SCARLETT
A Few Weeks Later
“By the time Scarlett joins the family business in a few years, this family will be halfway there to running the entire cigar industry on the East Coast!”
My father lifts a glass of wine, while my mother and four older brothers cheer via our monthly ‘family matters’ Zoom call.
I feign a smile to look like I fit in.
“Make sure you take good notes when you get to Senior Accounting next semester,” Rob, the oldest of my brothers, says. “You’re our only hope since we all passed that one up.”
“I have no doubt she’ll pass it with flying colors.” My dad’s eyes meet mine. “I just got a letter from her Economics professor praising just how much she’s excelling in the course.”
I swallow; I’d sent that to buy time on him asking about my latest “project scores,” not for him to share with everyone.
“Well, in that case, Dad—” My youngest brother Antonio raises a glass. “We’ll have the cigar and the alcohol business locked away.”
They all cheer again, and my smile wavers.
I still don’t know how my father convinced all of them that the only purpose in going to college was to eventually come home to the family business.
I’d once made the mistake of telling him that I dreamed of a career onstage, and he dismissed me with a “You can dream all you want while working for the family business.”
“Family over everything, Scarlett,” he’d say, “even your job, even your dreams...”
I don’t chime in much for the rest of the meeting, and I only catch hints of the small updates they share—since I’m pretty sure half of whatever my father does is illegal.
“Good catching up with you all,” my dad says after about an hour. “I’ll call you individually this week as always.”
“Always, Dad,” we speak in unison like programmed robots, and then we wait until he says goodbye before daring to log off.
I delete the app to make sure there’s no chance of them seeing that I’m getting ready to clean an office.
Pulling my cart inside, I pick up the glass cleaner for the mirrored table.
I’m wiping fingerprints when my phone sounds.
Jameson.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hello.” His deep voice is a welcome highlight to my day. “What are you doing?”
“Working as usual.”
“Take a break and meet me for drinks.”
“Ha!” I let out a nervous laugh. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” he says. “There are plenty of decent bars in this city. I’ll let you pick.”
I’m not twenty-one yet...
“I just can’t get off right now,” I say.
“Okay, what about two hours from now?”
“Not then either.” I try to keep my tone firm. “My job doesn’t work like that.”
“I’m sure it does since you can talk to me all night while you work,” he says. “You’re salaried, right?”
“I’ll have to take a rain check, Jameson. I’m sorry.”
“Well, what time do you get off tonight? I can pick you up and we can do drinks that way.”
“You must be feeling really lonely,” I say.
“Because I asked you to join me for some drinks?” he asks.
“You’ve told me like six different times that you’d rather work than ever have a hobby and you don’t have many friends.” I pause. “So, either this is a pity invite because everyone you know turned you down, or you’re lonely.”
“Or, maybe I would just fucking like to see you, Scarlett...”
“Oh.” My cheeks flush red. “Well, that’s a possibility too.”
“That’s exactly what it is.” He’s rolling his eyes; I can tell. “If there’s ever an award for making shit ten times more difficult than it needs to be, you would win it over every terrible client I’ve ever had.”
“In that case, make sure to put hazel-colored stones in my plaque, so it can match my eyes whenever I hang it on my wall.”
“I’ll keep the Montana sapphires in mind then…” His voice trails off, and I’m reminded just how much random information he seems to know.
He’s smarter than any man I’ve ever dated…
“We still haven’t finished closing up your loan issue,” he says, “which you’re very welcome for, by the way.”
“I’ve said thank you millions of times.”
“I know. I just don’t understand why you don’t have any free time all of a sudden.”
“The Uber night was a one-off,” I admit. “I’m always ripping and running somewhere or working to stay afloat.”
I still.
I didn’t mean to say that aloud.
“So marketing isn’t your career end game?” Jameson asks.
“Far from it.”
“What is then?”
“Transforming into someone else.”
“Does that pay well?”
“If I stop choking and get back to being good at it, yes...”
“I’ll need you to elaborate on that.” He laughs. “Hold on one second, Scarlett. I’m about to get into an elevator.”
I toss my rag onto the cart and step into the hallway to stretch. As I’m moving past the elevator bank, Jameson steps off.
He’s dressed down in a grey V-neck shirt and dark jeans, and I’m too stunned in this moment to look away from him before?—
OH MY GOD, no.
Stopping, his eyes meet mine.
Then he looks at his phone and back at me.
No, no, NO...
As if he’s struggling to see if I’m real, he moves closer, squinting.
“Please tell me this is another one of my illusions where I keep running into you,” he says. “You’re about to transform into one of my junior lawyers and your name is not Scarlett, correct?”
My nerves are too on edge for me to answer.
He reaches out to run his fingers through my hair for the answer and narrows his eyes.
“You work here, Scarlett?” he asks. “At my firm?”
“Wait. You have an entire law firm in your name?”
“My name is on the lights outside.”
“Okay...” I don’t dare bring up the fact that the letters haven’t said anything but “ate & ass” in the weeks I’ve been assigned here and this is just “Building A” on my cleaning sheet.
“You said you worked in marketing,” he says. “If it’s my marketing department, you can totally go and come as you please, but I’ve never seen your name on my payroll, and I personally sign every check.”
“I’m working here through a temp agency,” I say, grateful this part of my story is true.
He shakes his head, and then he closes the gap between us.
“Did someone hire you to stalk me, Scarlett?”
“What?”
“It was Ray Knight, wasn’t it?” He narrows his eyes. “Or was it my stepfather?”
“I…” I tilt my head to the side. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Jameson.”
“Don’t play fucking stupid with me.” He steps forward and I step back. Then he does it again, cornering me until my back is against the wall.
“You’re here because you know that case is coming up again,” he says. “You think you’re going to distract me from handling that?”
“Case on what?”
His eyes glaze over, and suddenly he’s not talking to me anymore. He’s talking at me.
“The Uber bullshit wasn’t a coincidence, and neither was your bullshit backstory.” He places his hands on the panels behind me, caging me in. “They knew I might be inclined to help a beautiful woman, so they’re trying to see if they can rattle me.”
“Who are they?”
“I know what you’re up to, and I have over a decade on playing this goddamn game, so?—”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Jameson?” I interrupt him. “Where the hell is this even coming from?”
He says nothing.
He just stares.
His eyes slowly shift from a glazed-over gray to the stunning emerald I’ve been longing to see in person for quite a while.
Whatever the hell that trance was, he’s out of it, and he looks somewhat apologetic.
“If I was good at planning things, I wouldn’t be in half of the situations I’m in right now,” I say. “And, I have no idea why you’re spouting off conspiracy theories, but... I really did get into your Uber—I mean—Porsche by mistake.”
“Do you regret it?”
“Do you?”
He presses his lips against mine for the answer, pinning me to the wall with his hips.
His kiss overpowers all my senses, and I moan as his hands slide down lower and grip my waist.
I feel his cock stiffening through the fabric of his pants, and he kisses me even harder.
Turned on, I unbuckle his pants and slide my hands inside them, gasping as I feel his thickness under my fingers.
I rub my hand up and down his cock, my breathing slowing as I imagine how he would feel deep inside me.
As if he can read my mind, he unzips my pants and pushes my panties to the side.
His thumb caresses my clit, and he lets out a groan.
“Push your pants down so I can eat your pussy...” he whispers against my mouth. “Now...”
I hesitate, and he takes that as defiance, torturing my clit with a harder rhythm, punishing my mouth with an even deeper kiss.
Whispering against my mouth, he commands, “I’m not going to ask you again...”
Ding!
The sound of the elevator makes us tear apart, shattering our moment.
He adjusts his pants, and I adjust mine, too.
“You can leave here with me for drinks,” he says, his voice low as footsteps sound from afar. “I’ll bring you right back.”
“I can’t, Jameson.”
“I’ll write the temp agency a letter,” he says. “Hell, I can move you to another department if you like.”
“No bar in this city will let me in.” I realize he won’t let it go. “It has nothing to do with my job.”
“Are you on a banned list or something?” He shrugs. “It’s not like you’re underage.”
“I’m twenty.”
His eyes widen. “Twenty what?”
“Just twenty.”
“As in legally underage?”
“You’re making it more dramatic than it really is…”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“If I did, would you have told me the truth?”
“Probably not,” I admit. “No...”
He lets out a sigh and steps back.
“Have a good night, Scarlett,” he says. “Let’s not talk for a while.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to think hard on some things.”
“You think I’m too young for you?”
“No, I know that.”
“My birthday is in a few weeks.”
“Then I hope you’ll enjoy it with your other barely legal friends.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Good night, Scarlett. Don’t call me.”
He walks away, and before I can go after him, Mr. Brice rounds the corner.