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Pitch Imperfect(11)

By:Elise Alden


Councillor Hamish continued enthusiastically, never taking the breath that would allow Anjuli to graciously refuse. The more he talked the more the rum she’d drunk rolled in her empty stomach, little waves of sick swelling higher until they surged to the back of her throat.

“I’m not singing at the ceilidh!”

Shrill and piercing, her voice drilled through conversations and turned heads. Councillor Hamish stared at her, mouth slightly open. Everybody gaped, and Rob frowned at Miss Rude across the platform.

Anjuli lifted her palm, showing Councillor Hamish the glass shards in her hand. “I’m so sorry. I cut myself and it hurts like hell.”

“You’d better get that seen to, lass,” he said kindly.

Anjuli followed his gaze and was surprised to see a thick line of blood running down her wrist. She apologised again and lowered herself off the platform, holding her palm out as the whispering crowd parted to let her through to the ladies’.





Chapter Four

From his table, Rob watched Anjuli pour Councillor Hamish a pint of lager. She looked out the window, said something to Ash and her face went white. Seconds later he followed her progress as she raced out of the Heaverlock Arms. He’d been prepared to speak to her if she approached him, but true to form, she’d chosen the coward’s way out. He should be immune to her after London, but seeing her so unexpectedly had felt like a punch to the gut.

She’d looked tousled. Beautiful. He’d wanted to yell at her for moving back to Heaverlock and he’d wanted to kiss her. That is, right before she’d lowered her strike to his balls and insulted him. He’d never thought of Anjuli as deliberately malicious, but she was the same callous bitch she’d been in London. A woman who would use a man for sex and then discard him; a woman who would publicly attack his character without a second thought.

The fury he’d felt at her flat hadn’t dissipated with time; it had grown and festered. He heard again her sultry voice, telling him that she needed him, moaning in his ear and urging him to make love to her.

Crying out another man’s name when she came.

When Mac told him she’d moved back to Heaverlock he’d thought she might seek him out to apologise for London, but that assumption now seemed ridiculous. Anjuli Carver was arrogant, impervious to her mistakes and incapable of feeling remorse. Nevertheless, he was sure she’d wanted to talk to him today. Desperately. She’d been watching him since she’d come out of the ladies’, helping Ash at the bar and sending furtive looks his way while he shared a drink with Sarah Brunel. Concentrating on the reporter had been difficult with Anjuli only ten feet away.

Could she have been jealous? No, she had looked more apprehensive than anything else. He smiled wanly. Anjuli should feel apprehensive if she wanted what he suspected.

Before Christmas he’d made a generous offer on Castle Manor and by the first week of January he had reached an agreement with the trust who owned the house. On his way to Edinburgh for the contract exchange his solicitor had phoned him with the bad news. Without prior warning the trust administrator had received a sudden, higher offer and sold the house to a cash buyer. He’d counter offered, but not high enough. His disappointment had been hard to swallow, and he’d wondered who his competitor was. Then Angus Buchanan had ranted about a “bloody foreigner” buying Castle Manor, having learned about the matter from his second cousin, whose wife worked for the trust’s solicitors in Edinburgh.

Rob tore his thoughts away from his disappointment—and the unwanted twinge of pain in his chest. Anjuli was Angus’s “bloody foreigner,” the millionaire who’d swept in at the last minute and outbid him, offering over and beyond what the manor was worth.

Throwing around her money like she threw around her insults.

Rancour tightened his lips into a thin line. How many afternoons had he spent as a child, fishing in the Redes River with his brothers and restoring Castle Manor in his mind? He knew exactly what it should look like, a jewel instead of a stone, with nothing but open moors, a tree-lined river and its forlorn, castle companion. There would be a new roof for the front section and stripped back wood on all floors. Ornate cornices, ceiling rosettes and fireplaces restored to their former glory. Glass panels of yellow, red and blue in fleur-de-lys and diamond patterns, mimicking the original design, would replace the eight or nine missing from the large oriel window.

Angrily, he stared at the doorway. Why had Anjuli returned, and why now? No performances for almost two years, then a sold-out tour in America suddenly cut short. Not that he was keeping tabs. Mac kept him apprised, no matter how many times he’d told her he wasn’t interested. Still...something about her sudden appearance didn’t seem right.