19. Scarlett
Chapter 19
Scarlett
T his is definitely not the Hampton Inn with free Wi-Fi and complimentary breakfast.
I wonder for a second if Cian knows about free breakfast at motels. Or that people sometimes have to pay for wi-fi.
But then I step onto the hotel elevator and as the doors swish shut quietly and the soft instrumental music drifts to me and Cian pushes the button for the twenty-second floor, I realize that no, he probably doesn’t.
And he’s still a good guy. So that’s okay.
But he stays in places like palaces. And the Windsor Court hotel. In the Presidential Suite.Even when he’s entertaining a woman he picked up at a strip club just for the weekend.
I loved that suite. I’d had no idea hotels had rooms like that. The room has a baby grand piano in it for fuck’s sake. Who needs a piano in their hotel room? It’s also got two bedrooms, but Henry is still staying in a room on the floor below us. Because…well, the last time we were here we made use of all the rooms, just the two of us. Including both bathrooms. And both terraces. And yes, I was loud.
I feel my heart rate speed up and work on not laughing giddily.
I’d realized we were headed to New Orleans as soon as we pulled onto the exit for the airport. And I love that we’re back in New Orleans where we met. We’re having a do-over of that magical weekend. But this time we both know everything.
I didn’t, however, realize how this would all affect me when we actually got here. I’m hit with excitement and, okay, lust. But also the strangest sense of nostalgia. I never thought I’d be back here. I definitely never thought I’d be back here with Cian.
God, our weekend together had truly been like a fantasy.
The sense of dropping back into a dream had hit me when we’d pulled into the front circle, and I’d seen the fountain and gorgeous trees and flowers surrounding the hotel entrance. The scent of the hotel lobby, the décor, the way Cian had rested his hand on my hip possessively as we checked in all thrust me back in time and I’d found myself swallowing against the emotions that made my throat feel suddenly tight.
I’d honestly wondered if I’d ever come back to New Orleans. I’d loved living in the city, but even though I hadn’t consciously made the decision, I realized as we walked through the airport that I’d put “fun weekend get-aways and vacations” on my list of things I didn’t get to do anymore.
Oh, people in Emerald go on vacation. Some girlfriend groups maybe even do weekend girl trips. But I’d realized that I didn’t think I was going to do them anymore.
People would judge. People would decide that I was spending my money frivolously if I took Mariah on a trip or being an irresponsible parent if I left her at home. If anyone knew I’d jetted off to New Orleans this weekend, they would assume I was spending my time down on Bourbon Street rather than wonder if I was at the numerous parks and museums and amazing restaurants.
And so what if I did? Bourbon Street was a lot of fun and enjoying the people watching and the drinks and the music didn’t necessarily mean anyone was doing anything wrong. Anyone who visited New Orleans from out of town should spend at least an hour on Bourbon just for fun.
But no one in Emerald would listen to me explain that.
Which was really fucking depressing.
I’m lost in my thoughts when the elevator stops on the twenty-first floor and Henry gets off. He’s been grumpy and quiet the entire trip. Not that the flight was all that long. But when I first met Henry and he and Ruby were together, he was laid back and funny and very likable. Now he’s broody and bitchy.
But I can relate. It was how I felt often after I found out that Cian was looking for me and I told Henry that I didn’t want to see him.
Okay, after I lied to Henry about not wanting to see Cian.
Henry tells Cian, “Call if you need me” and then turns right as the elevator slides shut. Cian and I don’t say anything as we get off on the next floor.
I feel my heart pounding and I blow out a long breath as I wait for him to unlock the door to the suite.
I will never forget any detail of the room inside.
It was not only the most surprising and sexy weekend of my life, but it was by far the most luxurious.
He pushes the door open and nudges me through first.
I catch my breath.
It’s exactly as I remember it and the sense of nostalgia hits me hard again.
The penthouse has a big main living room, with a fireplace, gigantic flat screen television, and built-in bookcases. The artwork is gorgeous and I’m sure expensive. The chairs and couches are richly upholstered, and the back of the couch is very comfortable when you’re bent over it with a hot prince fucking you from behind.
Can you be sentimental about a place where every piece of furniture reminds you of sex? Sure feels that way.
I grin to myself as I look around.
The room’s décor is light pastels and creams. There’s a round dining table with six chairs near the windows and another smaller sitting area I can’t see from here. There are also two bedrooms and two bathrooms. My favorite is the one with the tub that’s deep and wide enough for two people to fit.
The butterflies are swooping so fast that I have to press a hand over my stomach and take several deep breaths as I stand just inside the door.
“You okay, Glinda?” Cian asks since I haven’t moved a single step further into the room.
The combination of the nickname and his deep voice have a soothing effect.
I face him with a smile. “Yeah. Just remembering.”
He sets our bags down and lets the door swing shut. I expect him to stalk toward me, push me up against the door, and pull my jeans and panties down before going to his knees and making me come with his mouth in under five minutes.
Just like last time.
Instead, he strokes a hand over his jaw. “Lots of good memories.”
I nod. “Great memories.”
His hand drops. “I want you so much,” he tells me, his voice husky.
I take a step toward him.
He takes a step back and my eyes go wide.
“But once I get you naked, I don’t intend to let you get dressed until sometime late tomorrow,” he says. “And there’s something I want to show you first.”
This is a surprise. We haven’t had sex since the night on the patio. I’ve been having orgasms. Really, really nice orgasms. But he hasn’t even taken his pants off. And now he wants to wait?
“Something that requires me staying dressed?” I ask.
His gaze tracks over me from head to toe. I’m wearing jeans, simple flats, and a pretty blue blouse that matches his eyes and that I’m pretty sure is actually Ruby’s.
Ruby did my packing. It seems this trip was Cian’s plan for this weekend all along and my sister and daughter are in on it.
I’m also pretty sure they’re thrilled.
“Cian?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything.
“I’m trying to decide if I am strong enough to fuck you right now, then let you get dressed and actually leave this room.”
I take another step forward. “Being dressed and leaving the room are overrated. I lived here for six years. There’s not much in the city that I wanted to see that I didn’t.” I can’t think of anything as a matter of fact. New Orleans is a fun city and Ruby, Mariah, and I saw all the famous tourist sites as well as lots of great local spots.
He takes another step back and runs into the small table sitting under a mirror in this little foyer area. He grips the edge of the table as if for strength. “Yeah, I’m not strong enough for that. And there is something here that you haven’t seen before.”
I narrow my eyes. “And it’s that important?”
“It is. It’s really the reason for the trip. Though having you in this room again is definitely bringing back some memories I’d like to relive.”
I’m glad he’s dealing with flashbacks too. “Okay. Then let’s go. Quickly.”
He smiles and shakes his head. “The way you want this too is so fucking sexy.”
“Then prepare to be turned on for however long this takes,” I tell him. “Because I really want this.”
I try to tell myself that I’m just using him for sex, the way I told myself, and Ruby, and him previously. The sex with Cian is so good.
But I’m a damn liar. Every minute I spend with him, I like him more and I’ve found that I’m also really enjoying having him at home when I get there after work, hearing him talk and laugh with Ruby and Mariah, and the little smiles, touches, and special, flirty words he always has for me.
And as much as I like having him in my day-to-day life and comfortable with Mariah and Ruby, I’m very much looking forward to having him to myself this weekend.
Cian holds the door open for me again, and we head back down to the hotel lobby. He calls for an Uber, rather than asking Henry to go with us, which is interesting in a what’s-going-on way.
It takes us twenty-five minutes to get to the older neighborhood where the car drops us off on a corner that seems unremarkable.
There’s a florist in the building on this corner. Across the street is a deli. There’s a convenience store a little further down. I can also see a market, a coffee shop, a dog groomer, and an urgent care office. But beyond the businesses are houses and apartment buildings.
“This way.” Cian links his fingers with mine, starting down the sidewalk. We walk for two blocks before he stops. “Right here.”
I look up at him, waiting for him to elaborate.
He grins down at me, then points. “There.”
I follow his finger. He’s pointing at the building complex across the street. It’s a group of townhouses. There are three buildings arranged in a U-shape. Each building has four townhouses in it. They each have a porch, some with kids’ bikes leaning against the railing, some with potted plants, one with a swing. There’s a yard in the middle with play equipment. A tall wrought-iron gate closes off that yard from the sidewalk that runs along the front of the property.
“What am I looking at?”
“Scarlett Park.”
I frown. “Okay.”
“It’s the community for single moms we brainstormed.”
I look at up at him. And just stare as I process that. Then I look across the street again. I really study it this time. There are lights glowing from some of the windows. I take in the well-kept grass in the yard. I note that each building is a different color—one is sky blue, one is a butter yellow, and one is seafoam green—with white shutters and white porches with steps and railings. There are flower beds, baskets of flowers, and flowering bushes. So many flowers. So much color.
I feel choked up as I look back up at him. “Really?”
He tucks his hands into his pockets and nods. “I bought it about three months after our weekend. We renovated and remodeled. I hired a woman, Joann, who is a social worker, to manage it. She helps figure out what the women and kids need, helps explain to new residents how things work, and acts as the go-between with them and me. She lets me know what’s needed and I make it happen. She’s pretty great.” He gives me a smile.
“Tell me more,” I say, watching his face instead of studying the building now.
He seems thrilled that I asked. “There are two or three women in each townhouse, each has one to three kids. They get to decide how many people they want to live with. Joann manages who fits best together—the ages of the kids and the women’s schedules and stuff like that They have weekly community meetings, and the guiding principle is that they all have to work together to make it function. Like a family would. The kids and their school schedules need to be covered. Their work schedules need to fit together. They deal with meals and shopping and household chores together in whatever way works best for everyone. Sometimes one woman cooks for a couple of houses if those women help her out with other things. That’s all up to them. We cover the housing costs fully. They don’t pay rent or utilities or any maintenance. But they take care of everything else. Unless Joann lets me know they need more.”
“That’s…” I don’t know what to say really.
“We also have on-call maintenance twenty-four-seven and there’s security that routinely drives by and a female officer does walk throughs. They can be reached directly and are only two minutes away in case there are ever any issues. Three of the women work shifts where they get home after midnight and a security guard meets them to walk them from their cars to their doors.”
“That’s amazing, Cian,” I say softly. We’d talked about security when we’d brainstormed. He really had included everything.
“And we’ve only had two move out in the year and a half,” he says quickly. “One moved to another city and one ended up falling in love and moving in with her boyfriend. Everyone loves living here.”
I lift his hand, pressing it against my heart. “I’m sure they they do. Cian, it sounds perfect.”
“It’s what we came up with together,” he says. “Exactly.”
I nod. “I know.”
I’m stunned. But as it sinks in, I realize I’m not shocked, actually. Remembering how excited he was about the plan when we came up with it and how easily he gives money when he discovers a need, this makes complete sense.
“I’d love to hear more about it,” I say. “Do you know more about the families?”
He shrugs. “A little. But I haven’t met them. That’s Joann’s thing.”
I frown. “You haven’t met them?”
“Nah. That seems strange. They don’t need to know me.”
“They’d probably like to.”
“It’s not about me,” he says. “I provide the funding, but Joann knows a lot more about how to really run the place. And the women themselves know what they need.”
That’s true. But knowing Cian, he would love to know these families. He’d love to see how he was helping.
Then again, it’s not about him. He’s right, I suppose.
“Have you opened other communities like this?” I ask.
“Yes. There are six others.”
Wow. I…don’t know what to say to that.
“Do you want to get dinner? We can talk about it more. Now that I’ve got you back, we can talk about what else to do.”
Now that I’ve got you back . Yeah, oh boy.
“Okay, yeah, let’s get dinner.” I really want to hear more. I realize my heart is beating fast and my mind is spinning with questions.
Are the other communities multiple buildings like this? We’d actually brainstormed buying big houses with multiple bedrooms. Has he done that anywhere? Where are the other ones? Is he going to do more?
“There’s a great Italian place right down the block.” He puts his hand on my lower back and we start down the sidewalk.
Antonio’s smells amazing and it hits me that I’m starving when we step inside the cozy restaurant at the end of the block.
It’s one of those places that is decorated in red and white and gold and dimly lit with sconces on the wall and fat round glass candle holders on the tables.
We’re escorted to a booth along the far wall immediately by a grinning older man who greets us with an enthusiastic, “Benvenuti!”
After we have water, glasses of red wine, and a plate of bruschetta in front of us, Cian turns to me. “I want to offer you a job.”
“A job?”
“Yes, as president of the foundation.”
“What foundation?”
“The foundation I’m going to start.”
He doesn’t even have the foundation started. Okay. “You’re starting a foundation?”
“Yes. One that will build even more communities like the one across the street. And other things.” He leans in, pinning me with an earnest look. “We can come up with all kinds of programs, scholarships, school supply funds.”
I smile.
“Whatever you want,” he says. “We can fund all kinds of things.”
“Me? What about you ?” I ask. “What kinds of things do you want to do?”
“Anything. That’s the thing I realized by putting that community together. I’ve got the money, and I can raise more. Talking to other rich guys is easy. Convincing them to give me money is easy. I’ve got connections. I can get resources together. I just need the ideas and plans to spend it on.”
That must be a nice problem to have.
I study him as I think about what I already know about this man. He loves his sister and niece, he realizes that they lived a very privileged life though, despite her singleness. He was legitimately excited about building these homes for single moms when we talked about them when we were together.
“What would this job look like?” I ask.
“As president you would, of course, help with brainstorming projects. Recruiting people, getting the word out, managing the overall vision. You’d be the primary spokesperson to the media and donors—with my help—and other organizations. You’d head the Board of Directors and you’d help get the directors in place. Figure out what committees we’d need.” He shrugs. “You’d do all of the big stuff. You’d be in charge. The boss.”
“What would you do?” I ask, my heart pounding.
“CFO. I can get the money—use my own, fundraise, whatever. Figure out financing. I’d also help talk to the towns and officials that we need to win over, deal with permits and things like that as needed. We’ll work together on every aspect.”
“So I would need to travel? Do presentations and things?”
“Definitely.”
“Oh.” I sit back, shaking my head. “No, I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not… qualified.”
He chuckles. “Of course you are. You’ll know all about it. We’ll come up with every idea together. It will be things you’re passionate about. You’ll just have to talk to people about it.”
“I’m just a mechanic,” I say. “I don’t know anything about running a foundation.”
“But you’re a single mom. That’s the biggest thing. Your story is why you’re passionate about this.”
“Your sister is a single mom. You helped raise your niece. You know what single moms need too.”
I know that sounds like a weak protest. I should want to do this. But the idea of trying to talk people into things scares me. I did that for six years and I hate the person I was then.
“I’m a guy ,” he says. “A single guy with no kids of his own. Sure, I can share my story too, but who should be the face of this? A feisty, amazing woman who raised an amazing, brilliant daughter on her own. Okay,” he says, holding up a hand when I start to protest. “With her sister. But that’s the cool thing. You’re a group of kickass women who want to help other women. Just like those elephants you love, you stick together and form unshakeable bonds and protect each other for life.” He leans in and takes my hand. “I know you want to help other women that way. Let me help you do that. I have the money. Let me give it to you to spend.”
I laugh lightly. Who wouldn’t want to hear a billionaire tell them here take my money. Better yet, this one is saying take my money and do something amazing to make other people’s lives better with it.
“I think an elephant should be a part of our logo, by the way,” he tells me.
Dammit. It shouldn’t be that easy, but I love that, and it does soften me even further.
“I can’t travel. There’s Mariah.”
“Mariah is almost sixteen. And you have Ruby and Greta’s family to be there for her. You can take their help , Scarlett. So you can do things for you. That’s okay. And you don’t have to travel for weeks at a time. Just a few days here and there.”
He’s going to have a really great counterargument to everything I say, but I still feel the need to push back.
“I can’t—” I swallow. “I can’t go around trying to convince people to do things I think they should do like that, Cian. I can’t go into communities and tell them that they should go along with our plans and ideas.”
He frowns. “That’s not what this is. Whatever we do will be projects the communities want. We’ll work with community leaders to provide things that they need.” Then it seems understanding dawns on his face. He shakes his head. “We’re not going to preach to anyone. We’re not going to push this on anyone. We’re not going to tell them they have to do anything or guilt them or coerce them. We’re going to offer to help. We’ll be there with resources for whatever they need.”
My stomach twists, but I’m not shaking my head as earnestly as I was before. I spent all those years in high school trying to convince people to see things my way, to do things I wanted them to do, to put their time, money, hearts into something that mattered to me. And I never should have done that.
But, intellectually, I know this is different and I’m overreacting. This isn’t like going out and telling people they need my father’s church or they’ll be lost and doomed.
This is different. This is good .
But I’d believed what my father wanted and was preaching was good at the time.
I take a deep breath.
I’m definitely overreacting.
“Can I think about it?” I ask Cian.
He looks disappointed but nods and sits back. “Of course.”
So, I lean in. “I want you to keep going with this. You’ve been hiding away in the US, not really doing anything that really lights you up. I love the look on your face when you talk about these communities and this foundation. You told me when we met that you feel like a sidekick to your siblings. I want you to have something you are passionate about.”
He looks at me with such sincerity and tenderness that I suck in a breath. “I want you to stop hiding too. I want you to shine, Scarlett. I want the world to see you. But even more, I want you to see you.”
My eyes sting and I blink rapidly.
“I wanted it before,” he says, his voice gruff. “But now that I’ve gotten to know you and your story, everything with Emerald and your dad…I want you to be proud of who you are, the way you’ve overcome and raised Mariah and how you’ve changed since you left Emerald. I want you to show him, and the world, but also yourself who you are now.”
My heart is pounding and I feel like I’m going to cry. But I’m not sure if it’s from happiness or sadness. Or just overwhelm.
This opportunity is…amazing.
I have no qualifications other than being a single mom.
That has defined me for the past sixteen years. It’s shaped every choice I’ve made, everything I’ve done. It’s made me proud and happier than I’ve ever imagined. It’s also made me scared and more vulnerable than I’ve ever been.
It’s the thing that changed my life. That took me down a road that absolutely made me who I am today.
And that person is who Cian O’Grady knows. It’s who he sees. That’s who he wants .
And he wants to give all of this…possibility to me, not just despite all of that but because of all of that.
The waiter arrives with our entrees and that helps us transition our conversation to talking about what other details Cian has about the women and kids that live at Scarlett Park—the name actually really hits me this time, and I’m touched while also feeling a little trepidation about how involved he truly made me. He really did take every single thing we talked about and implemented it.
We also talk about other cities where buildings or houses could be renovated, or new structures could be built.
Then we start brainstorming other projects. Or rather, I sit and listen and ask questions about ideas Cian has apparently been thinking about for nearly two years. He's thought about getting involved in something to do with elder care, he has some ideas about criminal justice reform, as well as finding out what’s needed in the area of service animals.
He has a wide range of interests. And doesn’t know much very specific about any of them.
That’s what he needs me for. To give shape and direction to all of these various ideas.
He’s got a big heart. He wants to do good things. He recognizes his privilege. He just needs someone to help. Someone to be his partner.
Is that someone me?
I’m not sure.
But it really makes me like him. A lot.