Chapter 3
The heated summer air slammed into him like a well-worn pyjama set. Perhaps it was the stench of heated urine or the whiff of malt that it carried, but the two scents mixed together were the essence of Glasgow. And thank fuck for the real Glasgow.
Leo hurried down the steps of the flashy venue, knowing he looked like someone who would slide into a sports car and whizz off.
But the clothes didn’t suiteth the man.
Reaching up, he clasped the knot of the silk tie and tugged at it.
This time he wasn’t just hoping the thing loosened and gave him some much-needed air.
No, he was wrenching the damn noose off him.
He pulled it with such force, the cloth pulled at the back of his neck before coming loose and sliding out of the collar.
Even the Duke of Wellington chose a traffic cone to stylise his outfit rather than a damned tie. So why must Leo wear one?
Instead of heading towards the equestrian statue with its throng of tourist-fans, Leo took the road heading east. The last thing he needed was to go from a mob of scented peacocks into a crowd of picture-snapping pigeons.
Leo strode up Ingram Street, weaving past the groups of people. When a red light brought him to a halt, he bunched up the tie and stuffed it in his suit pocket. Then he reached up and unbuttoned the top two buttons holding his shirt together.
Fresh air touched his skin, calming some of the agitation burbling inside him. He would need to take a dunk in the Clyde if he wanted to get rid of the pomp and rich-people stink. And since the Clyde was just a glorified cesspit that snaked across the city, that was never happening.
The light dallied, leaving the newbies tethering at the edge of the pavement, unsure of whether they could cross. It gave Leo and the rest of the locals a good head start with crossing the road.
Signals in Glasgow worked like the city did: slow, with enough time for a square sausage and a blether.
Walking past the beautiful old buildings that lined the street, Leo took his time to admire the beige bricks shining golden under the rare ray of sunlight.
Oh, Glasgow. She dressed up pretty for the summer tourists before peeing on them for the rest of the year.
The pubs with their wee cordoned-off outdoor areas were thrumming with people.
The temperatures were a bit over the norm.
His phone had told him they were heading for a near twenty-five Celsius.
And anyone who knew a poor Scottish fella knew twenty-five was when their Scottish blood reached boiling point.
Thirty was too much for them to cope with.
Plus, it would mean he’d have the spend the next entire week discussing the sunny weather with his colleagues.
Only, he wasn’t returning to his low-paying admin job. Not anymore. Not now when he had too many zeros in his bank account.
Leo almost stuttered to a stop at the thought. The sounds and smells of Glasgow had made him forget about the champagne fountain and obscene amounts of money being donated at his father’s memorial.
Leo shrugged out of the jacket, uncaring that the coat almost swept along the stained pavements of Glasgow.
A dry-cleaning bill no longer meant he’d starve for the week.
He hadn’t known until last week that rich people just rounded the cash balance to the nearest zero as if the wee pounds and pennies meant nothing.
Once upon a time, ￡735 had been his life savings. Now they were just a few forgotten numbers classified under amount in thousands.
Leo urged his legs to fall faster now, just like the cascading thoughts in his head.
Where had this money been when his mum had been slaving away at her several jobs just to keep a roof over their heads? Where had this money been when they were on a three-year waitlist for council housing? Or when his mother had needed rest but had to work instead?
Leo bundled the jacket up in a ball, not bothered that it would crease. When taking his anger out on a damned jacket didn’t help, Leo muttered a few choice curses.
If not for David, would his mother have been alive? Leo erased that thought. Now wasn’t the time to think about his dear mum.
He’d almost reached the end of Glasgow’s Merchant City now. But he was too strung out to return home. And the last thing he needed was to slink back into the arms of the wealthy. If another eejit called him sir, he’d be liable to punch them.
Leo stepped down from the pavement, looked on either side, then crossed. The jaywalking almost felt like a jailbreak. Hell, he hadn’t walked this long in a week or two.
After he’d visited the lawyer’s and they’d confirmed his DNA matched that of a rich, dead bastard’s, he’d been given a car and a chauffeur. Not to mention a new home he didn’t need to pay rent on.
Crossing over to Saltmarket, Leo debated whiling away time walking through Glasgow Green.
But on a day like this, the place was bound to be busy.
And stepping away from the hustle of the memorial, the last place he needed to be was surrounded by more people, especially normal people doing normal things.
Leo huffed a breath. Then he frowned when something glinted on his wrists. Ah, the twenty-four-carat gold cufflinks he’d inherited from David and been asked to wear in memory of his sperm donor.
He’d laughed when he’d put them on. Not because he felt like a king of the world, but because the very act of touching something so expensive was absurd to a man who had been contemplating living in a van not that long ago.
Leo slid the cufflinks into his trouser pockets, then rolled up both his sleeves so at least his forearms could breathe.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw two women look his way and smile a little coyly. He just gave them a shrug.
As much as he’d love to stand there and charm them—while being rich had given him a leg up, he hadn’t ever been in want of female attention—Leo needed some alone time. He’d encountered enough flattery to last a week.
With a nod, since his mum had taught him to be a gentleman, Leo walked past the ladies. As he walked on, Leo felt more eyes, some appealing and others annoyed, on him.
He needed… He needed…something.
The large red T jutting out from a wall caught his attention. That. He needed a pint of Tennent’s. Like a man on a hunt, he made a beeline for the wee door sitting right underneath the T.
There was hardly anyone inside. In fact, most tourists who were tracking their way to Glasgow Green walked right past this place.
And it was the right sort of place to shed his expensive suit.
All the hallmarks of his new status in life pulled away from his body, Leo all but barged into the pub and the smell of must. The feeling of his polished shoes sticking to the floor erased all the spittle from air-kisses and perfume molecules that still clung to his clothes.
Finally. This place with its worn bar and torn leather seating with folks talking a little too loudly was his Glasgow. A Tennent’s, please, to start off.
The bartender arched a brow. Rough morning, huh?
Och, aye.
It’s the sun. I can’t cope with this heat.
And there it was. His first weather conversation of the week.
Leo nodded, a wee smile tilting up his lips. It’s supposed to go higher.
I went in to buy a wee fan. Fifty quid for one of them!
Some bastard’s making a fortune, eh? someone else chimed in over their pint.
The bartender nodded, then set Leo’s pint on the bar. There you go, pal.
Pal. The word washed over him, draining the rest of the anxiety out of his body.
Leo took a swig. Then, because he no longer counted the hundreds in his bank statement, he tipped the man generously. This, this is what I need.
The man who’d chimed in earlier tipped his pint and took a drink. Have yous seen the state of George Square?
Fecking bastards—
Leo left the two men to their blether. Taking the pint of bubbling beer to a booth, Leo slid in and sighed. The worn seats, the sticky floors, the smell of musk and malt, and a place where they called you pal instead of sir. He thrived in such places. He knew such places.
But did he belong in these places anymore? Or would they sniff out the money reeking off him? Wasn’t he just another rich undercover billionaire touching base with reality?
Leo reached up and loosened another button. His throat was itching, and he was sure he’d have a pink rash there. Put a Scot in sunny weather, and you’d find a red toasted salmon at the end of the day.
He dropped his head back. Life. His was oh-so-fucked.