Chapter Ten Scarlett
The networking weekend in Denver couldn’t have come at a worse time.
Phase one of our class project has been completed and set aside for Lawrence to grade.
He’s not allowed to tell us anything about anyone else’s projects until our presentation, and the anticipation is eating away at me.
This isn’t anything new, but it still puts me on edge.
When you’re inside a little bubble with someone, working closely on something you both think is great, the reality of it not being as good as you thought is terrifying.
I don’t know why I’m doubting myself. That’s never been something I do, but apparently it seems to be all I’m doing these days.
Maybe it’s because the list is still burning a hole in my pocket and even though my speech at the event last week went well, there’s still four other things I need to complete if I want this job.
I’ve been doing what I can to work on the winter line, but trying to find a distant relative to interview isn’t as easy as I thought it would be.
I drop my head against the cold window, grateful that I got first pick of the seats on the bus that is taking our class to the airport.
The weather has gone from confusingly warm autumn evenings into constant drizzle and sharp breezes in the morning.
Raindrops race each other down the window and the wind slightly rattles the bus every few minutes.
The soft music that plays through my headphones does its best to calm my nerves and the cool pressure of the glass soothes my stress headache.
Just as I expected, as other faculty members board the bus so does Evan.
He’s not wearing a shirt and a loose tie like he usually does to class.
Instead, he’s wearing gray sweatpants, a green University of Vermont sweatshirt, messy blond hair tumbles down his forehead, hands shoved into his pockets as he walks down the aisle.
He looks . . . good. Somehow even better than he did in the suit at the charity gala.
Relaxed. Handsome. And it pisses me off.
He’s not allowed to look like that. Not ever.
And especially not when I rolled on the first pair of clean leggings I could find and an old Twilight hoodie I got from a convention when I was a kid.
My hair is tucked away under the hoodie and I’m going for the no-makeup look.
On early travel days like today, I usually wouldn’t care what I look like, so I have no idea why I want to curl into a ball and hide until we get to Denver.
When Evan catches me looking at him, he takes it as an invitation to sit beside me.
I’ve hardly seen him since I pulled him into that closet at the gala, and his proximity makes me stiffen.
I get a sharp whiff of his rich cologne; a distinct woody smell that makes me feel strangely comfortable.
He’s always smelled like that, even when we were kids.
And I wonder if it has anything to do with the sweatshirt that is clearly from his dad’s college days.
It’s endearing as much as it is annoying how close he and his dad seem.
“Morning,” he says. “You’re here early.”
I make some sort of grumbling sound in response, still looking out the window.
“Are you gearing up to yell at me again?”
“Maybe.”
He laughs quietly and his knee knocks against mine as his body shakes with it. I want to pull my knee away. I really want to. But I don’t. The heat of his body puts me at ease, and given how cold it is on the bus, I might just use him for body heat. That’s all.
“Come on. You’ve got to admit it’s a little funny that you thought I was there for you.”
“Shut. Up.”
“No. Seriously. The look on your face when—”
I whip my head toward his, meeting those infuriating green eyes with a fierce look. “Can you at least pretend not to be a pretentious asshole for two minutes?”
Evan tuts, leaning into me to whisper, “Oh, but Scarlett, I am a pretentious asshole.” I roll my eyes, turning up the volume of the music on my phone, but he doesn’t get the hint and continues talking. “What are you listening to?”
I glare at him. “It’s five in the morning. Why are you talking so much?”
He shrugs, folding his arms against his chest. “I usually wake up this early. This is like prime time for me to get on your nerves.”
“Oh, goody.”
“So, what are you listening to?”
For a second, I think to keep ignoring him, but maybe if I give him something he won’t bother me the whole way to the airport.
I turn my screen slightly so he can see the list of songs I’ve got cued up. He looks for a few seconds without saying anything and I start to grow impatient. I scroll a little further so he can see the full range of music I’ve downloaded for the trip.
“Hm,” is all he says after a while.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“What?” I press again, more irritated.
He grins. “Nothing. I just thought you’d be more of a Paramore, My Chemical Romance, angsty-teenage-girl kind of music listener.”
It’s hard to tell if he’s insulting me or complimenting me. When his eyes dip to my sweatshirt, I see a glimmer of a smirk on his lips, but still, I hold my chin up proudly and say, “I can be when I’m in the mood for it.”
He hums again, nodding toward my phone. “I like Sade too.”
“You do?” I can’t hide the surprise in my voice. I might have become an expert at the How to Piss Off Evan game, but there’s still so much I don’t know about him. I’m curious to know how many other ways I can insult him more than anything.
“Yeah,” he says. “My dad would listen to her albums every morning. I used to think it was because he was still in love with my mom, but when you start listening to her voice . . . you can’t stop.”
I nod in understanding, not sure what to do with this little bit of information he’s given me. I clear my throat. “Now you have to show me your playlist. It’s only fair.”
He laughs, digging around in his pocket. “When have things ever been fair with us?”
I’m transported back into that closet when he says that.
Do you want my help?
I don’t know why it threw me off so much.
It could’ve been so easy to just say yes and hear what he had to say.
I didn’t even have to take his advice, but I know he’s had more experience with those kinds of events than I have, given the whole my-parents-not-trusting-me thing.
Even if I’d just spent a few minutes with him in that closet I might’ve relaxed or something.
Or at least calmed down enough so my hands didn’t shake when I got to the podium to present my speech.
But I pushed through without his help and my parents were beaming when I came down to greet them.
That’s got to be enough for me right now.
“Just show me,” I urge again, and he pulls something out of his pocket. It takes a couple seconds for me to realize he’s holding a cassette player attached to a pair of headphones and I burst out laughing. “Of course.”
His eyebrows furrow. “What?”
“Of course you play music from a cassette.”
“It’s the way music was intended to be listened to, beside live music, of course,” he says sincerely. If he’s offended, he doesn’t show it. I just shake my head as he holds up a cassette tape of Frank Sinatra’s 20 Golden Greats. “This is the only album I brought with me.”
“So, you’re just going to listen to that on repeat until we get to Denver?”
“Pretty much.”
I scoff. “You’re so boring.”
“No,” he says, putting the headphones over his ears. “I just know what I like.”
He turns the other way, and I don’t know why I want him to keep talking to me.
I want to know how he can manage to stomach the same songs on repeat for the next six hours.
I can only listen to playlists because of the variety of music, and it would have to take a really good album for me to listen to it on a loop.
I shouldn’t be interested in anything to do with Evan, but I can’t ignore the part of me that is.
When we get to Denver, we hardly have enough time to settle in before we have to get ready and meet the rest of our cohort in the ballroom downstairs. The room is full of students from the West Coast, popular business owners and leaders of graduate programs across the country.
Evan and I speak to some of the sponsors together about our project, and after we’ve wrapped up a few conversations we continue walking around together.
Neither of us has said much to the other over the last hour besides going over our notes, and it’s nice.
We get on with what we need to do while being in each other’s company, and there’s a real lack of arguing going on between us.
Are we . . . friends now? Acquaintances? Partners?
All those options make me queasy.
We stop by the table of hors d’oeuvres, and I pick up my second chicken, bacon and ranch wonton cup, satisfied that it tastes just as good as the first. I pick up another, catching Evan’s stern gaze as I do.
“Are you not going to get anything?” I ask, taking a bite.
He shakes his head. “The idea of shared food makes me sick.”
I swallow. “Seriously?”
“They’re quite literally covered in bacteria. I’d rather die than eat food left out in open spaces,” he says seriously, and I swear he even shivers at the thought.
“Have you never been to a restaurant?” I ask, half-joking.
“Not many.” I’m about to say something, find out more about his hatred toward hors d’oeuvres, but he nods at someone in the distance. “Do you know who that is?” he asks, voice low.
I follow his gaze to a short, bubbly looking man talking to Professor Lawrence. He looks slightly familiar, but I can’t put a name to the face. “No,” I say to Evan. “Who is it?”
“That’s Howard Han’s brother, Richard. He owns the partner company to Howard’s.”
I nod in understanding. I catch Evan adjusting the cufflinks on his shirtsleeves before straightening out his blazer. “Are you going to talk to him?”
“Yeah. We both should.” He runs a hand through his hair quickly, grinning at me. “It could be worth getting our names out there for the SEI.”
I swallow another bite of my appetizer. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go.”