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Page 14 of One Night in Glasgow (The Scottish Billionaires #15)

CHAPTER EIGHT

SEAN

My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing, but for the most part, I was ignoring it. It was Danny who was practically vibrating with a manic energy, waving his own phone like a winning lottery ticket as he barged into my side of the suite.

“Have you seen this? You’re a trending topic, my friend!” he crowed, a huge grin splitting his face. “The ‘passionate guru’ finally shows some actual passion! The booking requests are going absolutely mental. I told you; even bad press is good press!”

I shook my head with a dry chuckle, grabbing the remote. “As long as they spell my name right.” I flipped on the TV, just looking for some background noise. “Didn’t you say it’s not a big deal, Danny? A little shagging isn’t exactly a federal crime?”

“Not in Britain, it’s not!” he laughed. “It’s practically a national pastime. They’ll probably give you a medal for contributing to international relations. ”

Danny left for his usual morning walk, and I turned my attention to the local news. Out of nowhere, my face appeared on the broadcast, alongside a blurry image of Beth. The ticker at the bottom scrolled by: “MOTIVATIONAL SPEAKER’S SECRET TRYST WITH WILD CHILD SOCIALITE.”

My stomach dropped. They’d identified her. I snatched the remote, turning up the volume just as the anchor’s voice cut through.

“…Elisabeth MacLeod, daughter of Scottish business tycoon Alexander MacLeod, was caught in a compromising position with American motivational speaker Sean McCrae. Sources close to the MacLeod family say this is just the latest in a long line of scandals for the notorious party girl…”

“Holy fucking shit,” I whispered, the blood draining from my face. Elisabeth MacLeod. The name echoed with wealth and power. I’d heard of the family, of course. They were practically royalty here. And I had just dragged their “notorious” daughter into another media firestorm.

Grabbing my laptop, I quickly searched her name.

What I found made me feel sick. The headlines were brutal, and the double standard was so blatant it was infuriating.

For me, the articles used words like ‘rogue,’ ‘dashing,’ ‘passionate.’ I was the charming American having a bit of fun.

For her? She was the ‘wild child,’ the ‘scandal-plagued socialite,’ the ‘party girl seductress.’ They dredged up every misstep from her past, painting a picture of a broken, reckless woman.

It was the same story, the same two people in the same photo, but seen through two completely different lenses. For me, this was a temporary boost in name recognition. For her, it was a character assassination.

“Shit,” I said, closing the laptop. Now I understood her panic. The absolute terror in her eyes when the camera flashed. This wasn’t just embarrassing for her; it was a weapon being used against her, and I had handed it to them.

I needed to talk to her, to apologize, to make sure she knew I understood. To do something to fix this. But how? I didn’t have her number. I only had the one I’d saved from Danny’s phone. The mysterious representative. Kinna .

My hands were shaking slightly as I pulled up the contact, my earlier nonchalance replaced by a raw, urgent need to make this right. I pressed dial, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“Kinna speaking.” Her voice was crisp, professional, and guarded. She was clearly expecting a call, just maybe not from me directly.

“Hi, Kinna. This is Sean McCrae. I’m calling for Beth.”

There was a tight, controlled pause on the other end of the line. “Mr. McCrae,” she said, her tone as cold as the Glasgow air. “I trust your agent passed along my message regarding my client’s desire for privacy.”

Client. The word was a shield, a professional wall she threw up between us.

“He did,” I said, my voice sounding rougher than I intended.

“And I respect that. This isn’t about the press.

I just saw the news reports. I saw how they’re painting this, what they’re calling her.

I need to talk to her, Kinna. Just to make sure she’s okay. ”

“My client’s well-being is being managed, thank you,” she replied, her voice clipped and precise. “And all things considered, your concern seems a bit late.”

“Please,” I pressed, hating the desperation in my voice but pushing past it. “I know this looks bad. But I’m worried about her. Seriously worried. I just want to apologize. I had no intention for any of this to happen.”

“Your ‘intentions’ have resulted in a significant crisis, Mr. McCrae,” Kinna said, the professional ice in her voice cracking, revealing the fierce loyalty beneath. “One that we are currently handling. Your direct involvement is not required, nor is it welcome.”

“I understand why you feel that way,” I said, trying to appeal to her on a human level. “But this isn’t just about the media. This is about… her. Is she okay?”

That’s when her composure finally snapped. The frustration and anger she’d been suppressing boiled over.

“No, she’s not okay!” she practically shouted into the phone.

“She’s a mess, thanks to you and this whole bloody circus!

She doesn’t need to hear from you right now.

She’s with her family, Sean! At the estate!

They’re dealing with this. The last thing she needs is you stirring up more trouble.

Just go back to the States and leave her alone! ”

The line went dead with a brutal click.

I stared at my phone, the dial tone buzzing in my ear. Kinna hadn’t budged an inch. But in her anger, she’d given me something: “She’s with her family, Sean! At the estate!”

My mind raced. If Beth was at the MacLeod estate, there had to be a landline, their number maybe even listed.

It was a long shot, but it was all I had.

It took another hour of desperate searching online, cross-referencing old society directories and public business listings for anything connected to “Alexander MacLeod Estate, Glasgow,” but finally, I found a number listed for the main residence.

My heart hammered against my ribs. This was it.

With a deep breath, I dialed, bracing myself for whatever came next.

The phone rang once, twice, a third time that stretched for an eternity. Then, a click .

“MacLeod residence,” a crisp, female voice answered. It wasn’t Beth.

“Uh, hello,” I stammered, my palms sweating. “May I please speak with Elisabeth MacLeod?”

There was a slight, almost imperceptible pause. “And who may I say is calling?”

“This is Sean McCrae.”

A silence followed and I could almost feel the temperature on the line drop twenty degrees. “This is her mother, Fiona MacLeod,” the voice replied, each syllable an icicle. “Let me guess…you’re the American.”

I swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am. Mrs. MacLeod. I was hoping to speak with Elisabeth, to apologize?—”

“Mr. McCrae,” Fiona cut me off, her voice like sharpened steel. “Let me be very clear. You are to have no further contact with my daughter. You’ve caused quite enough trouble already.”

“Mrs. MacLeod, please,” I tried again. “I never meant for any of this to happen. If I could just talk to Beth?—”

“You will do no such thing,” Fiona snapped. “Elisabeth is dealing with the consequences of her actions, as I’m sure you are. You are to stay far away from her. Do I make myself clear?”

I felt my shoulders slump in defeat. “Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

“Good. Goodbye, Mr. McCrae. Do not call this number again.”

The line went dead. I blinked at my phone, feeling utterly helpless. How the hell had things spiraled out of control like this?

A thud on the door startled me out of my thoughts. “Sean? Get the door, buddy. My hands are full. ”

I stood, shaking off the weight of my discovery, and opened the door. There was Danny, a paper bag in one hand and two steaming cups of coffee in the other. He grinned at me, his usual energy a stark contrast to the pit in my stomach.

“Got breakfast,” he said, stepping into the living room area of our shared hotel suite.

I rubbed the back of my neck, the tension there a solid knot. “Thanks, man.”

Danny set the cups down and pulled out a croissant. He bit into it, his eyes widening with approval. “You gotta try these; they’re amazing.” He paused, studying my face. “Okay, what’s up? You look like you just went twelve rounds with your own conscience and lost.”

I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Close. I tried to get a hold of Beth. Got intercepted by her mother, Fiona MacLeod, who politely informed me that I’m essentially the antichrist.”

Danny’s chewing slowed. “Fiona MacLeod? As in, the MacLeod family? The ones who own half of Glasgow? Jesus, Sean.”

I flopped down on the couch, running my hands over my face. “I had no idea, Danny. Not a clue who she really was. And now I’ve seen the headlines. The way they’re painting her… it’s a crucifixion.”

Danny sat down next to me, his joking demeanor gone, replaced by the sharp focus of an agent. “Hey, she’s not a child. She made her own choices, too.”

I sat up, shaking my head. “That’s not the point. The point is the double standard. For me, it’s a ‘dashing rogue’ having a fling. For her, she’s a ‘notorious party girl’ preying on the innocent American. It’s a classic character assassination, and I handed them the goddamn knife. ”

“I’m not saying it’s fair,” Danny said, his tone turning serious.

“I’m saying you have to think about the fallout.

From a brand management perspective, this is a contained fire.

But you start trying to play white knight, you throw gasoline on it, and our side of the fence burns too.

My job is to tell you that the smart play here is strategic silence. ”

I stood, too restless to sit. “My entire brand is built on authenticity and integrity, Danny. What does it say if I preach about facing challenges head-on but run and hide the second my own life gets complicated? It makes me a hypocrite.”

“And what exactly do you think you can do?” Danny challenged, standing up to face me. “Her family has you blacklisted. The press is in a feeding frenzy. Any move you make right now will be misinterpreted and weaponized by one side or the other. You’ll make it worse.”

I dug my fingers into the back of my neck, the frustration a physical force. He wasn’t wrong.

Danny’s expression softened slightly. “Look, I get it. You’re a good guy. That’s why people connect with you. But sometimes the most effective move is no move at all. Let the news cycle churn. In a week, they’ll have a new target. You need to focus on damage control for us.”

I shrugged off his logic, turning to look out the window at the Glasgow skyline. “And Beth? Who’s running damage control for her?”

“Like I said, she’s a grown woman, Sean,” Danny said gently. “And from what you’ve read, she’s a veteran of these media wars. She’ll navigate it.”

I leaned my forehead against the cool glass. “I can’t stop thinking about her, Danny. The connection we had… it wasn’t just a hookup. Something real was there. ”

Danny sighed heavily, the sound of a friend who knows he’s losing an argument. “Sean, I’m saying this as your agent and your friend. You need to let this go. For your own sake, and for hers. We’re leaving soon. This is a Glasgow problem. Let’s leave it in Glasgow.”