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Apart from that simple fact that if I’m going to do this, I don’t have time to find someone else.
We head to Brooklyn.
I feel like a bullying ass, invading her life, pushing her to do this. Because, no matter how I set it up for her to think it was her choice, I pushed.
Thing is, I wouldn’t care about her home if I still believed she lived back on Park. Maybe for the first time it’s something I’m interested in, but that’s not why.
I just need to know before I take the final step that I can trust her. If I put this out there, then there’s no going back. And it’s no longer the same as not taking up this challenge for the jewels if I fail. Because now, if I fail…
I’m not going to fail.
We don’t talk as we cross the bridge and head into Bushwick. The edges of Bushwick? I didn’t pay attention to what she told my driver, as I needed to send something out. It’s getting late and I’ve got plans.
We arrive in an area that isn’t money but close to the Halsey St L stop. This is the kind of area Magnus loves taking and turning on its head. That’s not my area and I don’t generally do much of Brooklyn outside certain parts such as Dumbo and even Park Slope.
The building is pre-war, the paint peeling and the trees old, along with some of the litter. But I noticed bars and restaurants in with the bodegas and old school supermarkets and dollar stores that tell me this place will be completely turned around in another five to ten years.
I give her a curious look as we pull up and disembark. Even for a rich girl with no money, this isn’t a normal choice. I should ask Bixby about it, but then again, if she’s out here, maybe she hasn’t told anyone.
Who am I kidding? Of course she hasn’t.
“This way,” Scarlett says.
I’m imagining a place crammed full of expensive pieces that don’t fit, and a closet that won’t quit, but it’s not that. When we climb the flight of stairs and she opens three locks with the kind of practiced ease that says to me she’s lived here a while, we’re in a lovely little apartment.
Emphasis on the little.
But it’s cheery and looks good. Like she got someone in to make it hers.
“Oh!” A tall woman with the kind of curves Ryder would lose his mind over says as she steps out of the kitchen, a bottle of tequila in one hand. “Scarlett, I didn’t expect a guest…”
Scarlett looks like she wants the floor to open and to swallow her whole. “This is my boss—”
“A little more than that,” I find myself saying because suddenly I need to start the ball rolling and this seems as good a place as any to test it out.
The woman looks like she’s going to say something, but she suddenly smiles and holds out her tequila-free hand. “Amber. Scarlett’s roommate, and aren’t you a dream?” She winks and hell yes, would Ryder be all over her. “I’m having a drink if you both want one, and then I’m out. Got a hot date.”
“No thanks,” Scarlett says, pushing me down the short hall from the living room, “we’re not thirsty.”
She pushes again and I’m so shocked I let her and then a door slams and I’m in a dark place that smells like Scarlett. Flowers bright and earthy and green and with a hint of sensual promises hidden. “You know what she’s thinking.”
Scarlett makes a sound that tells me she doesn’t appreciate my dry humor. “You started it. You know, with the little bit more thing.”
I move in close to her. Her presence surrounds me and then I have my arms around her, drawing her in and she’s soft and perfect feeling. “Upping the ante. So, this is your place?”
“For now.”
Her words are brittle and I swallow a laugh. Not at her place or what she feels is her predicament, but because she’s all prickly when she doesn’t need to be.
“So,” I say, brushing my mouth against her ear, “does this place in here come with a light, or are you into bat living?”
“Do not mock me.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
I slide my arm a little tighter around her. “Not on purpose, Scarlett. I’m sorry I got you to do this.”
