Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
I grimaced. “It’s not the couch.”
“At least let me reupholster it.”
“I’ve already told you—”
“It might impact the comfort level,” she mimicked in a gruff voice. “Weirdo.”
“Takes one to know one.” I turned to Baird, changing the subject. “Chris said Carmichael asked us to stop reaching out.”
“Chris?” Ainsley raised an eyebrow.
“Our solicitor.”
Baird shrugged as he wiped a napkin over his mouth. “Well, that’s that. We’ll need to find another property.”
“Is this for the hotel and spa?”
I looked at Ains and nodded. “Braden Carmichael owns the castle. He won’t see us for some reason.”
“Maybe he’s not a football fan.”
Nah, there was something else going on. “If we could just talk to him …”
“Or we look for another property.”
I wanted that castle. I had my heart set on that property. It was perfect for our plans.
My gaze moved past Baird out the window and it was as if my mind had conjured her.
Across the street, standing outside a building and helping a guy unload boxes and bags from his truck was Beth bloody Carmichael.
No way. “What the fuck?”
Baird and Ainsley followed my gaze as Beth carried a box inside the building. What was she doing here?
“What is it?” Ainsley waved a hand in front of my face.
“Do you know what’s going on there?” I nodded across the street as Beth reappeared out of the door.
“Is that your hot neighbor?” Baird leaned closer to the window.
“It’s the local food bank,” Ainsley answered. “Looks like the volunteers are unloading supplies.”
Food bank? Volunteers?
“That is Beth. Fuck … she’s gorgeous and she helps feed those in need.” Baird grinned at me. “I don’t know how you can hate her.”
Ainsley practically pressed her forehead to the window to see. “Hate who? What hot neighbor? Can someone catch me up?”
“See that stunning blond … that’s Keen’s neighbor. He can’t stand her for some reason he has yet to divulge.”
Brother and sister turned to stare at me with twin curious expressions.
I ignored them, watching Beth stride back into the food bank.
Who cared if she volunteered at a food bank? That didn’t fundamentally change who she was. But I didn’t need to like Beth to ask for her help.
And by help, I meant cashing in on that favor she owed me.
“I know how we can get a meeting with Braden.”
“What? Huh?” Baird screwed up his face comically. “Don’t change the sub—”
“Beth.” I gestured to the window. “She owes me a favor.”
“And?”
I looked Baird in the eye. “Her name is Beth Carmichael. She’s Braden Carmichael’s daughter.”
Understanding dawned on Baird’s face. Then delight. “We’re going to get this meeting.”
“Aye. We are.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BETH
I’d finished up work that day as early as possible, switching off my notifications after I jumped out of the shower. In a rush, I’d arrived at the food bank in Leith just in time for my shift. Gary, the manager, gave me a big smile and asked me to come out to the van to help him unload donations we’d received from a large company. Usually, our donations were brought in by kind individuals, but now and then, a corporation or organization donated a load of stuff. Sometimes so much stuff, we shared the bounty with food banks all over the city.
My job was to pack the bags. Each person who came in was given as much as they needed for the week, whether it was food for themselves or for their entire families. What frustrated me about volunteering here was the stories I heard. Single mothers who had good jobs but couldn’t afford the current cost of living and were forced to swallow their pride and ask for help to feed their kids. Not just single parents either. People were struggling with the high interest rates, energy bills, and taxes, whether they were employed or not.
Food banks had never been more important.
When I told my parents I was volunteering here, I didn’t think I’d ever seen them prouder. And I had to admit that it wasn’t entirely altruistic. I got something out of helping people. It made me feel good to do it.
My shift passed quickly and I was finishing up for the evening when I heard a deep, familiar male voice in the front of the building. Gary’s voice was too low to make out, but he conversed with the man for a second or two before he suddenly appeared in the doorway of the stockroom.
“Beth … do you know Callan Keen?” Gary asked, eyebrows raised.
I looked at Audrey, who volunteered with me on Friday afternoons.
“Who is Callan Keen?” she inquired, bewildered.
Gary scoffed. “Only one of Scotland’s greatest midfielders. And he’s in my food bank.”
“Here?” I squeaked. Callan Keen was here?
“Aye, he’s asking for you.”
“What’s a midfielder?” Audrey asked.
How the hell did Callan know I volunteered here? Hurrying past my gaping companion, I marched out of the stockroom and halted.