49 - Working with his girlfriend
In the morning, sunlight streamed through the atrium windows in golden slants, spilling warmth across the polished marble floors of the office. But for Scarlett, everything felt cold.
Then she saw them.
Catherine, glowing in a deep emerald dress that clung to her like silk poured over porcelain, stood beside Ethan. Her fingers rested lightly on his arm—familiar, entitled. Her laughter drifted through the space, sweet and melodic, slicing through the quiet with surgical precision.
Ethan didn't move away. He didn't even look uncomfortable.
Scarlett froze mid-step. The back of her throat burned. Her fists curled at her sides, fingernails pressing crescents into her palms. She turned quickly, nearly colliding with a young intern who apologized with a startled look.
"Sorry," she muttered, barely seeing him.
She ducked into the restroom, door swinging shut behind her like a sanctuary.
The mirror greeted her with cruel honesty: her auburn hair slightly undone, her cheeks flushed with betrayal, eyes too bright.
"Get a grip," she muttered, fingers gripping the cool edge of the sink.
This isn't real, she reminded herself. This marriage isn't real.
But it felt real. Every time he looked at her with that soft half-smile in the kitchen. Every time she caught him watching her sketch late at night. Every time their fingers brushed in passing, and neither of them pulled away.
Then why does this hurt like hell?
She splashed water on her face, bracing against the chill, breath catching in her chest.
When she stepped back into the hallway, crimson lipstick reapplied like armor, she looked like herself again. Except for the storm behind her eyes.
At her desk, she threw herself into work, each click of the mouse too loud, each page flipped too fast. But none of it stuck. Nothing felt right.
Then her phone buzzed.
No greeting. No "please." Just command.
"Of course," she muttered, standing abruptly.
His office loomed, all glass and sleek lines—a fortress of polished transparency. Inside, Catherine sat with one elegant leg crossed over the other, her navy stilettos pristine, her smile mild.
Scarlett knocked lightly, the sound sharper than intended.
Ethan looked up, his expression unreadable. "Scarlett. Come in."
She remained by the doorway.
Catherine's smile widened slightly. "Lovely to see you again."
Scarlett tilted her head and smiled back.
"You'll be working with Catherine on the final designs.
" His voice held the same calm authority it always did when he delivered business directives.
No hint of the personal entanglement that hung invisibly in the air between the three of them.
"The Italian CEO is arriving next week to finalize everything. I need your expertise on this."
The subtext was clear: Play nice. Too much depends on this.
Scarlett met his eyes. Cold. Calculated.
She turned to Catherine, a tight smile forming. "Looking forward to it. Your reputation precedes you."
Catherine's lashes lowered. "As does yours. Your... unconventional style certainly makes an impression."
Scarlett's voice remained even. "That's the goal."
Ethan said nothing, but the muscle in his jaw ticked once.
"I'll review the designs," Scarlett said, already turning away. "Send me what you need."
"Scarlett—" Ethan began, his voice low, firm.
But she didn't stop.
Her heels clicked defiantly down the marble hall, past the curious stares, past the whispers behind hands. She reached the lobby, sunlight flooding her vision.
Outside, in the parking lot, the tension exploded.
"Damn it!" she cursed, keys slipping from her hands, clattering to the asphalt.
She kicked the concrete step near her car. Pain shot through her foot, but she welcomed it.
"Stupid," she growled. "Stupid to care. Stupid to think—"
She stopped herself, throat tightening.
Inside his office, Ethan stood by the window, arms crossed, watching her.
He saw the flare of temper, the spark in her that had first intrigued him—now blazing in frustration.
And for the first time in weeks, a smile ghosted across his lips.
Scarlett was mad. Really mad.
And for reasons he didn't yet dare admit, that mattered.
More than it should.
—------
Scarlett led Linda through the maze of offices and workstations, introducing her to the team.
Each introduction was met with genuine warmth—handshakes that lingered, smiles that reached eyes, murmured words of welcome.
It didn't escape Linda's notice how people's faces lit up at Scarlett's approach, how they stood a little straighter, spoke a little more earnestly in her presence.
The morning passed in a whirlwind of meetings and brainstorming sessions.
Scarlett was in her element, her passion for design evident in every sketch she approved, every fabric sample she examined.
Linda watched her friend transform from the tense woman in the apartment to a confident professional whose opinion carried weight and whose vision inspired others.
Just before lunch, Scarlett's phone buzzed with a message from Ethan: My office. Now.
She excused herself, squeezing Linda's shoulder reassuringly before making her way to the executive floor.
Ethan's office occupied the corner of the building, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city below.
He stood with his back to the door, hands in his pockets, silhouetted against the urban landscape stretching to the horizon.
He didn't turn when the door clicked shut behind her, but his shoulders tensed slightly, acknowledging her presence. "Scarlett," he said, his voice low.
She waited, arms crossed, unwilling to break the silence first.
Finally, he turned. The harsh midday light carved shadows beneath his cheekbones, emphasizing the tension in his jaw. "You need to go with Catherine to some shops. Study the market, get a feel for how fashion is doing here."
Scarlett's pulse jumped at Catherine's name, indignation rising hot and fast. She opened her mouth to refuse but caught herself. A different approach crystallized in her mind.
"Fine," she said, keeping her voice neutral. "But I'm taking Linda with me. She'll be useful for field study."
Ethan studied her face for a long moment, as if searching for something hidden beneath her composed expression. Finally, he nodded. "Alright. Do whatever you want."
Scarlett turned on her heel and walked out, the sound of her stilettos against the polished floor matching the rapid beat of her heart. Only when the office door closed behind her did she allow herself a small, victorious smile.