Page 57 of One Night in Glasgow
I watched the wall-clock’s hands tick one minute closer to noon, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to find out who’s behind the gifts. I stood up, smoothed my skirt, and marched toward Garrett’s office. The door was ajar, and I could see him at his desk, phone pressed to his ear. He glanced up as I approached, holding up one finger in a “just a minute” gesture.
I waited, arms crossed, watching as he finished his call. He was handsome in a conventional way: styled brown hair, sharp jawline, expensive clothes. But there was something in his smile that never quite reached his eyes.
“Beth,” he said as he hung up, his eyes lighting up. “Just the person I wanted to see. Come in, close the door.”
I hesitated, then stepped inside, leaving the door pointedlyopen. My fingers curled into fists at my sides as I fought to keep my voice steady. “I need to ask you something.”
His expression lifted in mock surprise. “Sounds serious.”
“Did you leave a box of chocolates on my desk this morning?” I watched him carefully, the muscle in my jaw tightening.
Garrett’s expression shifted too quickly, before I could figure it out. “Chocolates? No, why would I do that?”
The casual dismissal in his tone irked me. “Someone did,” I said, holding my stance. “Just as someone sent flowers to my apartment last week like I told you.”
“Right, the flowers.” He leaned back in his chair with a smirk that didn’t match his words. “Sounds like you’ve got yourself an admirer. I’m afraid I can’t take credit for any of it.”
He looked sincere, but how could I be sure?
“You know,” he said, tapping his pen thoughtfully against his desk in an annoyingly practiced way, “That guy Tyler from Accounting was asking about you the other day.”
“Tyler?” I frowned, thrown off by the sudden introduction of a name I’d never heard. “I don’t think I’ve met him.”
“Really? Tall guy, dark hair? He came by while we were discussing the gala seating charts. He asked me if I knew where you were from. Of course, I didn’t tell him about your little scandal back home.” Garrett snapped his fingers as if suddenly remembering something. “Actually, now that I think about it, just last week, in the break room, he also asked if I knew a good florist. Said he wanted to send his ‘grandmother’ something special.”
My eyes narrowed. This was too convenient. “So, you think Tyler sent me the flowers? And now chocolates?” I didn’t bother hiding the skepticism in my voice.
Garrett shrugged, a look of innocence on his face. “Why not? It’s possible.”
“Is he single or married?” I asked.
Garrett tilted his head, studying me with an intensity that made me want to step back. “I’m not sure, actually. Why? Are you interested?”
“No, I’m not interested,” I snapped, my patience fraying. “I have a boyfriend. And I’d appreciate it if you could tell Tyler to stop sending me things. The flowers caused enough problems.”
“Problems?” Garrett leaned forward, his interest unmistakable. “With the boyfriend?”
I regretted mentioning it immediately. “None of your effin’ business,” I said. “Just...if you talk to him, tell him to leave me the hell alone.”
“Will do.” Garrett held up his hands in surrender, but his smile never wavered. “Don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just trying to help.”
Something about all this rang suspicious, but I couldn’t put my finger on why.
“On that note,” he continued, his demeanor turning to business. “The gala is already on Saturday, as you know, and I need an hour or two of your time to go over your responsibilities for the night.”
“Oh. Okay. Cool.”Finally, something significant.
“Let me just check my schedule.” He turned to his computer, clicking through his calendar with a furrowed brow. “Hmm, I’m swamped today...meeting with donors all afternoon...”
I shifted impatiently. “What about tomorrow morning?”
More clicking, more frowning. “No, I’ve got back-to-back meetings until 3, where I have to leave for a cross-townthing…” He continued scrolling. “These next two days are just insane with the gala.”
The theatrical way he was making a show of his busy schedule was too obvious.
“What about a quick lunch tomorrow?” I suggested.
“No, that won’t work either. I already have a lunch meeting scheduled.” He sighed dramatically. “Look, the only time I can really give you a proper briefing would be tomorrow evening. Say, dinner at Flannigan’s at eight?”
