Undue Influence （n.） – Scarlett
UNDUE INFLUENCE (N.):
OCCURS WHEN ONE PERSON USES THEIR POWER, AUTHORITY, OR A POSITION OF TRUST TO OVERPOWER ANOTHER'S FREE WILL.
SCARLETT
The following morning
Iride the elevator to the fourth floor at Deutsche Bank Center, ready to meet my father at Per Se.
I’m wearing my birthday albatross around my neck, with the sapphire charm from Jameson hanging slightly higher above it.
Breathing slowly, I remind myself of the mantra I’ve used to avoid my father’s wrath for years.
Don’t say too much, and don’t say too little…
The doors glide open, revealing a completely empty space full of white-clothed tables that have undoubtedly been blocked from reservations today.
No one else will be allowed to enter the restaurant until he’s done dining with me, and only two staff members are allowed to be within his eyesight at any given time.
It’s the typical accommodation for whatever restaurant my father picks for any meal.
Spotting him at the corner table, I feign a smile and walk toward him.
“Good morning, Dad,” I say, taking a seat. “How are you today?”
“Better than yesterday.” He snaps his fingers and a waiter appears.
“Yes, sir?” He doesn’t make eye contact.
“We’ll have the chef’s three-course brunch special, please,” he says. “And your best red wine, since my daughter is finally allowed to drink.”
“Excellent choices, sir.” He vanishes, and my father picks up his napkin.
“Your mother couldn’t make it into town for breakfast with us,” he says. “Her spa appointment was delayed.”
“I understand.” I bite my tongue. “My mother uses that excuse whenever she doesn’t want to do something. It’s either that or a very dramatic, ‘Oh noooo. I feel a migraine coming on.’”
I’m not sure if my father has ever noticed the pattern, or if he just doesn’t care.
“Tell me about this big project you’ve been working on,” he says. “I’m beyond intrigued.”
“It’s fairly simple.” I lean back in my seat. “But I can only give vague details right now.”
“That’s fine. Go on.”
“We’re doing a study on businesses that operate in the gray.” I follow my well-rehearsed script. “The ones that have to rely on some pretty shady or creative ways to survive.”
He arches a brow.
“There are some secret and blacklisted companies that’ll loan to people in extreme debt, and a network of businesses these people can run to to stay afloat. I’m watching a certain customer right now and waiting to see how much longer she can possibly survive…”
“Hmmm.” He smiles. “It sounds like this project might be of use to us years from now, so keep notes so I can see the specifics later.”
“Will do.” I pick up my glass and take a huge gulp.
“Onto personal things…” He waits until the waiter walks away from setting down our first course. “Do you have a new boyfriend, Scarlett?”
“Huh?” I almost choke.
“Are you seeing anyone?” His eyes meet mine. “Someone I should know about?”
“No, no.” I shake my head. “I’m way too busy for that.”
And I would never tell you anything about my personal life.
“Well, good. But maybe that’s something I can help you out with before you’ll have to settle down and focus on business.”
The confusion has to be etched across my face because he lets out a laugh.
“You should be dating a lawyer,” he says. “That’d be a good type for you.”
I blink, certain I’ve misheard him.
“Mr. Tate has a staff full of highly eligible lawyers,” he says. “I can ask him for a list of the best ones.”
“No.” I can feel my cheeks heating. “That’s okay, Dad.”
“I trust his judgment,” he says. “You should too.”
“No, I don’t think so.” I try not to push my luck, try not to think about his latest words to me. “I overheard his staff whispering about him yesterday.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, apparently he’s an asshole.”
“That might be true.” He laughs. “But it’s only to the people who deserve it, I’m sure.”
I don’t deserve it…
“Tell me about your other non-project classes. How are those going?”
I rattle off the other lines I’ve memorized, grateful that they come off so smooth and natural that I almost believe them myself.
By the time the final salad is served, our conversation has run its course, and he’s stepping away from the table to take a call.
I devour the arugula as fast as I can and wave to him before escaping.
“Will you be needing a ride back to Boston?” Francis steps in front of me before I can make it to the elevator.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
He doesn’t move.
He just stares.
Then he pulls a small bag from behind his back and holds it out to me.
“You forgot this after checking out of your suite this morning,” he says. “I didn’t see any notebooks or anything from your university in there.”
“Why would you see that?” I ask. “Are you admitting to invading my privacy?”
“I saw script sheets and a printed schedule of auditions.” He pauses. “Is there a reason you’ve highlighted and underlined some of them?”
“No.” I swallow. “Not at all.”
“And should I assume that the ‘Temp Janitorial Services’ employee badge is part of the project you’re working on at Harvard?”
The words ‘at Harvard’ linger in the air between us, and from the way he’s looking at me, I know he suspects something, but I refuse to confirm anything.
“Yes, you should assume that.” I feign a smile. “That is where I’m attending school, and I’ve already told my father—your boss—all about this private project.”
“Good for you, Miss Hunter.” He moves out of the way, allowing me to board the elevator.
And then he joins me, hitting the lobby button for us both.
“Your father is hosting a party in the Hamptons in a few weeks,” he says. “I’m sure I’ll be assigned to pick you up from school.”
“That’s usually the case, Francis.” The hairs on the back of my neck begin standing up one by one. “Why are you telling me now?”
“No reason.” His eyes meet mine. “Just letting you know.”
The doors slide open, and I step into the lobby.
“It was nice seeing you,” I say. “Until next time.”
He doesn’t respond.
He simply follows me across the marble floor and through the revolving golden entrance, but he stops behind the valet sign.
I pick up my pace and walk as fast as I can.
When I’m certain his prying eyes can’t see me, I pull out my phone and call Jameson.
It rings once.
It rings twice.
It goes to voicemail.
Ugh…
I try again.
It doesn’t ring at all.
“You’ve reached Jameson Tate. Leave a message.”
Beep!
“Jameson, it’s me,” I say. “I know you see me calling you. Please call me back.”
I stare at my screen, waiting for what feels like forever, but his call never comes.
I make it all the way back to my dorm, anxiously anticipating the sight of his name across my screen.
It’s not until I settle behind my desk that it appears. Via text message.
Jameson
Miss Hunter, as I stated earlier today, please contact my assistant if you need anything from me.
Also, as I’m sure you expected, your employee contract with the janitorial company is officially terminated.