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Lewis chuckles. “Don’t worry about it. And you can keep the loo roll, Cat. That’s on the house.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CAT

I knock on Robbie’s door with my knuckles, three determined raps. There’s movement inside, then the door swings open, and—oh, sweet Jesus. Robbie stands before me, freshly showered, his dark hair still damp. He’s wearing a plain black T-shirt that clings to that ridiculous chest of his, faded jeans that hang just right on his hips, and he’s not even bothered with socks. He’s so bloody attractive my brain temporarily short-circuits, and I forget why I’m here.

“What do you want, McIntyre?”

His growl snaps me out of it.

“Can I come in for a sec?” I try not to flinch under his steely glare. “I’ve got news. Something you’ll actually want to hear.”

Robbie folds his arms, looking like a bouncer about to turn me away. His mouth opens—probably to tell me to get lost—but I jump in first.

“Please, Robbie. I promise it won’t take long.” I give him my most hopeful look.

His eyes narrow, and for a second I think he’s going to slam the door in my face. But then he steps aside with a resigned sigh. “Fine.”

I follow Robbie into the living room. The place is rustic and cosy, somewhere that’d be perfect to hole up on a rainy day with a mug of hot chocolate. A thick burgundy rug sprawls in front of the log burner, its deep red echoed by the big squashy sofa and armchair. But this is no granny’s sitting room. Shelves made from rough wood are fixed to one wall, their black iron brackets giving off industrial vibes. On them sit empty vintage whisky bottles, a lamp with an exposed filament bulb, and—because of course—a miniature model motorbike. To top it off, on the wall opposite there’s a framed quote about raising hell, most likely from some heavy metal band.

My eyes flick to the coffee table, where there’s an open file of paperwork. Robbie reaches over and snaps it shut, but not before I spot the Glen Garve Resort letterhead.

I’m dying to ask about it but bite my tongue. Instead I say, “Did you make those shelves?”

He gives a tight nod.

“Very cool.” I sink into the sofa, which envelops me like a hug.

Robbie drops into the armchair and drums his fingers on his thigh impatiently. “So, what do you want, Cat? Make it quick.”

Charming. But after what I did, I can’t really blame him for being frosty.

“Good news! I’ve got the money to pay you now. So it’d mean a lot if you could come back and see the job through.”

Robbie’s expression remains dubious. “Is that right?”

“It is.” I pull out my phone, open my banking app, and hold it out to him. “See for yourself.”

He leans forwards to look at the screen then sits back again, giving nothing away. “Let me guess. You ran to your big brothers for help?”

A flush creeps up my neck. “I did speak to Lewis, and we sorted some things out.”

Robbie rolls his eyes.

“But it’s not what you’re thinking! The money is my inheritance, not some handout.”

Robbie’s expression shifts. Less thunderstorm, more overcast drizzle.

“That said, Lewis did have a few choice words about my recent decisions. I realise it was reckless and selfish of me to hire you before I had the funds.”

“It was,” Robbie says gruffly, but with less bite than before.

“I’m sorry. Really.” I take a breath. “But now that I have the money, will you come back and finish the work?”

He drums his fingers once more, slower this time, thinking it over. “On one condition,” he says eventually. “You pay me for what I’ve already done. Right now.”

“Of course.” I make the transfer and show him the confirmation. Some of the tension bleeds out of his shoulders.