Chapter Eight Evan
Scarlett is standing me up.
It’s just a study session and we’ve had plenty of those over the years when we’ve worked on projects together, but still. I should’ve known better. I should have prepared for this in some way.
I knew me leaving the hockey game early after our little moment would make things weird.
Something about having her fingers that close to my skin has affected me way more than it should.
It was the smell of her, the slight tug on my shirt, the way her eyes stared into mine like she was daring one of us to do something.
And because I couldn’t handle being that close to her, I removed myself from the situation, making things pretty fucking awkward.
But I’d never jeopardize this project. She must know how much this means to me.
I know how well she wants to do at school and how the SEI would be an incredible opportunity for both of us.
Especially now, with the second phase starting next week, we don’t have much time to be missing out on key study sessions if we want to produce a good project.
Yet I’m the one here and she’s not.
I wait another twenty minutes before I start to pack away my stuff, shoving my wired headphones into my ears and drowning out the silence with music.
The upside of waiting for her was that I got ahead on most of my homework for next week.
The downside is that I feel like an idiot for waiting two hours just in case she’d show up.
I make my way out of the library, scanning the shelves for the last time, and I hate the tightness I feel in my chest when I realize she really isn’t here. I take a left out the door to use the bathroom before I leave, but a voice in the distance stops me.
“Evan, wait!” The voice gets louder and closer, and I take out one of my earphones, turning to see Scarlett running down the hall in pajamas covered with the Sims game logo.
Her brown hair is a wavy mess around her face, a bag slung haphazardly around her shoulder.
Her tanned cheeks are flushed a deep red, probably from the cold and—judging by her heavy breathing—from her sprinting here.
I stand still, taking her in as she slows down her jog toward me, and I shove my hands into my pockets. When she gets to me, she keels over, one hand on her knee as she holds her other one up to me.
“Just give me . . .” she inhales sharply, “a minute . . . to . . . catch my . . . breath.”
“You’re wearing pajamas,” is the only thing that comes out of my mouth.
She looks up at me for just enough time to scowl. “I am wearing pajamas, but I’m here . . . And I think I’m going to pass out. I do not exercise enough.”
“You’re late.”
She stands up straighter, pushing her hair over her shoulder. “But I’m here, Evan.”
I check my watch. “Two hours late.”
“Look, Branson, I’m so—” She actually gags instead of finishing her sentence and I roll my eyes.
“Seriously?”
“Fuck. I’m trying,” she mutters. Scarlett clears her throat, closing her eyes for a second as if she can’t bear to get her next words out. “I . . . apologize. I got carried away with family stuff and I didn’t check the time. This is the first time this has happened, so could you just lay off me?”
I consider what she’s saying.
It is true. Scarlett has always been punctual.
It’s one of the things that I admire about her.
How she puts effort into the things she cares about and shows up for things that matter.
I also don’t know what family stuff she has going on at the minute.
From the little information I’ve been managing to get out of my dad while I’m virtually banned from B&Co, I’ve heard Voss have been doing pretty well this quarter. Maybe even a little better than we are.
“Fine,” I say eventually, and she lets out a breath of relief. “Just don’t let it happen again, yeah?”
“Yes, sir.” Heat rushes up my neck in a way it absolutely shouldn’t when she says those words.
There’s a slight glint in her eyes, similar to the one that was there at the hockey game, and I don’t know what to do with it.
She makes the decision for me and tilts her head to the side.
“Now are you gonna relax so we can get some work done?”
I nod, turning back in the direction of the library, and Scarlett follows behind me. I return to the seat I just vacated, unload my textbooks and laptop back onto the table and Scarlett does the same.
“What are we working on today?” Scarlett asks, glancing over her notes.
I clear my throat. “So, we’ve already landed on what kind of business we want to do.”
“Right, EcoElegance,” she says, reciting the brief summary we put together last week. “A sustainable fashion brand, focusing on eco-friendly material and ethical production practices.”
I smile. “So, you do pay attention?”
“The whole thing was basically my idea anyway.”
I scoff. “Okay, now that we’ve got a starting point and figured out how we’d make it work, we have to think about our debut. How it would work in stores, launch events, potential collaborations for brand deals, etcetera.”
Scarlett nods thoughtfully. “It shouldn’t be too hard. It’s something we’re both pretty familiar with.”
“Exactly.”
We start brainstorming potential plans for a launch campaign, bouncing off each other until we put a list together of places and people we’d keep in mind if EcoElegance were to launch next week. We’re both on the same page for most of them until we bring up the East Coast.
“I don’t know about New York,” she mumbles, tapping her pen against her laptop.
“The fashion capital of the country?” I ask slowly.
“I’m not too sure about bigger events. Especially for a brand like this. We could focus on smaller venues and places, capitalize on niche communities and smaller creators.”
It’s not a bad idea, but still I ask, “Why?”
“Too much press and media coverage the first few weeks of the brand’s release could be damaging if we’re not careful,” she says, folding her arms against her chest.
“It could also boost it,” I suggest. “Any press is good press.”
Scarlett hums quietly, still not convinced. We don’t have to agree on everything. I think Lawrence would prefer it if we didn’t. It would make the presentation part of the final phase a lot more interesting. Besides, we didn’t get this far without a few arguments along the way.
“I’m just thinking about that time your dad showed up late to his own ribbon-cutting ceremony for your store in New York and it was a whole scandal because he was so clearly hungover.”
I loosen the tie around my neck on instinct. “He had just started a new medication. He wasn’t hungover,” I say, the same rehearsed lines I gave journalists at the time.
“Or that’s just what you told the media,” she goads.
“Oh, is that what we’re doing? Because I know you know a thing or two about covering things up for the media.”
Scarlett jerks back. I have clearly hit a nerve. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I lower my voice to barely a whisper and say, “Your little rendezvous for your sweet sixteen.”
Her eyes flash with anger, her nostrils flaring. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Hm. I think I do. What were you thinking—”
She cuts me off with her fingers wrapped around my tie, pulling it tight enough that I almost choke.
She leaves me a little room so I can breathe, just enough to let out a surprised gasp.
She’s so close to me, her dark, fiery eyes staring into mine, daring me to push her even further.
I’m still pissed about her being late, and I know that my comment nearly crossed a line, but that’s the whole point.
This is what we do. We push each other. We toe that line until one of us backs down and waves the white flag.
She tugs on my tie, jolting my head forward until we’re an inch apart.
Scarlett’s voice shakes. “Shut your spoiled little rich boy mouth or I—”
“Or what? Are you going to slap me, angel?”
A firm hand hits me right across the cheek and I gasp. Scarlett must’ve surprised herself too because her mouth pops open and she loosens her grip slightly on my tie. My cheek burns from the force of her hand, tiny sparks fluttering across my entire face as I stare directly back into her eyes.
“I-I was joking,” I utter stupidly.
“I wasn’t.” She tugs me even closer somehow. I give in easily. Stupidly. I stare at her lips. Her nose. The faded freckles on her cheekbones. Her chest is heaving, her breathing coming out in short bursts, mimicking my own. “Now are you going to shut your mouth or do you need to be slapped again?”
I blink at her and her eyes narrow as if she’s testing me. “Fuck, I . . . Yeah, I’ll shut up.”
She smirks, finally letting go of my tie. “Good.”
I don’t risk saying anything else for the rest of the night. Is it wrong that part of me wants her to slap me again? I want her close to me like that again. Want her fingers wrapped around my tie as she insults me and threatens to slap me again.
I laugh to myself. Maybe I’m just sleep-deprived.
We put together a good list of event ideas, including collaborations and future plans for EcoElegance.
After hearing some whispers about what our other classmates are doing, we seem to be ahead on phase one.
Everyone else is focusing on preparing for the networking event next week, but I’m confident enough to wing it.
When we’re done with our notes, we pack up at the same time before making our way back to the parking lot. Our cars are the last ones in the lot, conveniently parked across from each other.
Scarlett hasn’t said much either, but I can’t bear the silence anymore, so before she gets to her driver’s side, I say, “You know what? I can’t believe you actually slapped me.”
She snorts, turning to face me. “I can’t believe you thought I’d just let your little comment pass. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
I grin. “We were nine the last time you slapped me because you were pissed that I took the last slice of pizza at an event.”
“Right. I can’t believe you remember that.
” She laughs, and something inside me jolts awake.
It’s rare that I’m the sole witness to Scarlett’s laughter and it feels like I’ve won some sort of prize.
Usually, she’s laughing with her friends or laughing at my expense.
This somehow feels different. Special. Like it’s just for me in the quietness of the night.
Her face slowly softens into something more serious, and she drops her gaze to the ground.
“Look, I genuinely didn’t mean to lose my cool, but just .
. . don’t talk about that, okay? The whole sweet-sixteen thing.
You can make fun of me being a brat all you want, but that . . . That isn’t on the table for me.”
I swallow, nodding. “Okay, understood.” Her eyes meet mine again, and I try to smooth out the tension slightly. “And as for me, you can do your worst, angel. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but your words will never hurt me.”
She twists her mouth to the side. “A slap might.”
I let out a short laugh, reaching for my cheek and rubbing it. “You weren’t kidding around. I’m going to have a mark there.”
Before I can laugh it off, Scarlett reaches for my hand, pushing it out the way so she can have a better look at my face. Gentle fingers quickly smooth over my cheek and I watch her watch me carefully. It doesn’t really hurt at all, but she’s touching me. And I’m letting her.
“No, you won’t. You’re all good,” she whispers, still checking.
I swallow again. “Yeah?”
“Mmhm.” Her hand drops from my face, and she traps her hands under each of her armpits, rocking back on her heels. I want her to keep looking at me. I want her to keep talking to me.
“Do you slap guys a lot?”
“Just ones that piss me off,” she says easily, and I nod. “Or the ones in the bedroom.”
I choke at how honest she’s being, my body feeling hot and red all over.
I need to get away from her. Need to be alone with my thoughts and remind myself how bad of an idea it is to be feeling all sorts of torn up over Scarlett Voss.
As if she can tell just how ridiculous I’m being, she laughs quietly before pulling out her car keys.
“I’ll see you in class, Branson.”
I think I mumble something in response, but I’m not too sure that anything comes out as I walk to my car and get myself the hell out of there.