GLUED TO YOU Chapter One
Chapter 1: Glitter is dangerous
Glitter was dangerous. Scott’s mother had taught him that glitter needed a light touch. Kay’s exact words were: “You call this a Mother’s Day card? It’s so tacky they could see it from outer space.” That was thirty years ago. Now it was December 23rd and Scott was stuck hosting the Krafty Kay Designs Christmas party in their corporate offices in Seattle.
He’d been the CEO of the multibillion-dollar company for three years, ever since scandal had sent the stock prices reeling, and the board of directors had issued a vote of no confidence in Kay. Scott had whipped the business back into shape and become a billionaire himself in the process, and he wasn’t about to lose his grip on the company like his mother had.
“What travesty is this?” Scott asked, staring at a glittery display of picnic baskets.
“It’s the new Fourth of July line, sir,” said the director of product development. “Picnics are projected to be huge next year, especially in the coastal demographic.”
“I’m not talking about the picnic basket; I’m talking about the glitter.” Scott nudged the carpet with his shoe and sparkles flew everywhere. “Who approved this?”
“Oh...” The director tugged his collar. “I’m not sure about that, but I can check.”
“Look, Brad, I’m cutting you some slack since you’ve only worked for us for three months, but if anyone else dragged these glittery monstrosities into our building they would have been fired on the spot. Krafty Kay does not do glitter. Got it?”
“Absolutely.” Brad bobbed his head up and down. “Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again. What do you think of the rest of the Fourth of July line?”
Scott walked away from the baskets and toward the decorations that covered the other side of his office. “I love the outdoor lights but the inflatables reek of off-gassing. Has someone verified that they meet environmental regulations in California?”
“I’ll check on that.”
Scott picked up one of the flags and inspected the tag. “Are you kidding me? We can’t sell American flags made in China.”
“Of course not, sir.”
“This is exactly why I want to bring factory jobs home.” Scott’s dream was for every Krafty Kay product to be made in America, and he was working hard to make that happen. He’d recently inked a deal to build a factory in Tacoma, but there were still six months before it would be official. He picked up a bolt of cotton. “The fabric is fine too, but I’d like to see some appliqués that coordinate. My mother always said that appliqués could make rags turn to riches.”
“Okay. I’ll let the team know.”
Scott set down the bolt. “As for the picnic baskets, show them to me again without the sparkle and then we’ll talk.”
“Absolutely.”
“And Brad-”
“Yes sir?”
“Stop calling me sir. My name’s Scott.”
“Okay sir. I mean, Scott.” Brad wedged a glittery basket under each armpit.
“Be sure to try the eggnog punch at the party. It’s my mother’s famous recipe.” Scott opened the door, watched Brad go, and was sorry that the meeting was over, because now he had no excuse not to show up at his own party.
Scott hated loud parties. He would have much rather spent the evening holed up at Thimbleberry Cabin on Nola Point, relaxing beside the fireplace with Bridget, his true love. She was too arthritic to run very fast, and had horrible breath, but his beagle was the best company in the universe. Normally he brought Bridget to work with him, but knowing that she too hated raucous gatherings, he left her upstairs in his penthouse.
Scott took a steadying breath before forcing himself into the invisible cloud of artificial fumes. The executive floor smelled like gingerbread and toasted marshmallow, Krafty Kay Designs’ signature winter scents, sold in diffusers, wall plug-ins, candles, and counter sprays. A couple hundred people milled around the room in their festive best.
This was Seattle, so only the bravest souls wore high heels, and nobody donned a suit. But there were North Face, Patagonia, and Arc’teryx fleeces in every color. Caterers had set up a buffet by the windows that faced Elliot Bay, and as soon as Scott saw the punchbowl of eggnog, he felt better. Holding a cup would put him at ease.
“Merry Christmas, Scott,” said Lisa the company’s head lawyer. Her gray hair was cut short, and she wore rimless eyeglasses.
“You too.” Scott nodded and kept on walking, only to be stopped a moment later by his assistant. Don was in his late fifties and had worked for Kay right up until the moment she left the company.
“Scott Bash, the Glue Gun Prince.” Don slapped Scott on the back and Don’s cocktail sloshed on the carpet. “Oops. My bad.”
“That’s what we pay the cleaners for.”
“Good thing that happened in front of you and not your mom. She would have skinned me alive.” Don covered his mouth. “Did I say that out loud?”
“You did.” Scott’s jaw clenched. As much as he agreed with Don on the perils of spilling something in front of his mother, he never disparaged Kay in front of her former employees. “You’re not driving home tonight, are you? I don’t want the open bar to cause any accidents.”
“Not to worry,” said Melissa, from marketing. “I’m his designated driver.” She held up her can of Sprite.
Now Scott really was glad his mother wasn’t here to witness this. Kay would flip out if she knew the bartender was passing out cans instead of serving soft drinks in a glass of ice rimmed with fresh lime zest.
“Thanks for driving him,” said Scott. “It’s hard to tell based on his current state, but I need his brainpower.”
“That’s right,” Don slurred. “You couldn’t manage without me.” He lifted his drink. “To the Glue Gun Prince!”
“Here, here!” said Melissa.
Scott hated being called “The Glue Gun Prince” almost as much as he detested being the star of the “First Comes Love, then Comes Marriage” advertising campaign Krafy Kay Designs had launched over a decade ago.
“Enjoy the party,” he said before charging off.
Scott had become the CEO of Krafty Kay Designs after his mother’s two-fold scandal. Scandal number one was the discovery that the company had knowingly sold earmuffs made from dog fur. That had walloped the stock prices and caused public relations turmoil that Kay had barely escaped. But the second scandal was Kay’s proverbial nail in the coffin.
Three years ago, Kay was caught on tape acknowledging that Krafty Kay Designs sourced products from factories in Bangladesh that used child labor. The public’s reaction had been swift and visceral. Not only did sales plummet, but there were also protests in front of eighty-nine of their four hundred and thirty-three stores. Kay was banished from her own company. She still owned fifty-two percent of the stock, but the board of directors booted her out with a vote of no-confidence and the threat of legal Armageddon.
Knowing that kids as young as five years old were sewing placemats so that his family could become wealthier burned Scott to his very core. As soon as he took command of the company, he made it his mission to right that wrong. He immediately went on a worldwide tour, personally inspecting every factory in their supply chain. Now his goal was to bring production home to America, which would reduce the environmental costs of transport, increase sustainability, and create factory jobs in Tacoma that would pay union wages.
Commitment to his vision had meant long hours at work and very little time for a social life, which was typically fine with him, however Scott hadn’t gone out on a proper date in over a year. He was starved for female companionship.
That was why every time he met with Fiona Mathews, his crafting consultant, his pulse sped up just a bit. She was the only person he looked forward to seeing at this party.
Fiona was there now, standing in front of the eggnog, a happy smile on her face. She wore black tights, a corduroy skirt, and a hand knit sweater that Scott recognized from the Krafty Kay Designs magazine. He stared for a moment at the graceful slope of Fiona’s neck before letting his gaze drift down to the embroidered squirrel on her sleeve. Scott patted his brown hair to make sure it was in place before stepping up to the table.
“How’s the eggnog?” he asked.
“A bit too bland, if you ask me.” Fiona was in her late twenties and had blue eyes the same color as Steller’s jays.
“That’s impossible. I gave the caterer my mother’s recipe.” Scott picked up the ladle and filled his mug. “It tastes exactly how she makes it,” he said, after taking a sip.
“Precisely my point.” Fiona shrugged her shoulders. “Too bland.”
For the third time that evening Scott was glad his mother wasn’t there to witness her employee’s insurrection. “I bet this will help.” He took out his flask of bourbon. “No wait…” Scott remembered a mandatory HR training all the executives had to attend. “Probably it’s better if you get your boost from the bartender instead of your boss.”
“It’s going to take a lot of rum to make this eggnog palatable.” Fiona picked up a napkin and blotted her lips.
“Who adds rum to eggnog? That’s sacrilege.” Scott unscrewed his flask and poured it into his mug. “Bourbon goes best. Everyone knows that.”
“Who’s everyone? Your mom?”
“Yes, actually. My mom and her millions of Instagram followers.”
“You’re up to 990,000 followers yourself. That’s pretty good too.”
“Only because you’re posting for me half the time.”
“True.” Fiona took another sip of her eggnog and wrinkled her adorable nose. “Yuck. This really does need rum.”
“Bourbon. It needs bourbon.”
“It needs something, that’s for sure. I’ll be right back.”
Scott watched her walk away, hoping that she’d return soon. Bonus time with Fiona was precious. She came to his office twice a week and patiently taught him crafting skills so that when he did DIY segments on Good Morning America and The View, he wouldn’t make a fool of himself.
Under Fiona’s tutelage Scott was slowly learning skills the rest of the world thought he was already an expert at. She never yelled at him when he dropped a button or struggled with threading a needle. She made crafting seem like a fun pastime instead of an opportunity for ridicule like his mom had. Kay had a tongue as sharp as quilting scissors.
Sometimes he found himself wishing he could stretch those lessons with Fiona out, or perhaps add a third weekly tutoring session, but unfortunately his busy schedule didn’t allow it.
His phone buzzed and he ignored it. It buzzed once more, and he ignored it again. But then “Flight of the Valkyries” began playing and he answered it. “Hi Mom, how are you?”
“Fabulous as always. The produce in Avignon makes Pike Place Market look like the scummy tourist trap it is. The goose I bought for Christmas Eve is stunning; just stunning. But enough about how me, how’s my party going?”
“The company’s party is going great; thanks.”
“Why haven’t you sent me a picture? I need to make sure they didn’t screw up the nativity display like they did last year. Baby Jesus was looking at the animals instead of at Mary.”
“We’ve been over this. I’m not sending you pictures anymore.”
“Like hell, you aren’t. I still own 52% of the stock.”
“And you signed a separation contract to appease the board and the rest of the shareholders. Separation of church and state, Mom. If you want to call and chat about life, great. But no more business talk. Did I tell you what Bridget did on our walk yesterday?” Scott tightened his grip on the phone.
“Nobody cares about your dumb dog. Now be a man and send me a picture of Baby Jesus.”
“Gotta go, Mom. Love you. Bye.” Scott ended the call and set his phone to silent.
“What got into you?” Fiona asked, walking up to him holding two mugs of eggnog. “You look like somebody canceled Christmas.”
“I’m fine. Is that the rum-spiked eggnog? I’m ready to give it a try.”
“It is. I brought-”
“Thanks.” Scott picked up the mug from her left hand and downed it in one shot. “Whoa! That wasn’t eggnog, it was-”
“Rum. That was the rum I brought you to add to your eggnog.” She lifted up the other mug she was holding. “This is eggnog I doctored up for myself.” She hiccupped. “Or the second mug I made for myself. The first one was so good I doubled my order.”
“I think you’ve talked me into it.” The rum was already hitting Scott’s system and smoothing out the sharp edges of the evening. “Come on. Let’s go to the bar.”
Fiona glided after him. “My mom makes eggnog with rum every year for Christmas. She lives in Boise and raises her own chickens.” Her voice faltered a bit. “Well, she used to have chickens, now she doesn’t.”
“Why not?” Scott asked right as the bartender turned towards them. “Rum for my eggnog, please.” He held out his glass. “And give the lady a shot of bourbon too, while you’re at it.”
“Coming right up.” The bartender picked up an amber-hued bottle.
Scott looked at Fiona, admiring her bright blue eyes. “I’m not trying to get you drunk but you at least have to try a sip of eggnog with bourbon.”
“Sure. I might as well. That way I can prove once and for all that my mom’s eggnog recipe is better than yours.”
Scott chuckled. “A taste test. I love it.”
After the bartender had served them, they walked back to the punchbowl. There were other employees trying to get his attention, but he waved them off and stepped closer to Fiona. “What was that you were telling me about your mom no longer raising chickens?”
Fiona’s smile faded away. She dumped the shot of bourbon into a fresh mug and ladled in eggnog. “It’s because my father died last year of a heart attack.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.”
“How did it happen?”
“He dropped dead shoveling snow.”
“Oh wow. That’s horrible.”
Fiona gulped down her mug of eggnog. “Horrible is right. He was only sixty-three. Now my mom’s all alone in Boise because my sisters and I live here. We’ve been talking to her about moving and I think she’s finally ready. Giving up her chickens was the first step.”
“Why not bring them with her? I thought people could raise chickens in Seattle.”
“They can, but my mom’s afraid of rats.” Fiona shuddered. “My dad dealt with that part. He dealt with everything. Mowing the lawn. Cleaning the gutters. Anyhow, she gave her flock to a neighbor.”
“That’s a good start. This past year must have been difficult for her.”
“Difficult for all of us.”
She spoke with such sadness that Scott scrambled for a way to cheer her up. “Wait. You drank that eggnog so fast you didn’t get a chance to tell me what you thought about the bourbon in it.”
“Oh.” Fiona blushed. “Sorry. I never drink like this. I don’t know what’s got into me.” She looked awfully pretty with her cheeks so pink.
“Here, I’ll catch up with you.” Scott helped himself to another mug and splashed in liquor from his flask. The rich beverage was making him feel overly full, but he pushed that thought away as he downed the glass. “I think you’re right. I liked the rum better.”
“I knew it!” Fiona jabbed her finger at his chest. “Stick with me and I’ll show you how Boise girls know best.”
“Idaho, huh? Don’t they make vodka from all those potatoes?”
“They do! I wonder what eggnog and vodka tastes like?”
“I’ve never tried it, but it sounds like a good idea.”
“Yeah. We could invent a new recipe for next year’s December issue of Krafty Kay Designs magazine.” Fiona linked her arm through his and held on tight. “Come on pupil. We have a cooking lesson ahead.”
“Love it.” Scott didn’t know if was the bourbon or the rum, or perhaps the way Fiona leaned against his shoulder, but his anxiety about the party had faded and been replaced by a warm glow. He wasn’t just relaxed, he felt happy. Maybe after they sampled eggnog with vodka, he could ask her if she had time to teach him three crafting lessons per week instead of two.
“Have you taken a picture yet for your Instagram account?” Fiona asked.
“No, but my mom wanted a head shot of Baby Jesus.”
“Really?” Fiona laughed. “Okay, but I think have a layout idea that would get more clicks. Let’s take one of you drinking eggnog with the Space Needle behind you.”
They were at the bar now. Scott reached across and helped himself to a bottle of vodka. “The best view of the Space Needle is from my office.”
“Lead the way Mr. Glue Gun.”
“Hey, that’s Glue Gun Prince, thank you very much.”
“You’re no royal. I’ve seen you use a glue gun, and I’m amazed you still have fingerprints.”
Scott held her hand in his as he led her to his office. “Sounds like I need some more lessons.”
“It’s a good thing you have an excellent teacher. And I’m so humble, too.”
“I’ve always admired your humility.” He swung the door to his office open. “Ladies first.” The automatic lights turned on, but he reached for the dimmer switch so that it would be easier to take the Space Needle shot.
“Would you look at that?” Fiona glided towards the floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the Seattle Center. “The Space Needle is even more beautiful at night.”
“I’ve always thought so too.” Scott stepped up to the window next to her and leaned against the glass.
“Don’t move!”
“What?” Scott turned to look at her. Fiona’s eyes were so blue they’d make a sapphire jealous. She was even prettier when she was bossy.
“I said, ‘don’t move.’ You, leaning against the window like that, is just what we need for Insta.” She reached into her back pocket and pulled out her phone. “Where’s your eggnog?”
Scott held up the bottle of vodka. “I don’t know. Where’s your eggnog?”
Fiona shrugged. “I don’t know, and I can’t remember.”
“Well, I can’t post a picture of this on my feed.” Scott waved the bottle of Absolut in the air. “It doesn’t fit with the trustworthy image I’m trying to convey.”
Fiona bit her bottom lip and studied him. “You have more problems than just the vodka.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your tie’s crooked.” She reached out and fixed it for him. “And your collar needs smoothing.”
It was her hand brushing against his shoulder that did it. All of his anxiety and frustration melted away and was replaced by something else. Desire.
He needed her to touch him.
He needed her to look up into his eyes like she was doing now.
Her lips were parted and so were his and before he could stop to think, Scott slipped his hand behind her back and pulled her close.
Close enough to feel the chunky cable knit of her sweater press against his designer dress shirt.
Close enough to smell the sweet scent of eggnog on her lips.
Lips that she was now crushing against his own.
Fiona was right. Rum did make eggnog better. He’d never ask for bourbon again.
Behind them, the Space Needle twinkled in the distance like the angels had sprinkled it with ten thousand pounds of glitter. The night was ripe for a miracle.
Glued to You releases June 24, 2025.