Page 3 of One Night in Glasgow (The Scottish Billionaires #15)

CHAPTER TWO

SEAN

I stepped off the plane, the brisk Scottish air feeling like a wake-up call.

Before I’d even taken a second breath, Danny practically shoved me aside, his carry-on banging against the railing as he took the last two steps in a single leap.

He landed on the tarmac and threw his arms wide, taking a deep, theatrical drag of the damp air as if it were the finest perfume.

“Glasgow!” he bellowed, spinning around and clapping me on the back hard enough to make me stumble. “I can already taste the single malt and questionable life choices. You ready to commune with the ancestral homeland, McCrae?”

I rolled my eyes, but a grin slipped out, anyway. “My dad’s from here, Danny, that’s not ancient. My ‘roots’ are probably enjoying a quiet pint somewhere.”

We made our way through the terminal, Danny offering a running commentary on what he called the “local talent.” I mostly tuned him out, my mind already racing with thoughts of the upcoming children’s charity event I would be speaking at.

This gig was the cornerstone of the trip, the one that felt like it mattered most.

As we entered the arrivals area, I spotted a driver holding a “McCrae” sign. “There’s our ride,” I said, cutting off Danny’s musings on whether a Scottish accent made a woman inherently more trustworthy.

The chauffeur, a man whose stony expression looked like it had been carved from the side of a Highland mountain, grunted a greeting and led us to a sleek black car. As we slid into the backseat, Danny leaned in close.

“This man is a fortress of stoicism,” he whispered.

“I’m going to attempt to breach his defenses with pure, unadulterated charm.

Watch and learn.” He then leaned forward and cleared his throat dramatically.

“Excuse me, sir. I’ve just come up with a new name for a Scottish rock band.

It’s called ‘The Kiltie Pleasures’. What do you think? Has potential, right?”

The driver’s eyes met Danny’s in the rearview mirror for a brief, inscrutable moment. He gave a single, noncommittal grunt.

Danny slumped back against the seat. “Okay,” he muttered to me. “Tough crowd. A professional.”

The drive into Glasgow was a blur of gray skies and stunning old buildings. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, trying to soak it all in. This was the city my father had always spoken of with such complicated affection.

“Earth to Sean,” Danny’s voice cut through my thoughts. “You’re doing that pensive, keynote-speaker-staring-out-a-window thing again. What’s going on in that big brain of yours?”

I shrugged, not really sure how to explain the mix of emotions churning in my gut. “Just thinking about the charity event,” I said finally.

Danny’s eyes widened. “The one at the end of the week? Dude, we’ve got another speaking gig before that. Don’t put the cart before the horse.”

I sighed. “I know, I know. It’s just... this one feels different somehow.”

The car slowed, finally reaching our hotel. It was a massive, ornate building that screamed old-world luxury. As we stepped out, Danny let out a low whistle.

“Damn, they really rolled out the red carpet for us, huh?” Danny grinned, his eyes already doing a subtle sweep of the busy entrance.

I grabbed our bags from the trunk, tossing Danny his suitcase. “Come on, Casanova. Let’s check in before you launch your international goodwill tour.”

The doorman snagged our bags and ushered us inside the hotel.

The lobby was a bustling hive of activity. As Danny flirted with the receptionist—because, of course, he did—my eyes were drawn to a massive poster hanging near the elevators. It advertised the charity event I would be speaking at: “Hope for the Homeless: Changing Lives, One Child at a Time.”

“Hey…” Danny’s voice snapped me back to reality. He was holding out key cards, a victorious expression on his face. “You ready to check out the suite?”

As we rode the elevator up, my mind kept drifting back to that poster. I hoped the things I did in my life somehow would help those kids and others too, though I wondered sometimes if speeches really had any long-term effect on people’s lives.

The suite was as swanky as expected, with a view of the city that would’ve made a postcard jealous.

Danny made a beeline for the minibar while I collapsed on the plush couch.

There was a central living room area with a bedroom branching off each side, plus a compact kitchenette tucked into one corner.

“So,” Danny said, cracking open a tiny bottle of whisky, “what’s the game plan? We’ve got the entire day for ourselves. Wanna check out the pubs… I mean the local sights?”

I straightened up, suddenly restless. “Now that you mention it, that’s not a bad idea. Let’s go explore. But no pubs until after we see some sights.”

Danny’s eyes widened in disbelief for a fraction of a second before a huge grin took over. “I won’t even argue! One sight, then one pint? Sight, pint. We can make a rhythm out of it. It’ll be great!”

I shrugged, already reaching for my jacket. “When in Rome, right? Or... Glasgow, I guess.”

We hit the streets, soaking in the city, the blend of old and new architecture, the sound of bagpipes wafting from a nearby park, and the melodic cadence of Scottish accents surrounding us.

Danny, true to form, was more interested in the local scenery of the two-legged variety. “Check out the redhead at two o’clock,” he whispered, not-so-subtly nodding towards a woman in a coffee shop window. “Ya think she’s into American accents?”

I rolled my eyes. “Pretty sure she’s into her boyfriend,” I said, nodding at the guy sitting across from her, holding her hand.

Danny’s face fell for about half a second before he bounced back. “No worries, plenty of fish in the sea. Or should I say, plenty of lassies in the loch?”

I groaned. “Please never say that again. ”

Danny threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, fine. If I can’t talk about the lassies, let’s talk about food. I'm starving. I read about this place in a blog—supposedly has the best fish and chips in all of Glasgow. Like, life-changing, award-winning fish and chips. You in?”

Food did sound good. “Yeah, sure.” I pulled out my phone to find the place. “Shit, it’s already seven o’clock. We’d better get a move on.”

The fish and chips lived up to the hype—a massive, golden-battered fillet of haddock and thick-cut chips, all served up in a paper cone with a side of mushy peas. We ate on a bench in a nearby square, the greasy, satisfying meal a perfect fuel for the evening ahead.

After dinner, as we wandered with no particular destination in mind, I felt an undeniable pull toward the older parts of the city.

The weathered stone buildings and narrow alleys resonated with me.

Each structure seemed to carry the weight of history, generations of stories intricately woven into every brick.

Danny, who had been busy rating the local talent, finally seemed to notice my quiet mood. “Alright, I know that look. That’s your ‘deep, motivational thoughts about the universe’ face. What gives? This city getting to you?”

I paused, looking up at the soot-stained sandstone of a historic church. “It’s not the universe. It’s just… this was my dad’s city. It feels strange walking the same streets.”

Danny’s smirk softened into a more understanding grin. “Ah, the official ‘Patrick McCrae Heritage Tour’ has begun. I get it.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “So what’s the story with this magnificent old church? First confession? First time he snuck a flask in? ”

I laughed, the mood finally breaking. “Hardly. It just feels… familiar.”

As if on cue, we turned a corner, and the lively sounds of a fiddle and laughter spilled out from a pub.

Danny’s eyes lit up. “Speaking of heritage,” he said, pointing at the pub's entrance.

“Any proper tour of your dad's Glasgow has to include a stop at a historic pub.

It's a cultural imperative. To Patrick McCrae!” Danny stopped right in front of the door, his hand practically on the door handle.

“We had a deal remember? We saw a statue, we saw a dreary old church.

.. that's two sights. According to the binding terms of our international treaty, that means we have earned two pints.” He pointed at the pub with a triumphant grin. “Time to collect.”

I sighed, knowing he had me. The man could find a loophole in a signed confession. “A deal’s a deal, I guess,” I said, glancing at my watch. Already past eight. “But then that’s it, Danny. After two beers, we go back to the hotel. I’ve got to prepare for my speech in the morning.”

Danny’s grin was wide enough to split his face. “Deal! Now let’s go see if these Scottish lassies are as fiery as they say.”

I rolled my eyes as we entered the place and were immediately swallowed by the pub’s living, breathing chaos.

It was a heaving, laughing mass of humanity packed shoulder-to-shoulder under low, smoky beams. A local band in the corner was driving the energy, their fiddle player a blur of motion as the crowd swayed and stomped in time.

Above the din, laughter erupted in sharp bursts, and the air, thick enough to taste, was a cocktail of malty beer and sharp whisky.

Danny’s eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store. “Now this is what I’m talking about!” he shouted over the noise, already scanning the crowd for potential conquests .

I grinned. Danny’s enthusiasm was infectious, even if his priorities were... well, very Danny.

We squeezed our way to the bar, Danny elbowing his way through with practiced ease. As we waited for our drinks, he leaned in close.

“You realize that no one here knows who you are,” he said, waggling his brows with a playful glint in his eyes. “Perfect chance to let loose. Have some fun without worrying about the paparazzi or your reputation.”

I snorted. “Yeah, because that worked out so well last time.”