Page 13 of One Night in Glasgow (The Scottish Billionaires #15)
As I read comment after comment, I felt myself spiraling. They were right, weren’t they? I was a mess. A fuck-up. A lost cause. Maybe Mum and Dad were right to want to ship me off to rehab. Maybe I really was beyond help.
But then, buried in the sea of negativity, I saw a single post that made me pause:
Met Beth a couple days ago. She seemed genuinely kind and caring. Maybe there’s more to her than the headlines? #GiveBethAChance
It was from Maisie, the girl I’d connected with during the pottery class. My chest tightened as I stared at her words, feeling a glimmer of hope in this shit storm. She’d seen something in me that day, something beyond the party girl image. And for a minute, I’d seen it too.
I dragged myself out of bed, feeling like I’d aged a decade overnight. The weight of the scandal pressed down on me, threatening to crush what little determination I had left. But I couldn’t give up. Not yet. Not when I’d finally found something that mattered.
With a heavy heart, I got dressed, opting for a modest black top and slacks. I’d been volunteering at Bright Futures for nearly a week, and I knew better than to wear something like flashy designer labels. Especially since I was going for ‘repentant volunteer’, not ‘wild society’s child’.
The drive to the Bright Futures office felt like a march to the gallows. Every traffic light was an opportunity to turn back, to hide under my covers and pretend the world didn’t exist. But I kept going, knuckles white on the steering wheel.
As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw a few people I knew hurrying inside. Their eyes darted away as soon as they spotted me. Great . Looks like everyone had seen the news.
I lifted my chin and squared my shoulders. “You can do this, Beth,” I muttered to myself. “Just get through the day. Show them you’re more than a headline.”
The moment I stepped through the doors, the atmosphere changed. The usual buzz of activity dulled to a hush. I felt every eye on me.
I kept my head high, ignoring the burning in my cheeks as I made my way to the volunteer lounge. A group of women I’d chatted with just yesterday suddenly found their phones fascinating as I entered.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a number I recognized with a lurch of my stomach.
Colter.
Unbelievable. The absolute nerve of this guy, calling me now after he completely bailed last time. I’d gone all the way down to that pub, waited like an idiot for him. In some ways he was responsible for all this misery. If Colter hadn’t stood me up that night, I wouldn’t have met Sean.
I stabbed the silence button on my phone without a second thought. I was here to work.
“Morning,” I said to the room, my voice sounding too loud in the awkward silence. A few mumbled responses, but no one met my eyes. Right. This is going to be fun.
I was just about to grab my volunteer badge when Maisie appeared at my elbow, holding out a small, lopsided, but recognizably pot-shaped object.
“I, uh, finished glazing the one I was working on the day we met,” she said, not quite meeting my eye. “Claire said it was one of my best. Thought you should have it.”
I took the small pot, its surface still slightly warm. It was honestly a bit of a monstrosity, but it was also the most wonderful thing I’d held all day. “Maisie, thank you,” I said, my voice thick with an emotion that surprised me. “It’s brilliant.”
“Whatever,” she mumbled, but a small smile played on her lips before she turned and scurried back to the art room.
I stood there for a moment, clutching the little pot, a fragile warmth spreading through my chest. See?
I told myself. This matters. This is real.
They can’t take this away from me over some stupid, overblown photos.
My newfound resolve was shattered by a stern voice cutting through the room. “Elisabeth. A word, please.”
Mrs. Campbell stood in the doorway, her face set in hard lines. My stomach dropped. I followed her to her office, the small clay pot feeling heavy in my hands.
As soon as the door closed behind us, Mrs. Campbell sighed heavily. “Elisabeth, I think you know why I’ve called you in here.”
I swallowed hard. “Mrs. Campbell, I am so, so sorry. I never meant for this to happen. If there’s anything I can do to make it right?—”
She held up a hand, silencing me. “I appreciate your apology, Elisabeth. But the fact remains that your... indiscretion has put this entire organization at risk.”
A flush of humiliation spread across my cheeks. “I understand. But please, just give me a chance to prove myself. I’ll work twice as hard, I’ll?—”
“It’s not that simple,” Mrs. Campbell interrupted, her voice gentle but firm. “We’ve already had three major donors calling. Several members of the board are upset. And the children... well, we’re supposed to be setting an example for them.”
Tears pricked at my eyes. “I know I messed up. But this work, these kids... it means something to me. I want to continue.”
Mrs. Campbell’s expression softened slightly. “I believe you, Elisabeth. I’ve seen how you’ve connected with some of our young people. But we don’t always get what we want.”
My gut twisted as the penny dropped. Well, shit. This conversation was headed straight for the dump. “You’re asking me to leave, aren’t you?”
She nodded, looking genuinely regretful. “I’m afraid I have to ask you to step down from your volunteer position. It’s not a decision I make lightly, but we have to think of the organization as a whole.”
It felt like the ground had been pulled out from under me. This place, these kids, this tiny, lopsided pot... it had been my chance at redemption. And now, it was all slipping away.
“I understand,” I managed to choke out, fighting back tears. “I’ll… I’ll go…but thank you for the opportunity.”
Mrs. Campbell reached out, squeezing my arm gently. “For what it’s worth, Elisabeth, I believe you have potential. Don’t let this setback define you.”
I nodded numbly, unable to form words. As I turned to leave, Mrs. Campbell spoke again. “Oh, and Elisabeth? Perhaps it’s best if you use the back exit. To avoid any... uncomfortable situations.”
Great. The back exit. I rushed out of her office, barely keeping my composure, and went to gather my meager belongings from the volunteer lounge. I carefully placed Maisie’s pot in a small box. I’d let her down. I’d let them all down.
As I snuck out the back door, clutching my box of belongings, the reality of the situation hit me. I’d lost everything. My chance at redemption, my parents’ trust, my own self-respect... all gone.
I made it to my car before the dam broke. Sobs wracked my body as I slumped over the steering wheel. How had everything turned to shit so fast? I’d been trying, really trying, to be better.
I don’t know how long I sat there, crying until I had no tears left.
The parking lot had emptied. I should go home, face the music with my parents and their Swiss rehab prison.
But the thought of their disappointment, their ultimatums..
. I couldn’t bear it. My hands were shaking when I started the car, with no idea where I was going.
As I drove aimlessly, my mind a chaotic mess of regret and self-loathing, my phone buzzed again. I glanced at the screen. Colter. Again. This time, I didn’t silence it. What was the point of being responsible now? I answered, putting the phone on speaker.
“Beth! There you are you cheeky mare. I was beginning to think you’d gone all posh on me,” his familiar, trouble-making voice crackled through the speaker.
“Don’t you ‘cheeky mare’ me, you absolute git,” I snapped, my voice flat and hard. “You have a bloody nerve calling me. Where the hell were you the other night? ”
There was a slight pause on the other end, followed by a low chuckle. “Right, that. Sorry, babe. Got tangled up in some last-minute... business. The kind that gets complicated fast and doesn't exactly allow for a quick text. I owe you, big time. Forgive me?”
His excuse was vague and dodgy, which was classic Colter. I sighed, the fight draining out of me. I was too tired and miserable to hold a grudge. “Whatever, Colter. Just... what do you want?”
“Whoa, you sound like hell. What’s up?”
I let out a short, harsh laugh. “Let’s see. I got ceremoniously sacked from my high-profile, zero-pay gig this morning, and then received a formal declaration of my non-existence from my parents. All before I’d even had a proper drink. So yeah, my day’s been a fucking delight.”
There was a pause, followed by a low whistle. “Shit. Well, that sounds like you’re in desperate need of a drink. Or several.”
“You have no idea,” I muttered.
“Look,” he said, his voice dropping a bit.
“I’m about to do some… business tonight.
A bit of lookout work, you know? But I’ll be free tomorrow.
We can get properly wasted then. My payment for tonight’s gig is a nice little bag of what I’m told is top-shelf cocaine.
We can celebrate your unemployment in style.
Meet me at the old party house tomorrow afternoon? Say, around three?”
My rational brain screamed NO. Cocaine. A planned binge. This was the exact opposite of what I should do. But my rational brain was currently being drowned out by a tsunami of failure and despair.
“Yeah, Colter,” I said, the words tasting like ash and surrender. “A party for two sounds perfect. I’ll see you there. ”
“Attagirl, MacLeod. Knew I could count on you.”
I ended the call and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, pressing down on the accelerator.
I had no intention of going to my parents’ house.
Not now. The one thing I thought I had, the one thing I was going to use to fight them, was gone.
And in its place was a familiar, gaping void that I now had a concrete, terrifying plan to fill.