Chapter 19 #2
Daniel says something, and she laughs, touching his arm as she responds.
John leans in to add something, and she turns to him, animated and engaged.
I grip my glass harder. She's relaxed here.
Open. The version of herself I only catch glimpses of in our late-night sessions. Melanie appears beside me.
"You're lurking."
"I'm observing."
"You're glaring at Daniel like he personally offended you." She sips her wine.
"Scarlett's doing a great job, by the way. The team loves her."
"I can see that."
Melanie follows my gaze.
"She's good with people. Makes everyone feel valued."
Across the room, Scarlett glances in my direction. Our eyes meet for a brief second before she looks away, turning her attention back to Daniel.
"I should get going," I tell Melanie.
"You just got here."
"Early morning tomorrow."
I set down my glass and leave before I do something stupid like go over there and pull Scarlett away from Daniel's attention.
DAY 95
It's past ten, and the office is empty except for us. Scarlett is in my office, and we've been going over media strategy for hours.
"We're making real progress," she says, reviewing the coverage analysis.
"Sentiment is shifting. The audit announcement helped."
"You made that happen," I tell her.
She looks up.
"We made it happen. Your interview was perfect."
"Because you prepped me."
We're sitting closer than usual, both leaning over the same report on my desk. I can see the faint freckles on her nose, barely visible under the office lighting.
"Can I ask you something?" I say before I can stop myself.
She straightens slightly. "Okay."
"Why do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Act like you're just here to do a job. Like there's nothing else between us."
Her expression shifts, guarded.
"Because that's what this is. A job."
"Is it?"
"Yes." But her voice wavers slightly.
I lean closer.
"You don't have to be perfect all the time, Scarlett."
"With you I feel like I do."
The admission hangs in the air between us. Vulnerable. Real. I reach out, my hand moving toward her face without conscious thought. She pulls back, standing abruptly.
"I should go."
"Scarlett—"
"It's late. We both need sleep." She gathers her things quickly, not looking at me.
"Have a good night."
She's out the door before I can respond. I sit alone in my office, the ghost of what almost happened still heavy in the air.
DAY 99
The following week, I make my way to the kitchen for my routine morning espresso. I'm at the machine when Scarlett walks in.
"Good morning," she says, her tone carefully neutral.
"Morning."
We stand in awkward silence while the machine works. Neither of us have mentioned what occurred last week.
"How was your weekend?" I ask, trying for normal conversation.
"Quiet. Caught up on sleep." She glances at me.
"Yours?"
"Worked mostly."
"Of course you did."
There's a hint of amusement in her voice. I catch it and run with it.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're incapable of not working." She takes her cup from the machine.
"It's like you don't know how to turn it off."
"Says the woman who was here until eleven last week."
"That was work."
"So was mine."
She almost smiles. "Fair point."
I make my espresso, and we stand there, the conversation feeling easier than it has in days.
"You know," I say, "you laugh differently with other people."
She blinks. "What?"
"With Mike, with Brad, with the team. You laugh. Really laugh. But not with me."
She studies her coffee.
"Maybe you're not as funny as they are."
"Or maybe you're more comfortable with them."
"Maybe I am," she admits quietly.
"Why?"
She looks up at me.
"Because they're not you."
Before I can respond, she leaves. I stand there with my espresso, her words echoing in my head.
Later that afternoon..
The conference room is packed for the team meeting. Karen pulls up the latest media analysis on the screen, and the results are undeniable.
"Sentiment has shifted significantly," she announces.
"Positive coverage is up forty percent. Investor confidence is stabilizing. The audit transparency and proactive media strategy are working."
The team erupts in applause. I look at Scarlett. She's smiling, genuinely pleased with the results.
"This is a team effort," Karen continues, "but I want to specifically recognize Scarlett. Her crisis management strategy is exactly what we needed."
More applause. Scarlett ducks her head slightly, modest despite the praise. After the presentation wraps, I stand.
"This calls for a celebration. Team dinner tomorrow night. I'm making reservations at Ardor—best restaurant in the city. Everyone's invited."
Excitement ripples through the room. Ardor is notoriously hard to get into—but I know the owner, personally.
The meeting breaks up, everyone filing out discussing the celebration. I catch Scarlett's eye across the table. She holds my gaze, and something passes between us. She gathers her things and heads back to her office.
I return to my desk and pull out my phone and call the owner to make the reservation. Twenty people. Private dining room. Tomorrow at eight. I set the phone down and look out at the city. We're making progress. The crisis is turning around. That's what matters.