for nothing? If no good comes of this… God.
I stare at my phone for long minutes, thinking about how I want to handle this. I want to reach out to her, to tell her it’s okay. I need to tell her that I love her.
I need to tell her I’ve made a mistake.
Leith: Give it time, brother. We can’t expect an immediate response, can we?
I shake my head, and mutter under my breath.
Mac: No.
Leith: Keep your head about you. You’re going to the rooftop bar, and you’re meeting a woman dressed all in black.
Mac: Aye.
Leith needs me to prove my allegiance to the clan. I believe breaking up with her did just that, but I've also proven to myself that I’m not worthy of a woman like Bryn. Not fucking worthy.
We begin taxiing to the gate, and the darkness around us nearly swallows me whole. I hate that I’m here without her. I hate that I left her alone.
I make up my mind. I’m going to finalize this fucking deal. I’m going to do what I came for. I’ll confirm that Bryn was never spying on us, because I know now that she never was, I know it.
And I’ll go back.
I’ll beg for another chance.
I’ll fucking grovel if I have to.
“Mr. Cowen?” The stewardess is giving me a curious look.
“Aye?”
“I’m sorry, sir, did you hear the captain? You seem a bit distracted.”
Distracted? I’m a bloody mess.
“No, I’m sorry.”
“He just said we’ve landed, sir, and you may unfasten your belt and exit.”
I leave in a sort of haze, blindly following her off the jet. I glance at the clock and realize there’s an hour before I meet Mademoiselle Black at the bar. Just enough time to get to the hotel room and get things sorted. Not the right bloody things, though.
I go through the motions, not paying attention to much of anything. People pass by me, cars pass by, and my driver stops outside a swanky Parisian hotel with valet parking attendants.
"Bienvenue, Monsieur.”
“Merci.”
“Par ici s'il-vous-plait.”
It’s a cool, brisk night in Paris.