Once and Again

[Brennan MacKinnon]

“Caoimhe... no. No, no, no....” A pleading voice, a pained, mournful howl. A snarl and the head snapped to look on his assailants. The murderers of his mate, his children, his pack… his family. “I’m going to make you pay for this…<o></o>
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“I have told you that you have no place in our world, outsider. No matter how many years.” A sinister sneer. “With that, I allow you to live and suffer. So long as this pack remains dead.”<o></o>
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“…you’ll wish you had never been born.”<o></o>
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“In your dreams.” The enemy snorted, before sprinting off. <o></o>
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Clutching his dying mate, Breannan let out an angry, drawn out howl. Caoimhe raised one shaking hand and touched his grizzled face.<o></o>
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“Bre… I..” Her eyes watered, the strength barely there for tears. Breannan blinked, coming to himself, looking on the last face of living he would ever see on his One and Only. He placed a shaking finger on her lips, moving his thumb to take its place and cupping her chin. Even in this moment, she looked as beautiful to him as she had ever been. Selfishly (and he was disgusted at himself for it considering the nature of the situation), he wanted to take her one last time. There wouldn't be time enough. There would never be time again. He left her a soft, fleeting kiss in its place. <o></o>
<o></o>
“Cay, I know. Christ, I know. I love you too. So, so damned much.” He lifted her broken form to his chest and just held her there, blood mashed against blood, feeling the life rush out of her, a last breath released. Knowing that fully, he became broken, too. Breannan of the Creatura Nox Noctis stared enraged down the vanished trail of his enemy and uttered few words, a crooked balm for his deeper wounds.<o></o>
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“I will destroy you. I swear it, I will.”<o></o>
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<o></o>***<o></o>
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Present day...<o></o>
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“Yes… the Delaney one.” A voice buzzed in response through the earpiece into Brennan’s left ear as he nodded, it appeared, to no-one in particular before a look of utter irritation flashed over his face and caused him to pinch the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger of his free hand. He stopped dead in his tracks and formed his rebuttal there and then, talking again, emphasized by hand-talk to… again, no-one in particular. “Christ, Tom. That account just cannot, cannot be fucked with. You know that. I know that. It might not be the biggest account, but… just, it’s important. Phenominally, super-unbelievably fucking important.”<o></o>
<o></o>
He started walking again, soft leather briefcase in one hand, the other hand rising to show a wrist covered in an elegantly crafted timepiece, a man’s watch. It, like everything else on his person, spoke business. Meant business. MacKinnon remained with a look of irritation worked into his face under a furrowed brow as he approached his car and dug into his right trouser pocket for the unlocking control. A muffled click, unheard over the moderate passing of traffic, sounded as the doors unlocked, mere seconds before his arrival to its side. Opening the driver’s side door of the polished black vehicle, Mac tossed the case to the passenger seat, ducking and sliding into the driver’s seat straight afterwords, uttering words to himself that were straining to be polite and giving up halfway.<o></o>
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“Just figure it out. This is your ass and a loss of hearing in an ear on my part if it isn’t righted and quick. Tout de suite, Tom. You hearin’ me? Alright.” Another look at the watch. “Shit. That consultant meeting is in a couple hours. I’d better be out and back. Catch you later, man.”<o></o>

[Sophia Baxter]

Abstract (http://www.toptable.com/en-us/venue/?id=3953) Restaurant - Edinburgh, 7pm

I'm nervous. Seriously! I wasn't supposed to be here, my Boss was, but he decided to get pneumonia and isn't allowed to leave his loft until cleared by his Doctor. That's what he gets for being an idiot. Already having a cold and running in the cold Scottish rain? What did he expect? A miracle cure?! He would hopefully only be gone the week but work was piling up. Here I was, a Consultant for the Bank of Scotland, on loan so it were, to the Royal Bank of Scotland (And yes they are two different Banks. Nice to know that America isn't the only one confusing with names. First Midwest Bank vs. Midwest Bank? Seriously, be fucking creative!)

Sigh. Anyway, I was able to keep up with most of the case loads for Roger, my sick boss, and able to reschedule all of his personal appointments save for one. It would have been last minute to cancel the meeting with Brennan MacKinnon, that it would have been down right rude. So with much coaxing, begging, and the promise of a bonus if things went well ... I said yes. I really didn't know much of this man, except I've tried calling his office several times today to discuss the change in plans. My only conclusion is he is never off the phone. I left one message that was never returned. Repeated calls would look rather desperate on the caller ID. So, here's hoping he isn't one to blow a gasket at my appearance instead of Roger's.

Out of nervous habit, I pull at my suit jacket. My best suit actually. I wanted to impress to override the shock factor. The double breasted jacket outline my waist comfortably my skirt went just below the knees. I wanted professional. I even took the time to straighten my hair. I never do that, so I know I'm nervous.

Nervously sipping at my Pinot Grigio, one of the house blends that was utterly divine I must confess, I steal a glimpse at my watch and then the hostess. Roger had called, coughing and gagging, to adjust the party list, so it was just a matter of waiting. Waiting without tapping a finger against the side of the appetizer dish and distracted myself with my well rehearsed and thought out greeting over and over again in my mind.

Good evening to you, Mr. MacKinnon. I'm sorry for the confusion but I'm Sophia Baxter, Roger Pennant's assistant. He has come down with a terrible pneumonia and regrets that he couldn't join you tonight. I was hoping to contact you earlier about the changes, but you're a hard man to get a hold of.

At that point, I'll flash a smile and hopefully all will be forgiven so we can get to work.

Right? Right. ... No! Right!. There we go.

[Brennan MacKinnon]

Arrival - 1859hrs

Finding parking around a popular restaurant on a Friday night of all times was like trying to force a watermelon out of your... well, apt analogy, it was. But by some divine miracle, Brennan MacKinnon had managed to snag a spot some two long blocks away from the restaurant designated for this meeting. Though it was a business meeting, he had met with Roger on several occasions previous and they had developed a sort of friendship, as it were. Thus, Brennan was fairly certain that Roger wouldn't mind if he were, say, a minute or two late. They both had incredibly chock-full schedules with their respective positions, that more or less required the both of them to be workaholics. That was alright with him, but he wasn't certain how well any significant other that Roger might have would take it. That was certainly none of his business.

Once the Jaguar was securely parallel parked in the recently vacated parking space, MacKinnon wasted no time in switching off the vehicle, grabbing his soft, brown leather briefcase and stepping out of the car, pushing the door shut and setting off down the sidewalk, pushing the locking key on the radio control. It wasn't a system original to the model of the car, but he had insisted on having the car rewired to accommodate the rather convenient technology, despite the scoffing of some auto enthusiasts of his acquaintance.

Every half a block, Brennan habitually checked his timepiece and cursed when the hands showed that it was now 1900hrs and not more than 3/4 of a block away from his destination. He would pick up the pace more if he could, but that would mean running and between his suit and the wet, recently rain-assaulted ground, it tended not to be in the best interests of keeping the hem of his trousers as dry as could be managed. Brisk walking was about the best that could be done.

1902hrs, he arrives at the restaurant, again wasting no time in informing the staff that he had a booking under 'Pennant' and that his host was likely already awaiting him. A small verbal confirmation and a motion to follow told him that it was the truth and that he was indeed late. Already, the apology was forming in his mind, which he began uttering as turned the corner and seated himself at the table, without having actually looked at who was seated across from him.

"So sorry I'm late, Roger. Some clients don't know how to stop talking and the traffic..." He was saying as he made himself comfortable and placed the briefcase on the floor next to his chair. "...weekend nights around this place are always a bitch, finding parking..."

And as he looked up, his words stalled and he froze, only for a moment, before beginning to stumble over an apology and beginning to push out of his chair. Finding a nice-looking woman sitting across from him was a complete surprise. Not because it was unusual for him. Just unexpected.

"I apologize. This must be the wrong table. The hostess must have mixed up our bookings..." And Brennan began to grab his briefcase and rise, scanning over the other patrons in search of Roger.

[Sophia Baxter]

Is it terrible to admit I wanted to gobble Brennan MacKinnon up for dinner right here at the restaurant when my eyes first fell upon his entrance. He was distracted by his tardiness, but it gave me ample time in appreciating how handsome Roger's business associate was. I'm desperately wanting this 'date' to be pleasure instead of business but alas I'm forced to keep my banker's cap on and keep this strictly platonic.

It sucks. As does parking at this time of night, as Brennan explains. He was talking far to fast for me to interject that I wasn't Roger and soon as our eyes met, he felt foolish immediately. As quickly as he backpedaled, I was soon standing up with hands out before me in an attempt to halt his retreat. "Wait, you don't have the wrong table Mr. MacKinnon." I'm hoping that I sound normal instead of desperate at this point in time. "Roger has terribly ill and couldn't make it tonight and asked if I could take his place."

Regaining some composure, I extend one of my hands out in a proper greeting, "Sophia Baxter. Consultant for the Bank of Scotland and Mr. Pennant's assistant."

I smile casually and hope to avoid any more embarrassments for either of us.

[Brennan MacKinnon]

"Oh?" He turned back to the woman at his table, their table, getting a more concise look at her this time that managed to soften his embarrassment a degree or two and caused him to smile in the slightest. "I, um, well, that is to say..."

He shifted his briefcase out of his dominant hand onto the floor again, clasping her hand with his said dominant and giving a strong, dominant shake. Not crushing. He always made certain of that. He felt the tension woosh right out of the meeting, right then and there. His shoulders even relaxed.

"Brennan MacKinnon, Royal Bank of Scotland..." He blinked, then laughed a little, deeply. "...though, I suppose you were already informed of who I am."

It occurred to him to maybe kiss her hand, but that would seem somehow dreadfully out of place, given the nature of the meeting. Sure, it was business, but it had never been beyond him and Roger to discuss their lives to some degree. They had been business partners in a way for long enough that it simply occurred. Though, it had taken Brennan longer to warm up to Roger than it had for Roger to warm up to him. And it was far from any fault of Roger's. He released her hand and gestured for her to sit.

"Please." He said, seating himself at the same time. The waitress assigned to them came by, asking after any drink he might like, Brennan simply requested 'the same as my lovely acquaintance is having'. A small slip of the tongue, not a conscious intention, but he showed no reaction upon his realization of what he said, in the hopes that she would not notice, too much.

With the waitress off to fetch just an entire bottle of the Pinot (he had insisted), Brennan finally and almost completely relaxed. In some fraction, he was still on edge. As easy to look at as Miss Baxter appeared to be, she was not familiar. Even as she was merely human, it still had him hold that layer of caution.

"So... he's sick, huh? Not trying to get out of meeting with me, then?" Brennan laughed and then shook his head. "That's a shame. Well, there's little to be done about that. So... business then, yes." He nodded, glancing out at the street, then back to his hostess. "Roger had told me a half-week ago that there was something he wanted to discuss, get my input on. Have you any clue as to what that might have been?"

He felt his stomach grumble a little then. He hadn't eaten much since breakfast.

[Sophia Baxter]

Not afraid to give a woman a hard hand shake was something I could respect. Often men would lightly clasp my hand, or even shake my fingers of all things. It was pitiful. I'm an equal in business and should be treated as such. Therefore, Brennan was treated in kind with a firm shake in response.

"Yes I do. He's spoken quite highly of you," I respond with a pleasant smile. "I'm sorry that you didn't receive my phone messages to avoid this slip up."

Nodding politely, I take my seat and watch as the waitress arrives promptly to take Brennan's order from something to drink, and I'm forced to glance upwards in a brief timid smile, not at all expecting such a courteous line. It was probably nothing. I'm reading into things too much because he's so devilishly handsome. That has to be it because I know I wasn't this warm before he sat down. Of course, it could just be blind luck that he just adored the Pinot Grigio as much as I. It was delicious. He house brand. Not Brennan. Fuck.

I am so glad I'm able to pretend that the man is making my heart pitter pat like a damn rodent from Bambi. I feel like Thumper, wanting to bang my foot against the floor like an adolescent fool.

"Yes. Here ... let me get the file." Business I could do and I reach over to the not so empty chair holding my purse and bag. I had the file ready to be pulled out and grab it without having to fish for it. "It's Stirling Payroll," she handed over the major talking points about this particular client. "They are wanting to pull out of the UK and head to France. Roger, as well as our mutual employers, are not pleased. The market is terrible, but it's not better on the mainland. He's tried every ounce of schmoozing, as he puts it, to keep them on board, but they're not budging."

I give him an honest to god defeated sigh. We really weren't sure what had scared the hell out of them to pack their bags and leave. We were desperate, hence Brennan here.

[Brennan MacKinnon]

"Ah, Stirling." He drew out knowingly, accepting the talking points from her, reading them over. He finished with the reading and handed the page back to her. "Have you compared the services you offer them with that of the institution to which they are wishing to move to? It might be that they simply have a better offer. You just have to best them, in that case."

He lifted his glass, raised it to her, then took a long draw from the Pinot. It was delicious. Yes, the wine. She, however, was lovely.

"Still, I find it strange that they aren't telling you why, or do I have the wrong impression?" He offered a smile, glancing down at the menu in front of him. The waitress would be back in around five minutes, give or take, if his knowledge of service timing at this place was at all accurate. He had been here enough times to have discerned it. "Because that would be pretty untoward. It's sort of like, say, a wife leaving her husband and not telling him why. It's suspicious, don't you think?"

He laughed a little, lifting his glass again, to his lips.

"Client retention is a ruthless business. It's a wonder we all retain our sanity."

[Sophia Baxter]

I smile politely and hold my tongue. I'm not sure if he thinks I'm in competent or is just testing the waters because of course I've sent them point for point the advantages and disadvantages of moving their business to France. Or more specifically to Banque Transatlantique.

"Actually, the last few pages of the documents you are holding, have exactly what you requested. Including the breakdown of interest rates, exchanges, and long term projections of income for 5 and 10 years." I sip my wine, savoring some satisfaction at this point in my favor, but I couldn't help but agree that they are hiding something.

"Unfortunately, I believe you are right," I chuckle lightly at his joke that held much truth. Not to mention he was simply adorable when he laughed. Clearing my throat, I had to explain why he was right, otherwise I sounded like some fawning High School Crush. Oh of course you are right. Absolutely Mr. MacKinnon. Whatever you say Mr. MacKinnon, just as long as you reach over and pass me the salt so I might have the blessing of an 'impromptu' touch when our fingers brush together.

"They are hiding something, and it's making them scared. This whole ordeal probably made Roger sick to begin with."