Chapter 44 Scarlett
SCARLETT
The candlelight cast a warm glow across Jace’s face, highlighting that jaw that could cut glass.
We’d been at Rosebud for an hour, our appetizers long gone, our entrees half eaten, and the conversation flowing as easily as the wine.
Something about this felt different. Safer somehow.
As if the outside world couldn’t touch us here.
But safety was an illusion I couldn’t afford to indulge in.
My failed attempt to meet Marcus today lingered in the back of my mind, a persistent shadow over our elegant dinner.
He’d given a vague possibility of meeting tomorrow, but the uncertainty had my nerves on edge.
Was I doing the right thing by sitting here, smiling across candlelight at Jace instead of warning him?
Was waiting for concrete evidence the safer move?
Or would delaying another full day, taking the risk he might dismiss Marcus’s threat as empty posturing, become the more dangerous play here?
“So,” I said, taking a sip of my cabernet, “you’ve spent the entire meal avoiding the topic you claimed was so important. Are you going to tell me what this is about, or should I order dessert first?”
Jace’s green eyes danced with something I couldn’t quite place. Excitement? Pride? He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a business card.
“I wanted to wait for the right moment.” He slid the card across the table toward me, his fingers lingering just a moment too long.
“What’s this?” I asked, curiosity piqued despite my best efforts. “If it’s another NDA printed in size two font, I should warn you, I’ll renegotiate that one too.”
He laughed, the sound rich and genuine. “Just read it.”
I smiled, but when I read the lines on the paper, my heart thudded like a drum, my mouth ran dry, and bile roiled around in my gut. On this business card was my name, embossed in elegant silver lettering, followed by Vice President, Creative Development.
I tried not to vomit, clenching my chair until my knuckles turned white.
Jace’s smile faltered when he saw my reaction. “I thought you’d be happy. I heard you didn’t get the promotion you recently applied for.”
So, it was official then. I’d lost the promotion I’d earned, and even though Jace didn’t know why I’d lost out on it, he thought he could what … invent a consolation prize? How insulting.
“Do you know how many women get sexually harassed at work?” My voice came out steadier than I felt, and it took serious effort to not let it slip into a cutting edge. “None of them have a rich boyfriend who owns the company to make it right for them.”
“Scarlett,” Jace started, but he cocked his head. “Wait, the incident involved your promotion?”
“When I get a promotion, it will be because I earned it.”
Jace’s eyes narrowed. “You did earn it. You spent years earning it, in fact, clearly robbed of the promotion you should have gotten. Which I’ll be circling back to, by the way. Meanwhile, consider this a way of correcting that awful bullshit.”
The waiter approached with a fresh bottle of wine, took one look at our faces, and wisely retreated.
I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Did you even stop to think how this sounds? I got passed over for a job because I wouldn’t do sexual favors for a guy, and then when I finally get it, it’s because I happen to be sleeping with the boss? Do you realize how devaluing that makes me feel?”
Jace’s eyes flashed with anger, hurt visible around the edges. “The boss? Is that all I am to you?”
“Do you not see why this would upset me?” I demanded incredulously.
“Honestly? No!” He leaned forward, his voice intense. “I’m trying to do the right thing here. And I thought this was something that would make you happy.”
“I want to be treated like everyone else.”
“Scarlett—”
“I have to go.” I stood up, grabbing my purse, my chair scraping against the floor. My heart hammered in my chest as tears threatened. No. I will not cry in this restaurant. “I respectfully decline the promotion.”
“Scarlett, wait—”
“You want to know the real problem here?” I leaned down, palms flat against the table. “It’s about power. And who wields it. And maybe, just maybe, the person you supposedly loathe is a lot closer than you think.”
His expression shifted, confusion replacing anger. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Marcus. The name burned on my tongue, desperate to be spat out.
I should say it. Tell him now. He’d believe me.
He had to. My lips parted, the confession teetering on the edge of revelation, when the unmistakable electronic click of a camera pierced the moment.
The sound hit me like a bucket of ice water, a stark reminder of my original plan to catch Marcus red-handed, to deliver indisputable evidence to Jace on a silver platter and finally be done with this whole twisted game.
I straightened, suddenly aware of our audience. Phone cameras flashed around us. Perfect. Corporate America’s favorite billionaire playboy was creating a scene in public, and I was the unwitting costar in this tabloid drama.
“Wait!” Jace demanded.
As I dodged between tables, whispers and stares following in my wake, I heard the scrape of his chair, the rustle of bills being thrown carelessly onto the table.
By the time I pushed through the restaurant’s heavy door, the rain had picked up, pelting the sidewalk in angry bursts that matched my pulse.
I made it three steps before his voice cut through the downpour.
“Scarlett.”
Just my name. Nothing else. But something in the way he said it—raw, demanding, stripped of all the polish that normally coated his words—made me freeze mid-stride.
I didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. Because I knew that if I faced him now, with rain streaming down my face, masking what might or might not be tears, whatever came next would change everything.
His hand closed around my wrist, and he slowly turned me to face him. Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating his face in stark relief. Jaw clenched, eyes blazing, hair plastered to his forehead by the rain.
He looked nothing like a billionaire CEO now.
He looked like a man on the edge of something dangerous.