Page 22 of One Night in Glasgow (The Scottish Billionaires #15)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
BETH
My first day at the Hillsdale Foundation felt like stepping onto another planet.
The office was a universe of polished chrome, hushed tones, and silent, focused energy.
A stark contrast to the chaotic, heartfelt bustle of Bright Futures.
Here, ambition was a perfume worn by everyone, and I felt like an imposter, my recent past a gaudy, scandalous outfit I couldn’t take off.
I was led to the director’s office, a corner suite with a view of the city that seemed to stretch into infinity.
Ms. Henderson didn’t rise when I entered.
She simply looked up from her sleek, minimalist desk, her gaze sharp and assessing.
She was an impeccably dressed woman in her late fifties, with an air of authority so potent it seemed to suck the oxygen from the room.
“Ms. MacLeod,” she said, her voice cool and even. She gestured to the chair opposite her without a flicker of a smile. “Please, sit. ”
I sat, my hands clasped in my lap to still their trembling.
“I’ve read your file,” she began, her fingers steepled on the desk.
“It’s… extensive.” The single word hung in the air, encompassing every tabloid headline, every whispered rumor, every public misstep.
“Our mutual friend who arranged this placement believes you have potential beyond your public reputation. A sentiment I hope you prove to be correct.”
She leaned forward slightly, her eyes locking onto mine.
“Let’s be clear. Here, you are not Elisabeth MacLeod, the socialite, the heiress, or the subject of gossip columns.
Here, you are Beth, an intern. At Hillsdale, we value results, not reputations.
A reputation can be rebuilt, Ms. MacLeod, but character is proven through work. Are we understood?”
“Yes, Ms. Henderson,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
“Good.” She nodded, a flicker of perhaps approval in her gaze.
“Every new member of our team, from summer intern to senior director, starts with the basics. Our fundraising mailers are the lifeblood of this organization. You will learn how we speak to our donors, who they are, and the impact of every single dollar by handling the very letters that secure those funds. It’s the foundation of everything we do. ”
She stood, signaling the end of our meeting. “Abigail in Development will get you settled. Consider this your foundation, Beth. Build on it.”
And with that, I was dismissed. Abigail led me to my new home: a small desk in a bustling open-plan office, upon which sat a literal mountain of envelopes.
Now, three days later, staring at that same mountain, Ms. Henderson’s words felt like a cleverly disguised insult.
Build on it? My kingdom for a paper cut, I thought.
At least then I’d feel something other than soul-crushing boredom.
My grand New York fresh start had devolved into this: envelope purgatory.
Ms. Henderson, with her talk of “building character,” had eyed me like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe before banishing me to this desk.
I thought of Maisie and the kids back at Bright Futures.
At least there, I’d felt like a person, even when I was messing up.
Here, I was just a pair of hands attached to an envelope-licking machine; a high-society charity case being taught a lesson in humility.
With a groan, I pushed back from my desk. Coffee. I needed coffee if I was going to survive another minute of this. I trudged towards the break room, the stodgy pencil skirt and blouse I’d chosen feeling like a costume for a person far more boring than I was.
Lost in thought, I nearly collided with a solid wall of human as I entered the break room. “Oh, sorry, I?—”
My words died in my throat as I looked up. The wall was attached to a man with a pair of gorgeous hazel eyes and an easy smile that seemed out of place in this stuffy office.
“No worries,” he said, his voice warm and rich. “I’m Garrett. Garrett Reeves. And you must be our new intern from across the pond.”
A blush crept up my cheeks, which was annoying. “Beth MacLeod,” I managed, regaining my composure.
Garrett’s smile widened. “Ah, I thought I recognized that lovely Scottish lilt. I noticed you in the lobby on Monday.”
I poured myself a coffee, using the action to collect my thoughts. “Oh? I was going for ‘camouflaged office drone.’ Clearly, I need to work on my blending-in skills.”
He chuckled, propping himself against the counter. “Trust me, a stunning woman with a Scottish accent? You’re like a beacon in this place. ”
“Careful there, Mr. Reeves,” I said, my tone dry. “Flattery like that will get you… absolutely nowhere.”
“Just Garrett, please,” he said, his grin undiminished.
He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping.
“So, seriously. Now that you’ve had a few days to settle in, what do you think?
Feel like grabbing a drink sometime after work?
I could show you some of the real New York, outside these stuffy office walls. ”
I took a slow sip of the truly awful break room coffee, letting his offer hang in the air. It was a smooth play; I’d give him that. Confident. Direct. But I hadn’t crossed an ocean and left my life in flames just to find a new distraction.
“That’s a very kind offer, Garrett,” I said, my voice polite but firm. “But I’m actually not looking to socialize right now. I’m just here to focus on the work, prove I can stick with something, you know?” I gave him a small, unapologetic smile. “My social life is firmly on the back burner.”
I watched his smile tighten just a fraction at the corners.
The easy charm flickered, replaced by a look of surprise or annoyance.
His ego had clearly taken a small dent. “Right. Of course,” he said, straightening up and taking a step back.
“All about the work. I respect that.” He gave me a nod that felt more like a dismissal.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to it then. ”
He turned and left, and I finally exhaled. A part of me worried I’d just pissed off one of the few friendly faces in this place. But a bigger part of me felt a surge of pride. For the first time in a long time, I’d set a boundary and stuck to it.
I returned to my desk, the mountain of envelopes looking even more pathetic than before.
The next two hours were pure torture. My mind wandered, replaying my conversation with Garrett.
Had I been too harsh? No. I’d been clear.
And if he couldn’t handle a simple, polite rejection, then that was his problem, not mine.
Still, the thought lingered that I might have just alienated a potentially useful colleague.
Just as I was about to start clearing my desk for the day, a shadow fell over me. I looked up. It was Garrett. His expression was different now. The flirty charm was gone, replaced by a cool, appraising professionalism.
“Still here?” he asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.
“Still here,” I confirmed, gesturing to the envelopes. “The glamor never ends.”
He ignored my sarcasm. “You said you were serious about the work,” he stated, his gaze intense. “That you wanted to do something meaningful.”
“I am, and I do,” I said, my guard instantly up. Where was he going with this?
He leaned against my desk, crossing his arms. It was another power move, casual but deliberate.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I’m on the committee organizing our annual charity gala.
It’s the biggest event of the year. High-pressure, high stakes.
It’s not just about stuffing envelopes; it’s about strategy, donor relations, real hands-on work. It’s not for everyone.”
He paused, letting his words sink in. This wasn’t a flirty offer anymore. This was a test.
“I was impressed by your focus earlier,” he continued, his voice smooth as silk. “Most people in your position are just looking for a way to kill time. But you seem to have a genuine drive. I think you could be a real asset to the team.”
My heart started to beat a little faster.
This was it. The real opportunity I’d been desperate for.
But my internal warning system was now blaring.
He’d hit on me, I’d shut him down, and now, suddenly, he was offering me the keys to the kingdom.
This wasn’t a reward for my work ethic; this was a different kind of power play.
He was waving his influence in my face, showing me what he could do for me, what he controlled.
He saw the hesitation on my face. “Of course,” he added, a slight edge to his voice, “if you’re not up for the challenge, I understand. It’s a lot of responsibility.”
The unspoken part hung in the air: And this offer won’t come again.
The choice was suddenly, brutally clear.
I could stick to my principles, keep my distance from this man who made my skin crawl just a little, and spend the next three months in envelope purgatory, proving nothing to anyone.
Or I could play his game, swallow my pride, and seize the one chance I had to actually do something meaningful here.
I need this, I thought, the desperation a bitter taste in my mouth. I need this to work.
I looked up at him, forcing a bright, grateful smile onto my face. “Garrett, that sounds incredible. I would absolutely love to help. Thank you so much for thinking of me.”
“I thought you might be interested,” he said, his smile triumphant. “It’s a far cry from stuffing envelopes.”
I hesitated, glancing towards Ms. Henderson’s office. “I’d love to, but… can you just do that? Can I just switch jobs without Ms. Henderson’s approval?”
Garrett waved off my concern with a casual flick of his wrist. “Don’t worry about her. I’ll handle everything. You just focus on bringing that Scottish charm to the gala planning.”
As he walked away, I felt a familiar, chilling mix of emotions: the thrill of a new opportunity, and the cold dread of knowing I’d just made a deal with a man I was fairly certain I shouldn’t trust. My fresh start in New York was already feeling dangerously complicated.