Page 7 of One Night in Glasgow (The Scottish Billionaires #15)

Even if, right now, all I could inspire myself to do was find the nearest bottle of aspirin and a very, very dark room.

As Danny and I pulled up to the venue, my stomach churned. The usual pre-speech jitters were amplified by the unusual sight of photographers and reporters clustered outside like vultures circling a carcass. I paused, trying to center myself.

“You’ve got this, man,” Danny said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Just another day at the office, right?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. We stepped out of the car, and camera flashes exploded around us. I plastered on my best media smile, waving to the crowd as Danny and I made our way inside.

The lobby was bustling with attendees; all dressed in their entrepreneurial best. As we weaved through the crowd, I caught snippets of conversation.

“Did you see that video?”

“I can’t believe he’d be so reckless...”

“Wonder who the mystery woman was...”

I felt my face heat up, but I kept my expression neutral. Just as we reached the door to the green room, a young woman approached me, her eyes wide with excitement .

“Mr. McCrae! I’m such a huge fan. I can’t wait for your talk.”

I smiled, genuinely touched. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

She leaned in, lowering her voice. “And don’t worry about that video. We all have wild nights sometimes, right?”

My smile froze on my face. “Right. Thanks.”

As soon as we were alone in the green room, I slumped into a chair. “Fuck, Danny. Everyone knows.”

He shrugged, looking annoyingly calm. “So what? Use it. You’re human, Sean. That’s relatable.”

I snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure they’ll love hearing about my drunken hookup with a stranger.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Not specifics, dumbass. But the idea that even successful people have moments of weakness? That’s gold.”

I mulled it over as I reviewed my notes. Hmm, he had a point. By the time the organizer came to fetch me, I had an idea.

I walked onto the stage, and was met with a sea of expectant faces, smartphones already raised, ready to capture any mistake. Shit . Three hundred people who’d paid good money to hear Sean McCrae’s wisdom. Three hundred people who’d probably all seen that damn video by now.

My prepared notes suddenly felt hollow in my pocket. I took a deep breath and stepped up to the microphone.

“Good morning, Glasgow!” I paused, letting my voice fill the room. A murmur of greeting rippled back. “You know, I had this whole speech prepared about perseverance and success.”

I pulled the notecards from my pocket, held them up for everyone to see, then deliberately set them aside on the podium.

“But something happened yesterday that made me realize we need to talk about something else.”

The room went quiet. They were practically leaning forward in their seats.

“I’m guessing most of you have seen a certain video posted this morning.” I let a self-deprecating smile cross my face. “Those of you who haven’t, will probably check it out during the coffee break.”

Nervous laughter scattered through the crowd. A woman in the front row glanced down at her phone and then back up at me, her cheeks reddening.

“So, let’s address the elephant in the room, shall we? Yes, that was me stumbling out of a pub last night. Yes, I’d had a few drinks. Yes, I was with a woman who wasn’t my wife.” I held up my left hand, wiggling my bare ring finger. “Mainly because I don’t have a wife.”

More laughter, stronger this time.

“And now you’re all sitting there thinking one of two things.

Either ‘What a hypocrite, telling us how to live our best lives when he’s out there acting like a college freshman on spring break.

’” I mimicked, looking disapprovingly over imaginary glasses.

“Or you’re saying, ‘Thank God, he’s human after all. ’”

I moved away from the podium, beginning to pace the stage.

“And that’s actually what I’m going to address today.

Not the video, though my publicist is probably having a heart attack right now.

” I gestured to Danny in the wings, who gave me an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

“I want to talk about the immense pressure we all face to appear perfect in a world where everyone has a camera in their pocket.”

I pointed to a young man in the third row who was, ironically, filming me on his phone.

“How many of you have ever had a moment you’re glad wasn’t captured on film?” I raised my own hand. “A mistake you’re grateful for isn’t immortalized on the internet?”

Hands went up across the room, hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence.

“Look around,” I said, dropping my voice to almost a whisper, so they’d have to concentrate to hear me. “Every single one of us has moments we’re not proud of. The difference is most of you get to mess up in private.”

I walked to the front of the stage, making eye contact with people in the front row.

“Here’s something they don’t tell you about success,” I said, my voice gaining intensity. “The higher you climb, the smaller your margin for error becomes. One mistake… one human moment… and suddenly everything you’ve worked so hard for your entire life, feels like it’s hanging by a thread.”

People were nodding now, some taking notes.

“But here’s the real truth,” I continued, pacing again. “Your worth isn’t determined by your worst moment. Or your best, for that matter.”

I stopped center stage.

“In my book, I talk about the Three P’s of Perseverance: Purpose, Practice, and Perspective.” I counted them off on my fingers. “But there’s a fourth P I’ve never talked about before. One I’ve struggled with personally.”

I let the silence hang for a beat.

“Perfection.” The word dropped like a stone. “The toxic pursuit of an impossible standard. ”

Something shifted in the room. People were sitting up straighter, exchanging glances.

“We curate these perfect social media feeds. We hide our struggles. We airbrush our flaws. And for what?” I shook my head. “So, we can feel inadequate when we scroll through everyone else’s highlight reels?”

A woman in the back called out, “Preach!”

“That video of me?” I pointed toward the back of the room, as if the footage were playing there. “That’s real life, folks. Messy. Unscripted. Human. And hey… I refuse to apologize for it.”

I walked back to the podium, picking up my water bottle and taking a long drink.

“Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not advocating for bad behavior or suggesting actions shouldn’t have consequences.

” I set the bottle down with a deliberate thunk.

“They absolutely should, and they do. But there’s a difference between accountability and shame.

Between learning from mistakes and letting them define you. ”

For the next forty minutes, I wove between my prepared material on resilience and this new theme of authentic imperfection.

I told stories I’d never shared publicly before, like the time I bombed so badly at my first speaking gig that people asked for refunds; the client who fired me because I was “too real” for their corporate image; the crushing imposter syndrome that still hits me at 3 AM sometimes.

With each vulnerable admission, I felt the room drawing closer, the energy building. This wasn’t the polished, TED Talk-ready performance they’d expected. It was raw. It was risky. And judging by the nodding heads and furious note taking, it was resonating.

I wrapped up by returning to where I’d started .

“So, the next time you see someone fall, remember you’re witnessing their most public moment, not their defining one.” I let my gaze sweep across the room one last time. “Judge less. Connect more. And give yourself the same grace you’d offer a friend.”

The final words were followed by a pause for a moment before the room burst into applause.

People rose to their feet, some nodding emphatically.

It wasn’t the thunderous, rock-star reception I sometimes received after my polished keynotes, but something better, something genuine.

As I looked out at their faces, a weight lifted from my shoulders.

Maybe Danny was right. This unexpected scandal wasn’t the career-ending disaster I’d feared.

My beaming triumph lasted right up until I stepped off stage and saw the mob of reporters waiting for me.

“Mr. McCrae! Can you comment on the video circulating online?”

“Who was the woman you were with last night?”

“Is this behavior typical for you?”

The questions came rapid fire, each one hitting hard. I tried to keep my media smile in place, but I sensed my composure starting to crack.

“I appreciate your interest,” I began, “but as I said in my talk?—”

“Is it true you left with her? Where did you go?”

My face was getting warm. “I don’t think that’s?—”

Suddenly, Danny was at my side, his arm around my shoulders. “Alright, folks, that’s all the time we have for questions. Mr. McCrae has another engagement. Thank you for your interest!”

With his usual ease, he steered me through the crowd and out a side door. We practically ran down the street, ducking into the first pub we saw.

“Two pints,” Danny called to the bartender as we slid into a booth. “And whatever greasy food you’ve got.”

As the adrenaline wore off, I slumped in my seat. “Jesus Christ, that was intense.”

The beers arrived, and I took a long pull, relishing the cold liquid.

Danny leaned forward, scrubbing a hand over his face, which still looked a bit rough from his own late night. “Alright, look. That speech was pure genius. Turning your one-night stand into a TED Talk on authenticity? Fucking brilliant. You pulled that rabbit out of your ass like a master magician.”

I took a grateful sip of my beer. “Thanks, man. Couldn’t have done it without your advice.”

“But let’s be real,” he continued, his expression turning serious, though his eyes still held a hint of last night’s mischief. “And hey, I know I was the one who pushed you to go talk to her. To ‘live a little’. And I’m taking full credit for the masterpiece of a speech that came out of it.”

He leaned forward, his voice dropping. “But that was a one-time miracle, Sean. We can’t have you playing Russian roulette with your reputation every time we’re in a new city.

I get to be the irresponsible one on these trips, okay?

That’s my role. I’m the agent; it’s practically in my job description to have…

let’s call them ‘debriefings’ with the local talent.

” He gave me a sly wink. “You’re the star.

You have to be Saint Sean, the motivational messiah, at least until this big Bright Futures gala is over. ”

He pointed a finger at me. “So, for the love of God, no more mysterious, beautiful women who might be tabloid time bombs. Can you keep it in your pants and avoid becoming a public spectacle for, like, three more days? Please?”

I held up a hand, feigning solemnity. “I solemnly swear to keep it in your pants and stay sober. Scout’s honor.”

Danny snorted, shaking his head. “You were never a scout, asshole. And I’ve seen your version of ‘sober.’ It just means no shots after midnight. But fine. I’ll take it for now.”

We both laughed, and I felt some of the day’s residual stress finally begin to dissipate.

The immediate crisis was handled. Yet, in the back of my mind, I couldn’t shake thoughts of Beth.

The way she’d felt in my arms, the wit in her eyes.

Who the hell was she? And, God, I hoped our paths would cross again.

.