Page 9 of One Night in Glasgow (The Scottish Billionaires #15)

“Excellent,” she said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “For now, our development team is in the middle of a major fundraising mailer and could desperately use an extra pair of hands. You can assist them. It’s vital work for the foundation.”

Vital work , I thought. Translation: menial labor to keep the notorious MacLeod girl out of trouble. I plastered on a big smile. “I’d be happy to help.”

Mrs. Campbell led me down a sterile hallway to a windowless conference room that had been converted into a mail-processing center.

The room smelled of toner ink and oppressive quiet.

Boxes of stationery were stacked against one wall, and a large, noisy folding machine chugged away in the corner. It was, in a word, a dungeon.

A woman with a headset and a stressed expression looked up.

“Miss MacLeod, thank you for joining us. I’m Claire, the development coordinator.

We’ve got ten thousand letters to get out by Friday.

You can start here.” She pointed to a mountain of unfolded letters and a corresponding Everest of envelopes.

I forced a polite smile and nodded as Mrs. Campbell left, the door clicking shut with a sense of finality.

For the next hour, I sat in silence, folding, stuffing, and sealing.

The repetitive motion was mind-numbing, a special kind of hell designed for people with overactive minds and hangovers.

This wasn’t a fresh start; this was penance.

Before losing my mind from the sheer monotony, the door opened. Claire entered, followed by a girl, her fiery red hair a defiant flag in the otherwise muted room.

“Maisie, this is Beth, our new volunteer,” Claire said. “As we discussed, you’ll be helping here for the next hour as part of your life skills training. Just show her what you did yesterday, folding and stacking.”

“That’s Maisie,” Claire whispered to me as the girl sullenly took the seat opposite me. “She’s our resident statue. Maybe you can get her to engage? Good luck.” With a sympathetic smile, Claire left us alone in our paper-filled prison.

Right. I recognized that look of bored, quiet rebellion instantly. It was like staring into a mirror from my own tumultuous youth. Maisie didn’t even look up.

“So,” I said, my voice dry. “Is this a prison sentence or community service?”

That got her attention. One of her eyes cracked open, regarding me with unveiled skepticism. “What’s it to you, Mary Poppins?”

“Ouch. And here I thought I was giving off more of a ‘reluctant, mildly hungover accomplice’ vibe.” I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “Look, my parents sent me here as punishment for a spectacular public flameout. What’s your excuse?”

A flicker of interest crossed her face. “My social worker thinks ‘manual labor’ will cure my ‘bad attitude.’” She gestured at the pile of letters. “So far, my attitude remains resolutely shitty. And my stack of envelopes looks like a sad, lopsided tower of doom.”

“Mine will probably collapse and cause a paper avalanche,” I admitted, grabbing another letter. We worked in silence for a minute, the only sound the soft rustle of paper.

“So, you’re rich, then?” Maisie asked bluntly.

“My parents are,” I corrected automatically. “They’re currently trying to decide whether to cut me off or marry me off to a human garden gnome. This is my last chance to prove I’m not a complete write-off.”

Maisie actually snorted a small laugh at that. “A garden gnome? That’s rough.”

“You have no idea.”

All too soon, Claire poked her head in to collect Maisie. As I stood up to stretch, my purse slipped from the desk, spilling its contents across the floor with a clatter. My face flamed hot as my wallet, keys, lipstick, and a single, foil-wrapped condom tumbled out.

A couple of volunteers at the folding machine snickered before turning away.

Maisie, however, just rolled her eyes at them. I saw the corner of her mouth twitch with a smirk as I hastily scooped everything up. When I looked up, she was grinning at me, a genuine, conspiratorial grin that held a new spark of respect.

I leaned in, lowering my voice so only she could hear. “What can I say? Girl Scout motto.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Be prepared?”

“Exactly,” I winked. “For any and all emergencies.”

She smiled, and I knew I’d broken through. I wasn’t just another do-gooder volunteer; I was someone who got it, flaws and all. The realization sent an unexpected warmth through my chest, a feeling of purpose I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

The moment was shattered by the main office door opening. “Lunch break,” Claire announced.

As I gathered my things, I caught sight of something through the hallway window. A man with a camera, trying, and failing, to be inconspicuous.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins. Fuck . Had they identified me? Was this paparazzo here for me?

Hastily, I dug in my purse for my phone, bringing up Kinna’s contact info with shaking hands.

“Kinna,” I hissed as soon as she picked up. “There’s a photographer outside. They might have ID’d me from the video.”

“Shit,” Kinna muttered. “Okay, don’t panic. Is there a back way out?”

I glanced around frantically. “Yeah, I think so. Through the kitchen?”

“Alright, hang tight. I’m on my way. We’ll get you out of there.”

The next fifteen minutes were the longest of my life.

I stepped into the kitchen, dodging a few kitchen workers who eyed me curiously and planted myself in a storage area, where I paced back and forth.

With each anxious stride, I glanced toward the back door, wondering when Kinna would show up.

Finally, unable to still my jitters any longer, I moved to the door and peeked out, scanning the area for any sign of the photographer still lurking around. Damnit. He hadn’t moved.

Finally, my phone buzzed. Kinna was here.

I snuck out the back, my heart racing like a damn freight train. As I rounded the corner, I nearly collided with a man holding a notebook.

“Excuse me, are you Elisabeth MacLeod?” he asked, his eyes lighting up with recognition.

“No comment,” I blurted, ducking past him and practically sprinting to Kinna’s waiting car.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Kinna floored it. We peeled out of the parking lot, leaving the stunned reporter in our dust.

Once we were safely away, the adrenaline wore off. Tears welled up in my eyes, and soon I was sobbing.

“Hey, hey,” Kinna said, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “It’s okay. We got out of there.”

I shook my head, unable to stop crying. “It’s not okay, Kin. None of this is okay. I’m trying so hard to be better, to do something good, and it’s all falling apart because of one stupid night. My parents will cut me off.”

Kinna pulled over, turning to face me. “Beth, listen to me. You made a mistake. It happens. But what you were doing in there today, sticking it out, doing the hard, unglamorous work... that’s the stuff that counts.”

I wiped my eyes. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” Kinna said firmly. “Now, let’s get you home. We’ll figure out our next move, okay?”

As we drove off, I remembered the image of Maisie’s face when I saw acceptance in her eyes after we talked. Was Kinna right? Maybe I could make a difference, video scandal or not.