Read Online A Kilted Christmas Wish by Eliza Knight - Free Book Online Page A

down at his cell as he climbed into the back of his company car. He’d promised to call her, but he’d hit the end button every time he selected her number from his contacts. The entire day he’d beat himself up over it. And he’d still not come to a healthy conclusion.
    Distance was what they needed. Maybe a day or two apart he’d come to his senses, or she’d tell him to get lost. The thought of it tore at his heart, but he wasn’t willing to go through the pain of losing someone again. Wasn’t willing to hurt Darla more than he already had. Clicking into his texts, he sent her a message. So sorry. Something’s come up with work. And then he deleted it. Too blasé, she’d be hurt by the lack of emotion in it. He tried again. Hey beautiful. Something’s come up at work… Miss you! Will call you tomorrow.
    Damn. That wasn’t going to work either. Too many promises insinuated and stated blatantly. Fuck, he was a bastard.
    What he finally ended up texting her was a combination of both, and he hit send before he could change his mind. Hey girl, wish we could do dinner tonight, but something’s come up at work. Sweet dreams.
    Five minutes went by and then his phone buzzed. He refused to look at it. Refused to acknowledge that he’d been waiting with bated breath for her reply. But his eyes pulled away from the window and stared at his message screen.
    No worries! Café was slammed and I’m exhausted. We’ll catch up tomorrow.
    He closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the headrest. He couldn’t respond, because the only thing he wanted to write back was that he’d bring her dinner and wine and massage her feet and back until she fell asleep.
    Yeah… The best thing to do was just ignore her, even if that made him feel ten times worse. Let her think he was an asshole, then she could put him out of his misery.
    A coward was what he was.
    His driver stopped at a red light. He gazed outside, feeling like every damn couple that walked by was completely and utterly in love. They were flaunting it, tormenting him.
    But then there was something that wasn’t a tease. Not at all. “Shit.” He plastered his face to the window, staring into the display glass of an electronic store where at least a dozen flat screens flashed some news channel.
    His face. His fucking face was plastered on every fucking screen.
    “Stop,” he ordered his driver and jumped from the car, running toward the screens, hearing the announcer say, “In entertainment news, Scots-American tycoon, Aaron Sutherland has been appointed CEO of Sutherland Productions—the producer of NYC Nightly News, our station. Sutherland returns amongst an upset in Edinburgh having recently lost his A-lister fiancée, Megan Winters, in a car accident when she was pursued by paparazzi. Our condolences Mr. Sutherland and we wish you all the best here in the States. In other news, Studio…” The news droned out and another picture flashed on screen.
    Aaron wanted to fire every damn one of the anchors and crew at NYC Nightly News. Wanted to rip the cords from every camera, mic and monitor.
    So much for keeping his past in his past. So much for privacy. But what could he expect? He worked in television. News. Nothing was sacred.
    Waving goodbye to his driver, he stuffed his hands in his pockets. He chose to walk the rest of the way home despite the swirling snow and stinging chill.
    He prayed Darla hadn’t seen the news clip. He’d not told her about Megan. Skirted around the reason for coming back to the States. Everyone dealt with loss, and it wasn’t like they were exclusively dating, but that didn’t matter. He knew she’d take it as a betrayal of sorts. He’d led her to believe there could be something more, when in fact he was just one fucked up mess.
     
    ***
     
    Darla set down her sandwich, mouth still open from the bite she was about to take. Her stomach flipped, heart clenched. She was suddenly light-headed.
    Tycoon? Fiancée? Actress?
    Definitely