Page 33 of One Night in Glasgow (The Scottish Billionaires #15)
Garrett’s expression hardened slightly. “Beth, I’m trying the hardest to accommodate you in my extremely busy schedule.
I’ll be close by the restaurant tomorrow evening, and we both gotta eat.
This is the only way. We kill two birds with one stone by ‘meeting while eating’.
But if you’re not interested in helping with the gala. ..”
“No, I am,” I blurted out. “Of course, I am. I just thought?—”
“Is it your boyfriend again?” he interrupted, his tone with an undercurrent I couldn’t quite place. “Does he have a problem with you working late?”
“No, he’s out of town,” I said, then immediately regretted volunteering that information. “I mean, so… I guess… whatever… sure, dinner. I just?—”
“Great, then Flannigan’s at eight.” He practically leaped to his feet, snatching up his laptop and files like someone had just announced free drinks at the bar. “Late for a donor meeting now. Gotta fly. We’ll hash out everything tomorrow night.”
Before I could object, he brushed past me, heading for the door. He paused at the threshold, turning back. “Oh, your boyfriend’s coming to the gala, right? ”
The question caught me off guard. “Actually, no. He couldn’t get away from work. He’s in Philadelphia for?—”
“That’s a shame,” Garrett cut me off, not sounding remotely disappointed. “Well, see you tomorrow.”
As I watched him leave the office, I felt like I’d been outplayed. How had he managed to make me feel like I was the unreasonable one for not wanting to have dinner with him? And why was I suddenly questioning my own instincts?
I made my way back to my desk, confusion swirling with frustration. Before sitting down, I detoured to Abigail’s workspace, my new mission solidifying in my mind.
“Abigail, sorry to bother you again,” I said, lowering my voice. “You know those anonymous gifts I told you about earlier? The flowers and chocolates?”
She looked up from her computer, her expression shifting to one of concerned interest. “Yes, of course. Don’t tell me you’ve received another one?”
“No, but I might have a name,” I said. “Garrett mentioned a man named Tyler Mathews from Accounting has been asking about me. Do you know him?”
Abigail’s professionally polite mask slipped for a fraction of a second.
“Tyler Mathews?” She glanced around to make sure no one was listening before leaning in slightly.
“I know who he is. Quite handsome, if you like that clean-cut, boy-next-door type.” She lowered her voice even more. “But Beth, dear, he’s married.”
A wave of relief washed over me, so potent it almost made me dizzy. “Oh, thank God,” I breathed, the tension in my shoulders loosening. “It’s probably not him then. I mean, sending flowers to someone’s flat and chocolates to their desk? That’s a bit bold for a married man, surely.”
“Well,” Abigail said, her eyes alight with the thrill of office gossip she was trying to suppress.
“You’d think so. But I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but…
there were rumors after the company Christmas party last year.
” She paused for dramatic effect, leaning in even closer.
“Something about him and one of the junior secretaries from legal getting a little too friendly after a few too many glasses of cheap Prosecco. Nothing was ever proven, of course, and it was all kept very quiet. Just whispers. But you know…” She gave me a meaningful look.
Fuck. The relief I’d just felt evaporated, replaced by a cold, hard certainty.
The pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity.
So, Garrett wasn’t lying, and my initial assumption had been hopelessly naive.
This Tyler character was exactly the type: a married predator who used his charming facade to fool around with colleagues, bold as brass.
My blood began to boil. How dare he? Had he seen the stories about me from Glasgow and thought I was an easy target?
Abigail picked up her notebook, her professional mask back in place. “Has he approached you?”
“Not yet,” I said, my voice hardening with a new resolve. “But I’m going to make sure he doesn’t. Thanks, Abigail. You’ve been a huge help.”
Abigail checked her watch. “I’ve got to run to a meeting with Ms. Henderson.” She stood, gathering her things. “You be careful, dear. Later.”
I nodded, forcing a smile until she was out of sight. Then I slumped into my chair, staring at the drawer where I’d stashed that damn box of chocolates.
Who the hell did this Tyler guy think he was? Sending me gifts, causing problems between me and Sean, making me look unprofessional. And if he really was married? That made it ten times worse .
Before I could talk myself out of it, I stood up. No more being passive, waiting for the next unwanted gift to show up. I was done letting men dictate the course of my life.
“Where’s Accounting?” I asked Malinda at her desk.
She blinked, surprised by my intensity. “Fourth floor, east wing.”
The elevator ride to the fourth floor gave me just enough time to work myself into a proper rage.
How the fuck dare he? I’d come to New York to escape scandal, not to become part of some married man’s midlife crisis fantasy.
And if Ms. Henderson found out I was receiving romantic gifts from a married colleague?
My chances of doing any career jump here would evaporate.
The Accounting department was a maze of cubicles. I scanned the nameplates until I spotted “T. Mathews” on a desk near the window. A man sat with his back to me, typing something on his computer.
I marched up, clutching the chocolate box I’d retrieved from my drawer. “Excuse me. Tyler Mathews?”
He swiveled around, tall, and as Abigail had described, with dark hair and wire-rimmed glasses. Handsome? A hundred percent. And there it was on his left hand: a gold wedding band.
“Yes?” He looked up at me with polite confusion, followed by a flirting smile, a glint in his eye.
I slapped the chocolate box onto his desk. “You need to stop.”
He stared at the box, then back at me. “I’m sorry, what?” The smile had vanished.
“First the flowers at my apartment—and how the hell did you even get my address—and now chocolates on my desk? It needs to stop. I have a boyfriend, and you’re married.” I gestured toward his ring. “This is completely inappropriate and unprofessional.”
His eyes widened. For a moment, he just stared at me, his expression morphing from confusion to disbelief. He leaned back in his chair, a slow, condescending look replacing his initial shock.
“Wait a minute,” he said slowly. “Your accent. You’re the new intern. I’ve heard of you.” His gaze flickered over me dismissively. “From England, right?”
“Scotland,” I corrected through gritted teeth, my cheeks burning.
“Scotland,” he repeated, a humorless smirk playing on his lips. “Right. Look, I have no idea how you conduct yourselves over there, but here in real civilization, we don’t march into someone’s office and publicly accuse them of harassment without a shred of evidence.”
“Don’t play dumb,” I hissed, aware that heads were turning in nearby cubicles. “Garrett Reeves told me everything. How you were asking about me, how you wanted a florist recommendation.”
“Garrett...?” Tyler’s brow furrowed again, but this time his look was sharp, angry.
He stood slowly, and I suddenly felt very small.
“Let me be perfectly clear,” he said, his voice quiet but razor-sharp.
“I have never sent you flowers. I have never bought you chocolates. Until this moment, I couldn’t have picked you out of a lineup.
” He picked up the box and held it out to me.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I want no part of it. ”
“But Garrett said?—”
“I don’t care what Garrett said.” His eyes flashed with genuine anger.
“What I do care about is that you’ve just created a scene in my workplace, accusing me of inappropriate behavior in front of my colleagues.
” He gestured around at the onlookers. “Do you have any idea how serious these accusations are? This constitutes sexual harassment and could be grounds for a complaint to HR.”
My stomach dropped. The absolute certainty in his voice, his reference to HR, the cutting remark about “how you conduct yourselves over there,” it all made me falter. “But... he specifically mentioned you,” I said, my conviction wavering into a desperate whisper.
“I’ve spoken to Garrett Reeves exactly twice in the three years I’ve worked here,” Tyler said flatly. “Both times about budget reports for his gala events.” His jaw tightened. “And now I certainly hope I never have to speak to him, or you, again.”
The blood drained from my face. Garrett had lied. But why would he?
A middle-aged woman at the next desk stood up. “Is everything okay here, Tyler?”
He exhaled slowly. “This woman seems to think I’ve been sending her gifts. I haven’t.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, mortification washing over me. “I thought?—”
“You thought wrong,” Tyler said coolly. He sat back down, turning to his computer in a clear dismissal. “Whatever game you and Garrett are playing, leave me out of it.”
I felt twenty pairs of eyes on me as I backed away from Tyler Mathew’s desk, clutching the box of chocolates to my chest like a shield.
The elevator ride back to my floor was excruciating, my mind replaying every moment of the confrontation in agonizing detail.
Here in civilization... His words stung worse than the public humiliation.
It wasn’t just that I’d been wrong; it’s that I’d acted like a boorish, confrontational outsider.
I collapsed into my chair, burying my face in my hands. I’d come to New York to avoid drama, and I’d just served it up on a silver platter in the middle of the Accounting department. Garrett had lied. He’d played me perfectly, setting me up to make a fool of myself. And it had worked.