Page 56 of One Night in Glasgow
“More than okay,” she said, her lips curving into a sleepy, satisfied smile. She snuggled closer, her arm draping across my chest, and I wrapped mine around her, holding her close. But as her breathing slowed, a weight settled in my gut. I’d been putting off telling her something all night, dreading it, really, because I didn’t want to ruin this. Now, with her drowsy and content in my arms, I knew I couldn’t let her fall asleep without saying it.
“Beth,” I started, my voice low, reluctant. She stirred, tilting her head to look at me, her eyes still hazy. “I’ve been meaning to tell you… I can’t make the gala. I totally forgot about the Philadelphia conference… it’s unavoidable.” I swallowed hard, hating the words as they came out. “I feel like shit about it. I wanted to be there, to support you, to see everything you’ve worked so hard for finally happen. I’ve been dreading telling you all night.”
Her face shifted, a flicker of disappointment crossing herfeatures, her lips parting slightly, her brow creasing, before she smoothed it away. “Oh,” she said, her tone light, too light. “It’s fine, Sean. Really. Don’t worry about it.” She forced a smile, but I saw it in her eyes, the way they dulled for a split second before she masked it. She was hurt, and she was trying like hell to hide it from me. I could see right through her brave face, though—that flash of pain in her eyes might as well have been a neon sign.
I hated that I was letting her down. And worse, a thought gnawed at me: Garrett’s gonna be there, playing Mr. Fucking Perfect at the gala, while I’m stuck miles away with my thumb up my ass.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BETH
The subway carlurched and swayed, nearly sending me tumbling into the lap of the elderly woman seated beside me. I grabbed the metal pole, steadying myself while checking my watch for the third time in five minutes. Eight-thirty. Still on schedule.
My mind wandered to Sean, probably just waking up in his Philadelphia hotel room. Two days without him felt longer than it should have. We’d texted goodnight, but it wasn’t the same as feeling his warmth beside me, his arm draped over my waist in sleep. I smiled at the memory of how he’d kissed me goodbye, lingering at my door like he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave.
“Next stop, 42nd Street,” the automated voice announced, pulling me from my daydream.
My stop. I joined the exodus of bodies onto the platform, letting the tide of commuters carry me toward the stairs. Aknot of anxiety tightened in my chest as I thought about the day ahead. Another six hours of envelope stuffing and name card writing at the Hillsdale Foundation. It was hardly the meaningful work I’d hoped for when I came to New York, but I had to make it work. To prove to my parents, and most importantly to myself, that I could stick with something, even when it wasn’t glamorous.
The Hillsdale Foundation occupied three floors of a sleek building on Lexington Avenue. I nodded to the security guard as I swiped my temporary badge, then waited for the elevator among a cluster of proper-looking professionals. None of them knew about my past. Here I was, simply Beth, the eager intern.
I liked that version of myself better.
The elevator doors opened on the fourteenth floor, and I continued on to the small desk I’d been assigned in the development department. From a distance, I spotted something on my desk that hadn’t been there yesterday. It was a glossy navy-blue box with a gold ribbon.
My steps slowed as I approached. It was definitely chocolates, Godiva, from the logo. Expensive. My stomach tightened with an uneasy feeling.
“Looks like someone’s got a secret admirer,” Malinda said, whose desk faced mine. She was gathering her things, coffee mug in hand. “Those were here when I came in. Very fancy.” She winked at me before heading off towards the break room.
I stood over my desk, staring at the box like it might bite me. No card. Just like the flowers that had appeared at my apartment last week, the ones that had cast that shadow over my evening with Sean. His face when he’d told me they weren’t from him... that flash of hurt he’d tried to hide.
“Well, aren’t you popular.”
I looked up to see Abigail standing by my desk, a reusablemug in her hand and a knowing, maternal look in her eyes. “Don’t look at it like it’s a bomb, dear. Are they from that handsome boyfriend of yours?”
The question made my stomach clench. “No,” I said, my voice tighter than I intended. “That’s the problem. Sean didn’t send the flowers last week, and I know he didn’t send these.”
Abigail’s friendly curiosity sharpened into genuine concern. She pulled up a spare chair, lowering her voice. “Another anonymous gift? Oh, honey. That’s not romantic, that’s just… unsettling.”
“Tell me about it,” I muttered, picking up the box and turning it over as if it might magically reveal its sender. “One gift can be a mistake. But two? This feels like a pattern. A creepy, stalker-ish pattern.”
“Well, you certainly have a fan somewhere,” Abigail said, her eyes doing a quick, discreet scan of the office. “Just be careful if he’s in this building. Ms. Henderson runs a tight ship. After the scandal with the marketing director last Christmas, she’s got zero tolerance for ‘inter-office entanglements’.”
Her warning, meant to be helpful, only amplified my anxiety. This was exactly the kind of complication I didn’t need. I’d come to New York to escape the drama, and now it felt like my past was following me, sending anonymous gifts as harbingers of doom.
My mind immediately jumped to the most likely suspect. “Abigail, do you know if Garrett came in early today?”
She shook her head. “Haven’t seen him yet. He usually doesn’t roll in until nine or so.” She gave me a pointed look. “You think it’s him?”
I thought of his slick charm, the way he’d cornered me in the bar. “I don’t know what to think.” A sick feeling settled in my gut.
I glared at the chocolates, my fingers curling into fists. My first instinct was to march over to the trash bin and ceremoniously dump the entire box, a clear message to whoever was playing these games.Thanks, but no thanks.
Instead, I took a breath. No. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of a reaction. I yanked open my desk drawer and shoved the box inside, slamming it shut with enough force to make my pens rattle. I wouldn’t let this bullshit distract me from my work. I had a job to do.
But by eleven, I’d barely made progress on the stack of name cards I was supposed to be hand-lettering. My mind kept drifting to the box, circling around the same questions. Who was sending these gifts? What did they want from me? And most importantly, should I tell Sean?
I thought about how his face had fallen when he told me the flowers weren’t from him. The awkward silence that had followed. How carefully he’d tried to hide his jealousy. We’d moved past it, but things had felt fragile.
