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Page 29 of One Night in Glasgow (The Scottish Billionaires #15)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

BETH

I woke up tangled in my sheets, the scent of Sean still lingering on my pillow.

My body felt boneless, thoroughly satisfied in a way that went far beyond just the physical.

I turned to find the bedside empty. Sean must have snuck out while I was sleeping.

That bloody bastard! I chuckled, remembering I’d done the exact same thing to him.

A handwritten note was on the pillow. “Magical night. Call you later. xo”.

Dangerous thoughts bloomed in the quiet of the morning: This is what it feels like to be happy, and in love.

I immediately tried to crush them. Happiness was a liability.

And love? Love was an absolutely insane thought.

The last thing I needed on top of my mountain of other problems was a broken heart.

This thing with Sean… it was moving too fast. That night in his hotel room back home had been a perfect, passionate storm, an “out-of-this-world” brilliant one-night-stand .

What we had here, was a whole different game entirely.

Part of me was absolutely terrified of the wreckage it could leave behind.

I was here to focus. To prove myself at Hillsdale.

Sean was a wonderful, terrifying complication, but my career, my one shot at proving to my parents and myself that I wasn’t a complete fuck-up, had to be the priority.

Despite my worry, the warm afterglow of my night with Sean lingered until the second I sat down at my desk at the Hillsdale Foundation. A fresh mountain of envelopes sat waiting for me, a monument to my continued purgatory. I’d been here just over a week, and this was still my reality.

I sighed, picking up an envelope and staring at it with contempt. My fingers were already getting sore. The “meaningful work” Garrett kept promising felt more distant than ever.

“Almost done?” Abigail asked as she passed my desk.

“Nearly there,” I replied, forcing a smile.

I glanced at my watch. Two-thirty. Only half an hour until my meeting with Garrett. He’d promised again yesterday to get me involved with the gala planning committee, saying he was “working on it” with Ms. Henderson. But here I sat.

The clock ticked by at a snail’s pace while I mechanically folded letters. My thoughts, despite my best efforts, wandered back to Sean. To last night. My cheeks flushed, remembering how his hands had felt on my body, his lips…

“Focus, Beth,” I muttered to myself. I needed to concentrate on proving myself here.

Garrett had seemed so confident when we first met. “Just need to handle it delicately with Ms. Henderson,” he’d said. But his “handling it” so far consisted of cornering me in the break room and then meeting me at a bar .

I checked my phone. Finally, time to start cleaning up. Garrett had texted earlier asking to meet at O’Malley’s, the bar around the corner, instead of the office. Said it would be more relaxed.

Yeah right, I thought, gathering my things. That little voice of doubt piped up again. Why a bar?

I smoothed down my skirt and checked my reflection in my phone’s camera. My red hair was still relatively tame, though the humidity was starting to make it frizz at the ends. The outfit I’d chosen for work, a knee-length pencil skirt and modest blouse, suddenly felt too formal for a bar meeting.

“You’re overthinking this,” I told my reflection. With me, being a complete newbie to the US, Garrett was just being super friendly, trying to help me get more involved. Nothing weird about that.

I grabbed my purse and headed for the elevator. As the doors closed, I caught a glimpse of Ms. Henderson through her office window, phone pressed to her ear. I wondered if she even knew about these meetings with Garrett. He’d said he was handling everything, but...

The heat was nauseating as I stepped outside. O’Malley’s green awning beckoned from the end of the block, promising air conditioning and hopefully some answers about my role in this gala planning committee.

“It’s a meeting,” I muttered, straightening my shoulders as I walked. But still?—

The bar’s cool air washed over me as I stepped inside O’Malley’s. I chose a seat at the quieter end of the bar, ordered a glass of white wine and checked my phone. No messages from Sean yet today. He was probably still in meetings.

Garrett breezed in fifteen minutes later, his cologne announcing his presence before I spotted him. “Beth, so glad you could make it.” He slid onto the barstool next to mine, signaling the bartender. “G this was about something else entirely. He was talking about me.

“For instance,” he continued, as if discussing the weather, “if a new person were to join our team, someone with a… let’s say, a boisterous public history, we would need to be very strategic.

We’d need to spin any potential… complications…

to our advantage. Turn a potential liability into an asset. ”

I kept my expression neutral, even as a cold knot formed in my stomach. “I imagine that would take a skilled hand,” I said carefully.

“Precisely.” He smiled, a flash of white teeth. “Take your boyfriend, for example. Sean McCrae.”

He said the name so casually, so matter-of-factly, that it felt like a gunshot in the quiet bar. My polite smile froze on my face.

“Don’t look so surprised, Beth,” he chuckled, though the sound held no humor.

“It’s my job to know things. I’m on the gala committee.

A high-profile motivational speaker with a recent, very public…

connection to our newest intern? That’s a variable.

And I manage variables.” He leaned back, appraising me.

“He’s good, by the way. I watched the footage from his speech in Glasgow after that first video hit.

Turning a potential PR crisis into a win for ‘authenticity’? A masterclass. I was impressed.”

My mind raced, trying to catch up. This wasn’t a jealous outburst. This was a clinical assessment. He wasn’t just a creep; he was a student of manipulation, just like Sean, but from a much darker school.

“Which is why I’m trying to understand your angle,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, more intimate.

“You’re with him, a man who professionally spins narratives, and now you’re here with me.

I just need to know what game we’re playing.

Are you looking to leverage your… unique media profile for the foundation’s benefit?

Or are you genuinely just here to prove yourself?

” He smirked. “Because I’m open to either strategy. Both could be very… useful.”

My instincts screamed ‘DANGER.’ He was trying to destabilize me; to show me he held all the cards, that he knew my past and could control my future here. But I couldn’t afford to let him see my fear. I had to play the game on his level.

I took a slow breath, forcing a cool, confident smile.

“Garrett, I’m impressed. You’ve certainly done your homework.

” I let him absorb the small dose of flattery before I continued.

“But I think you’re conflating two different things.

My personal life is, as you’ve noted, complicated.

It’s a mess I’m trying to leave behind.” I met his gaze without flinching.

“My work at Hillsdale is my one chance to do that. You saw I was bored, and you offered me a real opportunity. That’s the only ‘angle’ I’m interested in.

I want to contribute to this gala, genuinely.

And I want to learn from someone who clearly knows how to manage…

variables.” I let a small, conciliatory smile touch my lips.

“I see this as a professional mentorship. That’s what’s important to me. ”

Garrett stared at me for a long moment, his jaw tight. It was a high-stakes poker game, and I had just called his bluff. Finally, his expression softened, the charming mask sliding back into place, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“A mentorship,” he repeated slowly. “Right. Of course.” He took a sip of his whisky. “Well, you’re a valuable asset, Beth. We need to make sure you’re utilized properly.”

The shift back to his smooth persona was more unnerving than the anger had been. I knew I hadn’t won; I’d just survived the round. As our glasses emptied, his compliments returned, but they felt different now, each one a subtle test, a reminder that he was watching me.

I glanced at my phone and gathered my purse. “I should go. I’m meeting Sean for dinner.”

The name dropped like a stone between us. Something dark flashed across Garrett’s face so briefly I almost missed it. His hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist…

“Not Sean again. Come on, just one more drink,” he pressed, his charm cranked up to full power, but his grip a little uncomfortable on my wrist. “We’ve barely scratched the surface of the planning.

Besides, I’m sure Sean won’t mind waiting a few minutes.

What kind of boyfriend gets upset about work meetings?

” His thumb stroked my wrist in a way that was meant to be suave but just felt invasive.