Page 29 of The Grump I Slept With
“I was being practical,” I argued, even though I knew she wouldn’t believe me. When I’d suggested we take my helicopter earlier, Isla’s eyes had almost bugged out of her head.
“Your precious little Bentley is practical enough,” she assured me, shifting uncomfortably on the leather seats. “I’m already afraid to touch things. I can’t even imagine what the helicopter is like. And just so we’re clear, Dad hates shows of wealth like that. He’s done well for himself on the business front. He’s sharp, he’s savvy, but he’s still the kind of guy you’ll catch down at the local pub, watching footy with the guys and drinking shit beer.”
“Okay, great,” I said. “That’s the kind of information I need. I don’t want to come off too?—”
“Flashy,” Isla said. “Yeah, Dad’s not the kind of man you’d ever find dripping in designer brands.” She eyed my suit, which was relatively toned down for me. A simple navy. No bells or whistles. Just classy enough for lunch with my future father-in-law.
My stomach dipped. I couldn’t ever remember being this anxious for a meeting. “What else?”
“He’s definitely a get-your-hands-dirty kind of guy. Like he’d stop a business meeting, go down to the distillery floor, and roll his sleeves up to help if he noticed that something had gone wrong.” Isla chuckled. “I mean, to this day he still talks aboutmopping up spilled mash with his mates or wrestling leaky barrels when my granddad was still in charge.”
So I was dealing with the kind of man who valued hard, hands-on work. Understood. “What does your dad know about this lunch so far?”
“Not much. I didn’t want to wind him up before we’d even gotten there. As far as he’s concerned, this is the catch-up he’s been asking me for.”
My stomach sank. “He doesn’t know you’re bringing anyone?”
She shook her head. “If you actually want him to show up, it’s better that he thinks it’s going to be just me. And for the love of God, try not to insult his footy team again.”
I filed that one away as priority number one, determined to make the most of this lunch. “Okay, nothing too flashy, show a good work ethic, and no footy trashing.”
She grinned. “You’re on a roll, Lord Poshpants.”
I smirked at her. “That’s Fiancé Poshpants to you.”
“Ah, yes, how could I forget?” Her expression shifted from amusement back to the anxiousness from earlier. She released a heavy breath.
“You must be alittlehappy to see him,” I prompted.
“It’s not that I’m not happy. I love my dad. It’s just that things are complicated between us.” She turned her head, looking out the window as the cityscape appeared in the distance. “We don’tgeteach other.”
“Is that since your mum passed?” I wondered.
“No,” she mused. “It’s been like this for a long time. As far as our relationship goes, I’ve always thought it worked best with a lot of distance between us. Preferably an ocean.”
“And now that you’re not so far apart?” I asked. As a son with complicated relationships with my own divorced parents, I appreciated how difficult this must be for her.
Isla buzzed her lips together. “I don’t know exactly how to navigate our relationship right now. But you know what they say, fiancé.” The corner of her mouth twitched as she looked at me. “Fake it till you make it.”
We parked near Princes Street, and Isla led us through the city center to a lowkey restaurant called the Crooked Banner. There were seven Michelin-starred restaurants in Edinburgh, and I knew for a fact this wasn’t one of them. Would I have been taking Dougal somewhere more upscale if we’d gone with my selection? Yes. But I’d enlisted Isla’s help for a reason, so I put those worries to bed and trusted her to have made the right choice.
Inside, the light was low, the furnishings were simple, but at least the staff seemed friendly and attentive.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” Isla said as the hostess led us to a round table in the back corner of the restaurant. “It doesn’t look like much, but the food here is incredible. This is where Dad brings clients he actually likes.” She thanked the hostess as we sat down and picked up our menus. “Dad loves the lamb rack with herb crust. I’m ninety percent sure he’s going to choose that. Don’t copy him—he’ll see that as pandering—but go ahead and decidenow what you want. He likes a person who orders promptly. He says it tells him something about their ability to commit.”
“So you’re saying I should know what I want before he sits down?” I asked, scanning the menu. Thankfully, it wasn’t too extensive.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. They actually use MacRae whiskey in some of their dishes, so if you can order something with the whiskey sauce, that would be great. You can mention how incredible it is and win some extra brownie points with Dad.”
“Aye, whiskey sauce, got it.” I flipped the menu over to peruse the drink selections.
“That’s him now,” Isla whispered to me, her eyes pinpointing someone by the door. Tension coursed through me, and I steeled myself from Dougal’s reaction, praying that Isla’s presence was enough to get him to hear me out one more time.
I reached out and squeezed her forearm, stroking my thumb against her skin. “We’ve got this.”
I heard the slight intake of breath as her gaze landed on the place where I held her. She nodded once, sucked in a steadying breath, then lifted her hand to flag Dougal down. “Dad! Over here.”
He spotted her, saying something to the hostess, then strode across the restaurant, the smile dropping from his round face as he laid eyes on me.
