Something terrible is happening.
Something that should not be happening to a person like me. I’m always in control of my emotions and events. Well, as in control as one can be with a life like mine.
After what went down with Cat and my image for the business, I’ve been trying to be more cautious about how I present myself. After being humiliated from the whole Oreo situation, not only have I steered clear from those cookie and cream flavoured monsters, but I’ve also tried to keep a clean record from all things to do with the press.
It’s natural to get photographed because of who my family is, but it’s worse when you’re also out in public with another millionaire. Somehow, while I was helping Scarlett get into the car last night, some dweeb took a picture of us and blew it out of proportion. The picture is low quality, only capturing the back of us, but you can tell it’s us by the car and the location.
Everyone and their mothers were at the Greyson Fauvel event last night. I’ve done my best to get it taken down before more people around NU get a whiff of it, but some accounts are persistent.
After feeling like a fool for crossing line after line with Scarlett last night, I kept my distance in class today. I kept all talk to be strictly academic, planning to talk more about her family situation later. The more I press on about it, the more likely she’ll become suspicious.
When classes finished, we agreed to meet at her apartment before heading to the restaurant. Yelsy’s is an Arabian restaurant, a good half an hour drive from my house and Scarlett’s apartment. According to the reviews on Google, the owner, Gerard Rothschild attends the restaurant every day to help keep it afloat. That is the guy we need.
I’m not exactly sure what it is we’re going to do, but we decided that going as undercover as we can is probably the best idea. That’s why I’m dressed down today, replacing my usual attire with dark blue baggy jeans and a white hoodie. Miles said I blend more with NU’s population looking like this, but I feel like I’m sticking out like a sore thumb.
Just as I walk down the street towards her apartment complex, I send her a text.
ME: I’m coming up now.
SCARLETT: Don’t bother. Stay downstairs and I’ll come down.
I do as she says, and I stay put, taking a seat in the apartment lobby, lounging in one of the plush black and orange chairs. I flick through a sports magazine for a few seconds, not taking any interest, but trying to make myself seem busy until she finally appears through the elevator doors.
She’s dressed differently too, in black jeans and a steel blue crew neck and her brown hair is down instead of tied back with one of those ribbons. I watch her fiddle with the ends of it, slapping it out of her face angrily.
She checks her left and right as if she’s crossing a road before speed-walking over to me, a little limp still in her leg. She does the motion for me to get up with her hand, tilting her head towards the exit. I do as I’m told and follow her.
She still hasn’t said anything by the time we’re crossing the parking lot towards her car and it’s then that I put the pieces together. I fall into step beside her, grinning.
“Oh my God. Am I your dirty, little secret?” I gasp dramatically. She turns to me, still walking as she scoffs.
“Yes, you are. I would rather stab myself in the eye than let my friends believe that I’m willingly going out in public with you,” she says sweetly. We reach her car, and she stands with her arms against her chest, pinning me with one of those looks.
“‘Going out’ is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?” I ask, still smiling. Dropping my voice to a whisper, quickly scanning the parking lot as I add, “We’re on our way to assess a possible murder situation. We’re undercover spies.”
She rolls her eyes. “Just get in the car.”
I’m still grinning when we’re ten minutes into the ride, and I can tell she’s still annoyed about me being here. Some days I’ll be the grumpy one and others she will be the grumpy one. On a rare day, we’re both grumpy and pissed off, edging each other on. I like getting her riled up. I honestly don’t think I’ve had this much fun since I was a kid.
“We’re going to need codenames,” I announce. She glances at me, frowning before turning back to the road as well as turning up the radio.
I ignore her. “I’m going to call you ‘Linda’ for the rest of tonight. Is that cool?” She groans in response, although I can’t tell if it’s from the traffic we merged into or the new name. “Thought so. I’ll be Danny.”
She nods, a small smile playing on her lips. I knew she’d come around to it soon. Maybe she’s into the whole role-playing thing. I wouldn’t be surprised.
“You’ve got a dumb fucking name,” she says. Then she starts laughing. At her own joke. She doesn’t need me to laugh. Hell, I don’t think she wants me to laugh. She just sits there happily, smiling at her own jokes like she’s a fucking comedian. I swear she’s secretly such a dork. What’s worse is the fact that I can’t stop smiling.
“Well, you got Linda so sucks to suck,” I retort, sounding as childish as ever. After the weird conversations we had last night, this is the kind of frenemy territory I want to be in. The kind that we’ve got used to.
“Everyone knows that Linda’s are cool. She’s the best character in Bob’s Burgers,” she argues, glancing at me for a split second before turning back to the road. I haven’t watched that show since I was a kid.
“Louise is obviously the best character,” I say back. “You remind me of her, actually. Instead of her pink hat that she always wears, you have ribbons.”
She snorts. “I’m not wearing one today and I’m not having a nervous breakdown.” I don’t know if she’s trying to hide the ribbon I can see tied around her wrist, but I’ve already seen it.
“Glad to know you have better emotional intelligence than a ten-year-old.”
She gives me one of her killer death stares before turning to the road. For a second, I swear I see a small smile on her face.
* * *
The restaurant is the perfect place to scope out the current target. It’s all brown and woody, giving it an overall cabin vibe with dark orange lights hanging over the table. It has an open kitchen, allowing customers to see straight into the front line of those working the grill, which is also where we’re planning to spot Gerard. We took a seat in front of the window, directly across from the kitchen, giving Scarlett the view of the door and both of us a good look at the kitchen.
Since we’ve sat down and had the waiter take our orders, she’s not said anything. I’m still not sure exactly where we stand and how to go about it. I’m used to her talking. I’m used to her shit-talking me and making fun of me.
When I can’t take the silence anymore as she fiddles with the napkin, I say, “Hey, look. I didn’t want to bring it up, but it feels wrong not to tell you.” She looks up at me now, her eyes slightly darkening as her eyebrows furrow. “I’ve seen a few pictures. Of us. From last night.”
She nods once, clearing her throat. “We’re both fully clothed, correct?”
I blink at her rapidly. I know she must have dealt with this before, but she seems too calm. “Yes. But-”
“Then what’s the problem?” she asks, tilting her head curiously.
“You really want to be seen fraternising with the enemy? You said that you didn’t even want your friends to see us together, never mind the whole world,” I say.
She chuckles low. “That was a joke, Branson. My friends know we’re working on the project together. When a reporter comes up with an interesting story, then I’ll care. Right now, the best they can probably think of is that we slept together.”
She says it so calmly as if it doesn’t bother her at all. The waiter arrives with our drinks, placing her Coke in front of her and my lemonade in front of me. She takes a long sip of it.
“No. Why would it? No one is stupid enough to believe I actually slept with you,” she argues.
“Right.” I glance over to the kitchen and there’s still no sign of him. “What else are we supposed to talk about while we wait?”
She shrugs, pushing her hair out of her face. “I don’t know,” she says. She drops her eyes to her hands on the table, mumbling, “What are your hobbies?”
She asks the question like it physically pains her for us to talk about something not school or business related. Her whole body practically cringes as the words leave her mouth, ending the sentence with a shudder.
It’s good for me though. I’m so desperate to break into her special way of thinking. Sometimes I want to know every thought in her head.
“Seriously, Linda? That’s the best you can come up with?”
She rolls her eyes. “Well, I don’t want to be here with you to begin with, Danny. So, excuse me if-”
“I play piano,” I reply, cutting her off. Her eyes widen, mischief and humour dancing within them.
“Oh shit, I forgot. Like, you actually play?”
“Yeah. I’m in the band.” I regret saying that the second the words leave my mouth.
I love to play. I’ve had lessons pretty much since the womb since my mom also plays. When I found out North had music rooms available to all students, as well as a grand piano in the Radnor building, I couldn’t help myself.
“And you’re in the band?” she repeats, smiling. It’s not a sweet smile that she gives strangers. It’s a wicked one that she reserves only for me when she’s trying to piss me off. If her eyes go any wider, I swear they’ll of her skull.
“Yes, I’m in the band. Are you going to keep repeating everything I say?”
“You’re making this too easy,’ she says.
“Being able to make fun of you,” she replies, smiling wide. “I’m convinced it’s my absolute favourite thing to do in the world.”
“You must have a very boring social life,” I retort. She shrugs, dismissing me as she moves on to her questioning.
“So, did you, like, go up to them and ask, “Hey, can I join the band,” or did they scout you out?”
I’m about to respond seriously, telling her that I was caught playing in the music rooms on campus and they offered me a spot. I haven’t shown up to the meetings in a while, but if they ever have a performance, I’ll show up.
Then I see the way she’s trying her hardest not to laugh at me. I roll my eyes and the sound comes rushing out of her like a wave, crashing against the shore in my brain.
“You’re so fucking annoying,” I mutter, shaking my head. She doesn’t stop laughing until it smooths out with a long sigh. I wish I knew why making fun of me makes her so happy.
“But you love it,” she says when it finally dies down. Her expression borders on sadness instead of joy. Her smile wobbles a little as she says, “I don’t have any hobbies. Not really, anyway. I like fashion, music, and Pinterest, but doesn’t everybody? I try to make my own designs when I can but… I dunno.”
“You don’t need to do something extraordinary or special for it to be a hobby, you know?” I say. She holds my gaze for a second, squinting to see if I’m being serious. I am. So serious.
She shrugs. “I guess,” she concedes, taking another sip of her drink. “I just don’t think I’m that interesting in general. Wren has her writing and skating, Ken paints and swims. I’m just the boring one.”
“You’re not that boring. Your personality can be bearable when you’re not being mean to me.”
She barks out a laugh. “That’s the new way to tell someone that they have a horrible personality, but they’re kinda pretty so it’s fine.”
“I never said you were pretty,” I challenge. She is pretty. Anyone with eyes can see that. She’s got this regal, old-money look. Like she’ll kill you with just a glance. Like she was made specifically to ruin lives.
“You didn’t have to,” she responds, still smiling.
When our food arrives, we eat in silence. The restaurant isn’t as busy as we thought it would be, but there’s a low buzz coming from families and tables that are full of students. If the guy who owns it wasn’t so shady, it would be a decent place to eat at. The food isn’t half bad either.
We’re halfway through our meal when Scarlett pauses her fork on the way to her mouth. I’m not stupid enough to turn my head no matter how badly I want to and see what’s caught her eye, but that could blow our cover.
“You found our guy, Linda?” I ask, pushing around my food casually. She nods slowly, dropping her gaze, but slightly angling her head right towards the kitchen. I look over slightly, noticing two figures.
One of them is our guy: a tall, tanned, and tattooed man with a deep scar on his cheek that’s healed, easily becoming a stereotype for a drug dealer. There’s another guy, a little shorter, shoulder-length dark brown hair and an untamed beard.
I accidentally drop my fork the second the overhead music stops playing and they both turn to me.
Shit. Scarlett shoots me a look to ask what I’m doing, and I shrug, picking it back up and continue eating, but their eyes are still on us.
I try to keep my cool, pretending to smile and eat, but I can still feel their hot gaze set entirely on us.
Scarlett sighs, rolling her eyes as she gets out of her chair, tossing her brown hair over one shoulder. I can tell that she doesn’t prefer having her hair all down as she’s constantly trying to pull it out of her face. I try my best to stay calm, but it’s hard to do when she sits in the seat next to me, pulling it closer to me.
“Move over,” she demands, her strong perfume hitting me in every place that counts. For a second, it’s all I can fucking smell. Just her. I do as she asks and shuffle my chair closer to the window as she moves hers into me, our thighs touching. The heat from her thigh against mine basically burns straight through my clothes, penetrating every muscle that becomes fully aware of her presence.
“What are you doing?” I ask, glancing up at the two people who are still watching us and then back at her.
“We need to give them a reason to stop staring,” she replies. She places her hand on my thigh, and I swear I almost burst into flames. Her hand looks so fucking tiny against me, and my dick twitches at the sight. That is a No-Go Zone. Especially for her. “Look at me like you love me, Danny.”
“Like I- What?” I splutter, trying to search her eyes for something to tell me this is a joke, but there’s nothing. All that is in those dark brown eyes is concentration and someone with a plan.
“Just look at me like I’m someone you want to take home tonight. You can do that right?” I just blink at her. She’s so close to me now and I’m hyper-aware of every single inch of her.
The soft curve of her nose, covered loosely with freckles that are only visible this close. The golden swirl in her eyes. The fullness of her pink lips as she rolls them in, blinking back at me.
Her right hand is still on my thigh while she uses her other to grab my hand, placing it onto her hot neck, my fingers naturally curling around the back like they just belong there. This is unknown territory.
She releases her hand from mine and places it gently on my shoulder instead. Her face remains unbothered apart from the faint redness of her cheek.
“Just keep your hand there and look at me. Like, really, look at me.”
“I’m looking,” I murmur. I do as she asks and as I stare straight into her eyes. I keep my thumb on the base of her throat, feeling her pulse hammer and my fingers curl to the nape of her neck, and I tug a strand of her hair.
At the contact, her eye twitches slightly as she tilts her head further back, giving my hand more access to her hair. I try to get as much as I can without going too far. Needing her close, but not too close. Everything about her physically is so fucking soft, while on the inside she’s as hard as granite. It’s like she was made to melt into my hands.
As I keep looking at her, trying to look straight through her, I watch as her breathing starts to quicken, and she grips onto my thigh. Hard. From what was once a gentle touch, her grip suddenly turns lethal as she holds onto it like it’s anchoring her.
We’re both breathing heavily now, just staring at each other as she holds onto me, and I hold onto her. I don’t think she even notices she’s doing it.
I notice, though. I notice everything about her.
There’s a brief moment that can only be described as peace. Where we’re not trying to do anything other than exist in each other’s presence. We’re not rivals. I’m not the stupid son of a million-dollar company. She’s not the only daughter to a CEO of a multi-million-dollar brand.
We’re just Scarlett and Evan: two souls who somehow, in some weird way, are looking at each other like they know each other. Like they just understand.
Like I said, the moment is brief.
One second we’re staring into each other’s eyes – no, each other’s souls – and the next I’m looking at the back of Scarlett’s head as she talks to a man in front of her.
It takes me a few seconds to fully register the bearded man as the guy who was talking to Gerard. Except now, he’s got a pleasant smile on his face instead of the scowl he was giving us a few minutes ago.
I didn’t even notice that Scarlett wiggled out of my grip, and my arm moved around her shoulder, pulling her so close to me she might as well be in my lap as her hand rests on my thigh like it belongs there now.
“Scarlett, tesoro, what are you doing here?” the man asks, planting his arms across his chest. He has a playful smile on his lips. Scarlett barks out a laugh and it’s a little strangled as she squeezes my thigh again.
“Just hanging out with my boyfriend,” she says, glancing over to me with ‘don’t mess this up’ eyes. Oh, I’m the boyfriend. Fantastic. “Right, boyfriend?”
I press my lips into a line, trying not to laugh at the absurdity. “Of course, girlfriend,” I say lovingly. “I’d do anything to make my little sugar-plum Scar-Scar happy.”
She nudges me in the ribs, murmuring, “Reign it in, loverboy.”
I look back at this dude who somehow knows Scarlett and he looks at me for a second. In fact, he looks at all of me. He looks from my blonde hair to the neckline of my shirt, right down to the Rolex on my wrist. He even takes a little step back, no doubt scouting for the kind of shoes I’m wearing.
“Well,” he starts, ignoring me and turning back to Scarlett. “I’ll let you guys get back to it. Ah, young love.”
Scarlett smiles at me, her eyes squinting before turning back to the guy. “Yep. So young and so in love,” she says sweetly.
The guy nods and the second he turns back around to stand next to our guy, she practically leaps away from me, grabbing her stuff she left on her side of the table, almost leaving me behind as she rushes out of the door.
I run after her, and I catch her panting behind the building. Her back is pressed against the wall, chest heaving as she clutches her black bag to her chest. I stand in front of her, my arms flapping at my sides, words failing me.
“Jesus. What the hell was all that about?” I ask breathlessly. When my breathing starts to return to normal, I ask, “Who was that?”
She gulps, looking down the alleyway we’ve ended up in and then back at me, her brown eyes wide with concern. “That was Gio. My uncle.”
“He knows we were going to check out the guy, right? Maybe he just wanted to make sure we were doing the right thing,” I suggest. I mean, why else would he be there? The guy he was talking to is clearly a suspect and her uncle must be looking out for her.
