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Page 8 of One Night in Glasgow (The Scottish Billionaires #15)

CHAPTER FIVE

BETH

The hot water sprayed against my back, sluicing away the last lingering stickiness of last night’s decisions and the too little sleep that had followed.

Steam filled the small bathroom, a temporary fog machine for my equally foggy brain.

My head was definitely staging a protest against the amount of champagne I’d consumed, but it was the other ache, the one low in my belly and deep in my chest, that was harder to ignore.

Sean.

Just thinking his name sent a thrill through me as I finally turned off the taps.

Images from last night flickered behind my eyelids: his laughing green eyes in the pub, the surprising intensity of his kiss in the hotel suite, the feel of his skin under my hands.

Christ, Beth, what the hell were you thinking?

It was supposed to be a one-night distraction, a way to thumb my nose at Stewart and my mother’s plans.

But somewhere between the witty banter and the tangled sheets, things had gotten…

complicated. He wasn’t just another regrettable ho okup.

There had been a spark, a genuine connection that had blindsided me.

The kind that made a girl like me want to run for the bloody hills even as every instinct screamed to run towards him.

I stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around myself.

As I dried off, trying to rub away the memory of his touch, my phone, discarded on the closed loo seat, started buzzing like an angry hornet.

Now what? Probably Kinna, wondering where I’d disappeared to. I’d deal with her later.

But the buzzing was insistent, a rapid-fire series of notifications that set my teeth on edge. With a sigh, I snatched it up. A string of missed calls from Kinna. Texts. And then, a link.

My stomach dropped as I read her latest message: “OMG Beth, is that you in The Sun !”

The Sun? What the fuck had I done now ?

My fingers, suddenly clumsy, fumbled to open the link. The headline jumped out at me: “AMERICAN MOTIVATIONAL SPEAKER’S WILD NIGHT OUT IN GLASGOW.”

“Oh no,” I whispered, pressing play on the grainy video.

There I was, in a drunken stumble, coming out of the pub with Sean, laughing like an idiot.

Thank God for those ridiculous sunglasses and the scarf.

At least my face wasn’t clearly visible.

But I recognized myself immediately. The designer dress, the unmistakable red hair peeking out from under the scarf. It was definitely me.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I hissed, panic rising in my throat.

This was bad. This was really fucking bad.

My parents’ ultimatum was still ringing in my ears like a goddamn broken record.

“Get your shit together or kiss your trust fund goodbye,” they’d said.

Or worse, Mum wanted me to shack up with that prick Stewart and play happy families.

I’d rather gargle razor blades. And here I was, splashed across the rags like some two-bit floozy, looking every bit the same old wild child Beth, they’d always bitched about.

My finger hovered over Kinna’s number. Fuck. I’m going to regret this.

I pushed “call” and began pacing the room.

Kinna picked up on the first ring. “Beth? Thank God, finally! Please tell me that’s not really you in that video.”

“I wish I could, Kin. But it’s me.”

“Fuck,” she breathed. “Okay, don’t panic. We can fix this.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Fix it? How the hell are we supposed to fix this? I’m all over the fucking internet!”

“Deep breaths, babe,” Kinna said, her voice calm and steady. “Your face isn’t clearly visible. That’s good. We can work with that.”

I nodded, even though I was on the phone. “Yeah, I guess. But people are going to speculate, aren’t they? It won’t take long for someone to recognize me.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Kinna mused. “Listen up. The first thing we need to do is damage control. We need a strategy before your parents find out.”

The thought made me want to vomit. “God, I hope they’re still asleep. What kind of strategy? It’s not like I can deny it’s me if someone recognizes me.”

“No, but we can muddy the waters a bit.” I could practically hear the rusty hamster wheel in Kinna’s brain squeaking away. “First things first, delete any social media posts from last night. Did you check in anywhere?”

I wracked my brain. “I... I um, no we didn’t.”

“Okay, good. Now, listen carefully. If anyone asks—you were home all night. You weren’t feeling well, so you stayed in. Got it? ”

I bit my lip, trying to sound confident as I said, “Yeah, got it. But Kinna, what if?—”

“No ‘what ifs’,” she cut me off. “That’s the story. Stick to it. The less you say, the better.”

Just then, another notification popped up on my phone and I got that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as I read it.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

“What? What is it?” Kinna demanded.

“It’s... it’s a DM on Instagram. From some gossip account. They’re asking if it’s me in the video.”

Kinna was quiet for a beat. “Ignore it,” she said finally. “Don’t respond, don’t even open it. If you engage, it’ll get worse.”

I sucked in air like I was trying to inhale the whole damn room, hoping it might slow down my heartbeat, which was doing its best imitation of a jackhammer on crack. “Okay. Okay, I can remember all that.”

“Good girl.” I heard the smile in Kinna’s voice. “Now, about this bloke...”

“Sean,” I supplied, memories of last night flooding back. His laugh, his hands, the way he’d looked at me like I was the only woman in the world.

“Right, Sean.” Kinna’s voice snapped me back to reality. “We need to get ahead of this. If he talks to the press?—”

“He won’t,” I said, more confidently than I felt. “I didn’t even tell him my last name.”

“That’s a start, but hope isn’t a strategy,” Kinna muttered, the typing getting faster. “Okay, I’m on his website now. Sean McCrae, motivational guru... impressive, I’ll give him that. Ah, here we go. ‘For all press and booking inquiries, contact his agent, Daniel Beckford.’”

My stomach lurched. “Kinna, what are you doing? ”

“I’m making a power move,” she said decisively.

“I’m going to call this Danny guy right now and leave a message.

Let him know the ‘woman in the photo’ has representation and that she values her privacy.

It puts them on notice. It tells them you’re not just some random girl he picked up, and that if they want to play games with the press, we’re ready. ”

“Are you sure?” I squeaked, the idea making me dizzy with panic. “What if that just makes it worse? What if they think I’m trying to blackmail him?”

“No,” Kinna said firmly. “It’s the opposite. It’s professional. I’ll make it clear that no one is seeking money or fame—only discretion. I’ll leave my number and tell them any communication should go through me. It walls you off and puts me in the line of fire. Let me handle it, Beth.”

I took a shaky breath, my trust in her outweighing my fear. “Okay. Okay, do it. I just thought I’d have one last hurrah before becoming ‘Responsible Beth’.”

Kinna’s voice softened. “I know, babe. And you deserve to have fun. But right now, we work the problem. Can you come over to my place? We can strategize better in person.”

I checked the clock. Shit. I’m late. “I can’t. I have that meeting with the charity organizers in an hour.”

“I forgot about that,” Kinna said. “Okay, new plan. Go to the meeting, act like everything’s normal. We’ll meet up after, yeah?”

I sucked in a lungful of air, hoping it’d give me the balls to face this shit storm head-on. “Yeah, okay. I can do this.”

I sucked in a deep breath, steeling myself as I approached the Bright Futures charity office. My head was still throbbing from last night’s escapades, and every step was a monumental effort.

As I entered the building, it seemed like every eye in the place was on me.

My palms went clammy, and I resisted the urge to tug at the collar of my dress.

Did they know? Had they seen the new video with Sean already?

No, that had just happened, probably hadn’t even hit the major gossip sites yet.

But what about the one from the Anderson gala last week?

The one where I actually pulled someone’s hair?

I could almost hear the gossip, the judgmental thoughts.

“Get a grip, Beth,” I muttered to myself. “You’re being paranoid.”

Mrs. Campbell, the charity director, looked up as I entered her office. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and my stomach dropped.

“Miss MacLeod.” Her voice was like cut glass, sharp and cold. “I trust you’re aware that your...recent public behavior at the Anderson family’s charity gala has been noted. It was all over the social feeds.”

My face burned. So much for a clean slate, or them not knowing who I was.

“Bright Futures maintains a reputation of utmost integrity, especially given our work with vulnerable children. While your family has, shall we say, strongly encouraged this placement, let me be unequivocally clear: Now that you represent us, any further public indiscretions or scandalous videos reflecting poorly on this foundation will not be tolerated. Are we clear?”

I swallowed, the lump in my throat feeling like a boulder. “Crystal clear, Mrs. Campbell.”

Instead of the full-blown tirade I was now definitely expecting, she simply gave me a curt nod.

“Good. With that little detail out of the way,” she said, her voice taking a lighter tone, “I’m glad you’re here.

We can always use the help. However, we can’t have you working directly with the children until your full background check has cleared.

Given your recent... publicity, I’m sure you understand we’ll need to be exceptionally thorough. ”

Her words were professional, but the implication was a slap in the face. I wasn’t trusted. “Of course,” I said, trying to sound eager. “I understand completely.”