Page 18 of Forty, Flirty & Framed

“We’re not dating,” Callum says, but something flashes across his face.

“Pity.”She turns back to me.“You strike me as a woman who’s made choices.Career.Family.Independence.Leaves little room for love, doesn’t it?”

My throat tightens.“My work is...demanding.”

“As is his.Two demanding people rarely find time for softness.”

“Gran,” Callum warns.

“Fine, fine.Let’s talk business.What’s your plan to spin this kilted disaster into PR gold?”

I clear my throat and shift into marketing mode.“The hashtag isn’t going anywhere, but we can pivot—leverage the attention.Recast Callum as a modern-day guardian.Strength, protection, heritage.Less sex appeal, more security titan.”

Fiona beams.“A Celtic protector.Excellent.Callum, listen to her.She understands branding and foreplay.”

Callum coughs into his wine glass.

"The Guardian angle," Fiona muses."Not bad.Celtic warriors were guardians, after all."She turns to Callum."You should listen to her.She has good instincts."

Callum's expression doesn’t budge."The board might actually go for that."

"Of course they will.It's clever.Unlike that ridiculous plan to hide until it blows over."Fiona stands suddenly."Dessert in the living room.I have something to show you both."

She disappears down a hallway, leaving us momentarily alone.

"I'm sorry about this," Callum says quietly."I thought having you here might dilute her...intensity."

"It's fine," I reply."She's actually not what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"Someone more..."

"Subtle?Tactful?Sane?"

I smile "I was going to say conventional."

"Ah."His shoulders relax.“Then you were destined for disappointment."

Before I can respond, Fiona returns with a large leather album."Family photos," she announces."Important context for the PR strategy."

Callum sighs."Gran, no one needs to see?—"

"Hush," she commands, sitting between us on the sofa and opening the album."Now, Karina, this is Callum at his cousin's wedding last year.Note the traditional Highland formal wear."

The photo shows Callum in full Scottish regalia—kilt, jacket, sporran, the works.He looks uncomfortable but undeniably striking, his tousled copper hair perfect, his jaw tight.

"And this," she continues, flipping pages, "is from the Gathering of the Clans.Callum won the caber toss three years running."

"The what?"I ask.

"Throwing a telephone pole," Callum explains.

"Not just any telephone pole," Fiona corrects."A perfectly balanced pine log.Takes tremendous strength and control.Callum has always excelled at control."

The way she says it makes me glance at him.His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.

"Grandmother," he says firmly, "I'm sure Karina doesn't want a detailed history of my Highland Games career."