Page 69 of One Night in Glasgow
“He is! He—he was comforting me!” she protested, her voice rising with panic. “Kyra had just ripped me to shreds, and he was being… supportive.”
“Supportive?” I let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “Is that what you call it when a man has his hands all over you? I saw him that first day at the cafe, Beth. I saw the way he looked at you. Don’t play me for a fucking fool.”
“I’m not playing you! You weren’t there, you don’t know?—”
“No, I wasn’t there, was I?” I shot back, the rage making my voice tremble. “I was in Philadelphia, a trip I cut short so I could get back here to you. While I was doing that, you were getting ‘comforted’ on a balcony by the one man I told you I didn’t trust. Was this before or after you told him I was out of town? Because I’m pretty sure you told him that part.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but I was too consumed by my own sense of betrayal to care. “That’s not fair! You’re twisting this!”
“Am I?” I paced the room like a caged animal. “Or did I just finally wake up? I put my entire career on the line. And forwhat? So you could play games with some other guy the second my back was turned?”
“It wasn’t a game!” she cried, her voice cracking. “He cornered me! He was being a creep!”
“So you let him hug you?” I rounded on her, my voice low and dangerous. “You’re telling me that your response to a man being a ‘creep’ is to fall into his arms?”
That was it. The final blow. I saw the fight drain out of her, replaced by a look of such profound hurt that it should have stopped me in my tracks. Her beautiful face, which had been so full of soft, sleepy love just moments ago, was now a mask of heartbreak and disbelief. She didn’t say another word. She just swung her legs out of bed, her movements stiff and jerky, and began gathering her clothes from the floor, her back turned to me.
“Beth, wait,” I started, a flicker of regret cutting through the anger.
She turned, her emerald gown clutched in her hand like a shield. Her face was pale, her eyes devoid of tears now, just filled with a cold, shattered emptiness.
“No,” she said, her voice eerily calm. “You’re right. There’s nothing to talk about.” She looked at me, and for the first time, I saw not a damsel in distress, but a woman who had been through this exact kind of battle before. “I came to New York to get away from people who thought they could control me, who didn’t trust me, who threw my past in my face every chance they got.” A single, perfect tear escaped and traced a path down her cheek. “I guess I just flew from one gilded cage to another.”
She didn’t slam the door. She closed it quietly behind her, the soft click echoing in the suddenly cavernous hotel suite. I stood there, my heart hammering, the silence pressing in onme, the scent of her still lingering in the air. The rage was gone, replaced by a cold, sickening dread. What the hell had I just done?
An hour later,I was sitting across from Danny in a sterile, too-bright diner near the hotel, a cup of untouched coffee growing cold in front of me. I’d called him right after Beth left, my voice a rough approximation of my own, and told him I needed to see him.
He’d taken one look at my face when he arrived and simply said, “Spill it.”
I recounted the morning’s events in a flat, emotionless monotone. The link to the article. The photo. The fight. Beth walking out. Danny just listened, his usual sarcastic energy completely absent, his expression unreadable.
“So,” he said finally, after I’d finished. “You accused her of cheating, based on one grainy photo and an article written by God-knows-who, and then you were surprised when she walked out?”
“She was in his arms, Danny,” I growled, the anger still simmering just below the surface. “Garrett. You said it yourself, that guy’s a snake.”
“But you didn’t give her a chance to explain?” he pressed, his gaze sharp. “You, the professional great communicator? The man who teaches Fortune 500 CEOs about active listening and empathy? Your first move was to go straight to accusation?”
His words hit hard, because they were true. “So, I was angry,” I muttered, staring into my coffee cup. “Big deal.”
“You were jealous,” he corrected. “And you acted like apossessive prick. You know, for a guy who gives speeches about trust, you didn’t show a hell of a lot of it to her this morning.” He shook his head, a look of disappointment on his face. “I thought you said she was different, Sean.”
“She is different,” I insisted.
“Then why did you treat her like every other woman you’ve ever been paranoid about?” he shot back. “Why did you immediately assume the worst?”
I had no answer for that. The silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable.
Danny sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Look, man, I get it. You’re all in on this girl. It makes you crazy.” He pulled out his phone, his expression turning grim. “And unfortunately, that’s not the only fire I have to put out this morning.”
My stomach clenched. “What do you mean? The sponsors?”
“Worse. I just got off the phone with Reach New Heights,” Danny said, his voice grim. “They’re threatening to terminate the audiobook contract.”
“They can’t do that,” I whispered.
“They can, and they are,” Danny said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “They’re citing the morality clause. They’re panicking over this new balcony photo. I told them they were being idiots, that the narrative of you ‘saving’ her from this office creep is PR gold, but they’re a bunch of stuffy old suits who can’t see the forest for the trees. They see a ‘pattern,’ and they’re too afraid of a little heat to see the opportunity. We’re not a liability, Sean; they’re just cowards.”
He was right. They’re cowards. But this wasn’t just a few nervous sponsors anymore. This was a multi-year, seven-figure contract, gone. Vanished because of a series of impulsive decisions I had made, all in the name of… what? Love?
