Page 6 of One Night in Glasgow (The Scottish Billionaires #15)
CHAPTER FOUR
SEAN
I jolted awake to the loud sound of a blacksmith’s hammer pounding away behind my eyes. For a split second, I didn’t know where I was. Then, instinct took over, my hand reaching for the warm body that should’ve been next to me. But all my hand touched were cold, empty sheets.
“Beth?” I called out, my voice a dry, gravelly thing that scraped my throat. The answering silence was a relief; any loud noise felt like it would crack my skull open.
Fuck.
I forced myself to sit up, a move I instantly regretted as the hotel room tilted violently.
I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the world to stop spinning.
When I dared to open them again, I scanned the room.
Her clothes had vanished without a trace, not a single scrap left of the fiery redhead who’d completely upended my universe, and apparently my liver, last night.
My gaze landed on a folded piece of paper on the pillow next to me, the white of it offensively bright against the dark fabric.
Sean, Thanks for a great night. Wish things could be different. B.
The words swam for a second, and I had to read the note twice before my brain could process it.
My gut twisted with a cocktail of disappointment and relief.
Part of me, the stupid, hopeful part, wanted her to stay.
Another, more rational part, the part currently nursing a world-ending hangover, was secretly glad she’d made the exit decision for both of us.
Disappointment because, well, Beth was fucking incredible.
Like, mind-blowing, earth-shattering incredible.
The kind of incredible that makes you question every other hookup you’ve ever had and wonder if you’ve been doing it wrong this whole time.
Her body, her laugh, the way she’d bitten her lip when I’d.
.. yeah. Incredible was actually an understatement.
But relief? That was harder to explain. Was it because I knew this wouldn’t go anywhere?
I was leaving Glasgow in a few days, and she.
.. well, she was probably better off without getting tangled up with me.
Getting out of bed felt like a monumental task, each movement a careful negotiation with nausea.
My mouth tasted like I’d licked the floor of the pub, and the headache was now a permanent resident, setting up shop behind my eyes.
Christ, how much did we drink last night?
Memories flashed through my mind in painful, brilliant bursts: Beth’s laugh, her soft skin, the way she’d moaned my name.
I shook my head, trying to clear the images, but the motion only made the blacksmith in my skull hammer harder.
Focus, McCrae. You’ve got a seminar to prep for.
I stumbled toward the bathroom, desperate for the scalding water of the shower to wash away the sins of last night. I was halfway through, letting the steam work its magic, when I heard the suite door open.
“Yo, Sean! You alive in there?” Danny’s voice reverberated through the suite.
“In the shower!” I called back, rinsing the shampoo out of my eyes. “Give me a minute!”
I stepped out, wrapping a towel low on my waist, and walked into the living room area to find Danny sprawled on the couch like a king on his lumpy, disheveled throne.
He looked like he’d been through a war and come out smiling on the other side; his shirt was half-unbuttoned, his hair was a gravity-defying mess, and a faint smear of crimson lipstick adorned his collar like a medal of honor.
“Jesus, Danny. You didn’t come back all night. Did you sleep at all?”
He grinned, looking far too chipper for a man running on fumes and whisky. “Sleep is for the weak, my friend,” he declared. “And besides, I had a fantastic night with Moira and Kirsty. Scottish women are a national treasure, Sean. A fierce, beautiful, and surprisingly flexible national treasure.”
I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the throbbing in my own head.
“Glad you had fun conducting your ‘cultural exchange’.” I grabbed my suit from the garment bag hanging on the closet door and started getting dressed right there in the living area, not wanting to let him out of my sight.
“Now, can we please focus on the seminar? I need to go over my notes…”
My voice trailed off as I tried to step into my trousers and nearly pitched over. I stuck a hand out to brace myself against the wall, the smooth fabric stubbornly caught around my damp leg.
Danny watched me with amusement. “Whoa, easy there, Baryshnikov. For a guy who tells people how to achieve perfect balance in their lives, you seem to be losing your battle with a simple pair of pants.”
“I’m not… struggling,” I grunted, hopping on one foot as I finally yanked the trousers up. “I’m hungover. And we need to be sharp today, so…” I started on my shirt, fumbling the first two buttons before realizing it was inside out. “Shit.”
“Yeah, about being sharp,” Danny said, his tone suddenly shifting from mockery to something more serious. “We might have a problem.”
I froze mid-hop, one sock halfway on, my arms tangled in my inside-out shirt. I must have looked like a complete idiot. “What kind of problem?”
Finally getting my shirt on the right way, I finished dressing with a new sense of urgency and stalked over to the couch, my heart beginning to hammer against my ribs.
Danny held out his phone without a word. “This kind.”
I took it, my stomach dropping as I saw the headline: “AMERICAN MOTIVATIONAL SPEAKER’S WILD NIGHT OUT IN GLASGOW.”
“What the fuck?” I muttered, pressing play on the video.
It was grainy, clearly shot on someone’s phone, but there was no mistaking me stumbling out of the pub with Beth. Her face was obscured by those ridiculous sunglasses and scarf, but mine was on full display as I pulled her close, both of us laughing like idiots.
“Shit,” I hissed as I handed the phone back to Danny, my phone buzzing in my pocket with notifications.
I pulled it out. My social media mentions were a dumpster fire.
Memes were already popping up: my face with the caption, “Find someone who looks at you the way this motivational speaker looks at his one-night stand.” Underneath, the comments were a cesspool of judgment and speculation. My stomach churned .
For a split second, the screen in my hand blurred, the hotel room dissolving around me.
I’m not in Glasgow. I’m back in my dorm room at Berkeley, sophomore year.
The air is stale with the smell of old pizza and unwashed laundry.
Olivia is sitting on my lumpy futon, her knees pulled to her chest. She’s holding her phone out to me, her hand trembling so badly the screen is hard to read.
But I see it. A photo of her, her face crudely photoshopped onto a porn star’s body.
Below it, a flood of comments, each one a digital dagger.
“Look,” she whispered, her voice raw. “Look what they’re doing to me, Sean.”
The image was grotesque, but it was the look in her eyes that I remembered. A shattered, hollowed-out look of such profound humiliation that it felt like I was staring into a void. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there, helpless.
“Sean? Hey, Sean!”
Danny’s voice snapped me back to the present. I shook my head, the memory receding like a phantom limb, leaving behind a cold ache.
“Fuck,” I hissed, running a hand through my damp hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is exactly what I didn’t need right now.”
I’ve got that big charity gig coming up, and now I look like some drunken asshole?—”
“Hey, hey, calm down,” Danny cut in, standing up to block my path. “It’s not that bad. So, you had a night out. Big deal. You’re single, you’re allowed to have fun.”
I shook my head. “That’s not the point. I’ve spent years building my image, Danny. The responsible guy, the one who has his shit together.”
Danny raised his brow. “Isn’t that kind of the problem? You’re so focused on being perfect that you never let loose. Maybe this is a good thing. Shows you’re human.”
I snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure the charity for homeless kids will love that their keynote speaker is a drunken mess.”
“Listen…,” Danny said, his voice taking on that tone he used when he was about to fix everything. “We can spin this. You were out experiencing the local culture. Networking, even. Hell, for all we know, that woman could’ve been a potential donor.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, right? I didn’t even get her last name, Danny. And for all I know, Beth is probably not even her real name, anyway.”
Danny’s eyes widened. “Wait, seriously? You have no clue who she is?”
I shook my head, feeling like an idiot. “She said she was some kind of high society…whatever, but who knows if that was true. Could’ve been anyone.”
Danny whistled low. “Well, that complicates things. But hey, maybe it’s for the best. Less chance of her coming forward with some scandalous story.”
I collapsed onto the couch. “Let’s hope so.”
Danny stood up, straightening his rumpled shirt. “Trust me, it’ll be fine. Now, get your shoes on. We’ve got a seminar to crush.”
As Danny headed to his bedroom, probably to start damage control, I piped up. “Hey, Danny?”
He turned. “Yeah?”
“Thanks, man. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He grinned, giving me a mock salute. “That’s why I’m the best, baby. Now get your ass in gear.”
As he disappeared into his bedroom, I pushed myself off the couch, trying to straighten my shoulders into a confident posture.
The sudden movement was a mistake. The room gave a violent lurch, and the blacksmith in my head, who’d been on a tea break, decided to get back to work with a vengeance.
I grabbed the back of the couch, my knuckles white, waiting for my vision to stop swimming.
Time to be Sean McCrae, motivational speaker extraordinaire, I thought, my stomach churning in protest. The guy who could inspire anyone to be their best self.