Page 16 of One Night in Glasgow
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 fromlast 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 thatlittle 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.”
“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 helldesigned 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?”
