Page 11 of One Night in Glasgow (The Scottish Billionaires #15)
The door swung open the rest of the way, and Beth stumbled into the room, nearly colliding with Danny. She looked from me to him, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
“They’re everywhere,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “The reporters. I think they recognized me.”
“This is Beth,” I told Danny, my voice low.
Danny’s eyes widened for a second in recognition before a slow, appreciative grin spread across his face.
“Beth. From the pub. The redhead with the ‘dangerously high wit’.” He let out a low whistle, his agent brain already calculating the new PR angle as he turned back to me.
“Okay, new plan. We’re getting you both out of here.
A dramatic escape will sell better, anyway. ”
Beth’s gaze darted between us. “There’s a way out,” she said, her voice regaining a sliver of its strength. “Through the back gardens. Follow me.”
She led us through a maze of corridors to a wooden door that opened onto a lush, secluded garden. The air was cool and smelled of damp earth and roses.
“Okay, I’ll head around front and get the car. Try not to cause an international incident while I’m gone,” Danny said with a pointed look at me before disappearing through the hedges.
I turned to Beth. She stood a few feet away, arms wrapped around herself, a fortress of defensive posture. The silence between us was heavy, charged.
“So,” I began, deciding against a joke this time. “You work here.”
Her eyes snapped to mine. “I volunteer here. It was supposed to be my fresh start. A way to prove I wasn’t just... her.” She gestured vaguely, a bitter twist to her lips. “The girl from the tabloids.”
The defensiveness in my own chest flared. “And sneaking into my speech was part of that plan?”
“I saw the poster. I was curious,” she shot back. “I didn’t expect you to stop talking and stare at me like I’d just grown a second head.”
“You have a memorable face,” I said. “And you left a memorable note. What was I supposed to think?”
“You weren’t supposed to think anything!” she retorted, her voice rising. “It was a one-night stand, a mistake. That’s what people do. They move on!”
The words were a gut punch, and the sting of it made me lash out. “Right. A ‘mistake.’ Was that what it was when you were screaming my name? Or when your nails were digging into my back? Because from my perspective, ‘mistake’ wasn’t the word that came to mind.”
She flinched, a flash of hurt in her eyes before she masked it with anger. “You’re a bastard.”
“And you’re a hypocrite,” I countered, stepping closer.
“You’re angry at me, but you’re furious with yourself for feeling the exact same thing I do.
” I saw the internal struggle play out on her face, the war between her pride and the undeniable pull between us.
“This isn’t just about a mistake, Beth. And you know it. ”
My hand came up, cupping her cheek before I could second-guess the impulse. “Tell me you don’t feel this,” I whispered, my thumb tracing her jawline.
For a second, she leaned into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed.
Then, with a sound that was half-sob, half-growl, she surged forward, her lips crashing into mine with a desperate, frantic intensity that stole my breath.
It wasn’t a sweet kiss; it was raw, angry, and filled with all the unspoken frustration that had been simmering between us.
I responded instantly, my arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her flush against me, meeting her fire with my own.
And then reality came crashing back with the harsh flash of a camera.
We broke apart, gasping, turning toward the source of the light. I caught a glimpse of a figure darting away through the bushes. “No,” Beth whispered, her face draining of color. “No, no, no.”
“Shit,” I muttered, the single word encompassing the spectacular clusterfuck we’d just created.
Beth was already backing away, her eyes wide with panic. “This can’t be happening,” she said, her voice trembling. “My parents… the foundation…”
“We’ll handle it,” I said, trying to sound confident, though my own mind was reeling.
“Handle it?” she scoffed, a wild, humorless sound. “God, you really don’t get it, do you? This isn’t your world, Sean. You don’t know the rules.” She shook her head, a look of finality in her eyes. “This was a mistake. All of it.”
Before I could react, she spun away and disappeared into the maze of perfectly trimmed hedges .
“Beth, wait!” I called, but it was useless. She was gone.
I stood alone in the damn garden, the ghost of her angry, passionate kiss still burning on my lips. Danny might be right that this was great for business. For my life? It was a goddamn catastrophe. And I had a feeling the storm was just getting started.
The next morning, I woke to the incessant rumble of my phone on the nightstand.
Groaning, I reached for it, my eyes bleary.
The screen was a chaotic flood of notifications: missed calls from Danny, my publicist, my agent in London, even my parents.
Shit. A knot of dread twisted in my stomach as I opened the first news alert.
The headline screamed at me: “MOTIVATIONAL SPEAKER’S STEAMY GARDEN RENDEZVOUS WITH MYSTERY REDHEAD!”
Below it was the photo. Beth and me, locked in that passionate, desperate kiss. It was a damn good photo, technically speaking. The lighting, the emotion… it was also a complete catastrophe.
I scrolled through a few articles, my blood running cold. They were already connecting her to the “wild night out” video from before. The comments were a cesspool of speculation and judgment aimed at her. My fault. All of it.
Just as I was about to call Danny, my phone lit up with his face. I answered, bracing myself.
“Have you seen it?” Danny’s voice wasn’t strained; it was buzzing with a manic energy, the kind he got when a big deal was on the line.
“It’s everywhere! My phone’s been ringing off the hook since five a.m. The BBC wants an exclusive.
You, my friend, are officially more famous for kissing a mystery redhead than for any of your bestselling books. ”
“Jesus,” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “What about the sponsors?”
“Okay, so a couple of the stuffy, old-guard ones are clutching their pearls. I’ll have to talk them off a ledge, maybe send them a fruit basket.
But the new inquiries? The requests for interviews?
Through the roof,” he said. “Like I told you, a little shagging between consenting adults isn’t a career-ender in Britain; it’s practically a national sport.
But,” his voice sharpened, “we need to control this narrative now, before it controls us.”
I straightened up, my own strategic brain kicking into gear. He was right. “Okay. A press conference. This afternoon.”
“Exactly,” Danny said. “I’m already setting it up.”
“And I’m not apologizing,” I said firmly. “I won’t do it. I’ll own it. I’ll talk about authentic connection, about how sometimes you meet someone who turns your world upside down. I’ll use my own material against them.”
“Good. That’s the angle,” Danny agreed, all business now.
“The passionate guru who practices what he preaches, not the reckless playboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But that brings us to the biggest variable: her. The press will have her identified by lunch, Sean. Her life is about to become a living hell.”
The thought made my stomach churn. “That’s what I’m worried about.
I need to find her, Danny. Before they do.
We need to be on the same page, assuming she doesn’t tell me to piss off again.
” I paused, thinking. “You have connections here. Can you get someone on it? Find out who she is, where she’s staying. Discreetly.”
“Already ahead of you,” Danny said without missing a beat. “Made some calls. Got a guy on it. He’s ex-MI6. If she’s used a credit card or a cell phone in this city, he’ll find her.”
Relief, sharp and profound, washed over me. “Thanks, man.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Now you listen to me,” Danny’s voice turned serious.
“This fire is good for business right now, but you need to play your part perfectly. You go into that press conference looking too eager, too much like a lovesick puppy, and they’ll eat you alive.
You need to look serious, concerned, and completely in control. Can you handle that?”
“I can handle it,” I said, my voice steady.
“Good. Now get your ass out of bed. We have a narrative to build.”
I ended the call, my mind clearer, more focused.
Danny was right. This was a high-stakes game, but it was one I knew how to play.
My promise to Beth in the empty room felt less like a whisper now, and more like a plan.
“I’m sorry, Beth,” I said to the empty room.
“But I will make this right. I promise.”
I headed to the shower, my mind already outlining the key points for the press conference. I couldn’t erase the panic I’d seen in Beth’s eyes, but I wasn’t just going to hope we’d find a way through this. I was going to build the goddamn road myself.