Page 32 of One Night in Glasgow (The Scottish Billionaires #15)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BETH
The subway car lurched and swayed, nearly sending me tumbling into the lap of the elderly woman seated beside me. I grabbed the metal pole, steadying myself while checking my watch for the third time in five minutes. Eight-thirty. Still on schedule.
My mind wandered to Sean, probably just waking up in his Philadelphia hotel room.
Two days without him felt longer than it should have.
We’d texted goodnight, but it wasn’t the same as feeling his warmth beside me, his arm draped over my waist in sleep.
I smiled at the memory of how he’d kissed me goodbye, lingering at my door like he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave.
“Next stop, 42nd Street,” the automated voice announced, pulling me from my daydream.
My stop. I joined the exodus of bodies onto the platform, letting the tide of commuters carry me toward the stairs.
A knot of anxiety tightened in my chest as I thought about the day ahead.
Another six hours of envelope stuffing and name card writing at the Hillsdale Foundation.
It was hardly the meaningful work I’d hoped for when I came to New York, but I had to make it work.
To prove to my parents, and most importantly to myself, that I could stick with something, even when it wasn’t glamorous.
The Hillsdale Foundation occupied three floors of a sleek building on Lexington Avenue.
I nodded to the security guard as I swiped my temporary badge, then waited for the elevator among a cluster of proper-looking professionals.
None of them knew about my past. Here I was, simply Beth, the eager intern.
I liked that version of myself better.
The elevator doors opened on the fourteenth floor, and I continued on to the small desk I’d been assigned in the development department. From a distance, I spotted something on my desk that hadn’t been there yesterday. It was a glossy navy-blue box with a gold ribbon.
My steps slowed as I approached. It was definitely chocolates, Godiva, from the logo. Expensive. My stomach tightened with an uneasy feeling.
“Looks like someone’s got a secret admirer,” Malinda said, whose desk faced mine. She was gathering her things, coffee mug in hand. “Those were here when I came in. Very fancy.” She winked at me before heading off towards the break room.
I stood over my desk, staring at the box like it might bite me. No card. Just like the flowers that had appeared at my apartment last week, the ones that had cast that shadow over my evening with Sean. His face when he’d told me they weren’t from him... that flash of hurt he’d tried to hide.
“Well, aren’t you popular.”
I looked up to see Abigail standing by my desk, a reusable mug in her hand and a knowing, maternal look in her eyes. “Don’t look at it like it’s a bomb, dear. Are they from that handsome boyfriend of yours?”
The question made my stomach clench. “No,” I said, my voice tighter than I intended. “That’s the problem. Sean didn’t send the flowers last week, and I know he didn’t send these.”
Abigail’s friendly curiosity sharpened into genuine concern. She pulled up a spare chair, lowering her voice. “Another anonymous gift? Oh, honey. That’s not romantic, that’s just… unsettling.”
“Tell me about it,” I muttered, picking up the box and turning it over as if it might magically reveal its sender. “One gift can be a mistake. But two? This feels like a pattern. A creepy, stalker-ish pattern.”
“Well, you certainly have a fan somewhere,” Abigail said, her eyes doing a quick, discreet scan of the office.
“Just be careful if he’s in this building.
Ms. Henderson runs a tight ship. After the scandal with the marketing director last Christmas, she’s got zero tolerance for ‘inter-office entanglements’. ”
Her warning, meant to be helpful, only amplified my anxiety. This was exactly the kind of complication I didn’t need. I’d come to New York to escape the drama, and now it felt like my past was following me, sending anonymous gifts as harbingers of doom.
My mind immediately jumped to the most likely suspect. “Abigail, do you know if Garrett came in early today?”
She shook her head. “Haven’t seen him yet. He usually doesn’t roll in until nine or so.” She gave me a pointed look. “You think it’s him?”
I thought of his slick charm, the way he’d cornered me in the bar. “I don’t know what to think.” A sick feeling settled in my gut .
I glared at the chocolates, my fingers curling into fists. My first instinct was to march over to the trash bin and ceremoniously dump the entire box, a clear message to whoever was playing these games. Thanks, but no thanks.
Instead, I took a breath. No. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of a reaction. I yanked open my desk drawer and shoved the box inside, slamming it shut with enough force to make my pens rattle. I wouldn’t let this bullshit distract me from my work. I had a job to do.
But by eleven, I’d barely made progress on the stack of name cards I was supposed to be hand-lettering. My mind kept drifting to the box, circling around the same questions. Who was sending these gifts? What did they want from me? And most importantly, should I tell Sean?
I thought about how his face had fallen when he told me the flowers weren’t from him. The awkward silence that had followed. How carefully he’d tried to hide his jealousy. We’d moved past it, but things had felt fragile.
I watched the wall-clock’s hands tick one minute closer to noon, and I couldn’t take it anymore.
I had to find out who’s behind the gifts.
I stood up, smoothed my skirt, and marched toward Garrett’s office.
The door was ajar, and I could see him at his desk, phone pressed to his ear.
He glanced up as I approached, holding up one finger in a “just a minute” gesture.
I waited, arms crossed, watching as he finished his call. He was handsome in a conventional way: styled brown hair, sharp jawline, expensive clothes. But there was something in his smile that never quite reached his eyes.
“Beth,” he said as he hung up, his eyes lighting up. “Just the person I wanted to see. Come in, close the door.”
I hesitated, then stepped inside, leaving the door pointedly open. My fingers curled into fists at my sides as I fought to keep my voice steady. “I need to ask you something.”
His expression lifted in mock surprise. “Sounds serious.”
“Did you leave a box of chocolates on my desk this morning?” I watched him carefully, the muscle in my jaw tightening.
Garrett’s expression shifted too quickly, before I could figure it out. “Chocolates? No, why would I do that?”
The casual dismissal in his tone irked me. “Someone did,” I said, holding my stance. “Just as someone sent flowers to my apartment last week like I told you.”
“Right, the flowers.” He leaned back in his chair with a smirk that didn’t match his words. “Sounds like you’ve got yourself an admirer. I’m afraid I can’t take credit for any of it.”
He looked sincere, but how could I be sure?
“You know,” he said, tapping his pen thoughtfully against his desk in an annoyingly practiced way, “That guy Tyler from Accounting was asking about you the other day.”
“Tyler?” I frowned, thrown off by the sudden introduction of a name I’d never heard. “I don’t think I’ve met him.”
“Really? Tall guy, dark hair? He came by while we were discussing the gala seating charts. He asked me if I knew where you were from. Of course, I didn’t tell him about your little scandal back home.
” Garrett snapped his fingers as if suddenly remembering something.
“Actually, now that I think about it, just last week, in the break room, he also asked if I knew a good florist. Said he wanted to send his ‘grandmother’ something special.”
My eyes narrowed. This was too convenient. “So, you think Tyler sent me the flowers? And now chocolates?” I didn’t bother hiding the skepticism in my voice .
Garrett shrugged, a look of innocence on his face. “Why not? It’s possible.”
“Is he single or married?” I asked.
Garrett tilted his head, studying me with an intensity that made me want to step back. “I’m not sure, actually. Why? Are you interested?”
“No, I’m not interested,” I snapped, my patience fraying. “I have a boyfriend. And I’d appreciate it if you could tell Tyler to stop sending me things. The flowers caused enough problems.”
“Problems?” Garrett leaned forward, his interest unmistakable. “With the boyfriend?”
I regretted mentioning it immediately. “None of your effin’ business,” I said. “Just...if you talk to him, tell him to leave me the hell alone.”
“Will do.” Garrett held up his hands in surrender, but his smile never wavered. “Don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just trying to help.”
Something about all this rang suspicious, but I couldn’t put my finger on why.
“On that note,” he continued, his demeanor turning to business. “The gala is already on Saturday, as you know, and I need an hour or two of your time to go over your responsibilities for the night.”
“Oh. Okay. Cool.” Finally, something significant.
“Let me just check my schedule.” He turned to his computer, clicking through his calendar with a furrowed brow. “Hmm, I’m swamped today...meeting with donors all afternoon...”
I shifted impatiently. “What about tomorrow morning?”
More clicking, more frowning. “No, I’ve got back-to-back meetings until 3, where I have to leave for a cross-town thing…” He continued scrolling. “These next two days are just insane with the gala.”
The theatrical way he was making a show of his busy schedule was too obvious.
“What about a quick lunch tomorrow?” I suggested.
“No, that won’t work either. I already have a lunch meeting scheduled.” He sighed dramatically. “Look, the only time I can really give you a proper briefing would be tomorrow evening. Say, dinner at Flannigan’s at eight?”
My stomach dropped. Dinner? “Couldn’t we just meet here at the office tomorrow evening?” I pressed.