Page 5 of Motion to Dismiss

At least, for now.

“You mind if I turn on some music?” The driver’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “Unless you want to discuss me taking you out to dinner tonight.”

“Music would be fine…”

He laughs and turns on some soft rock.

As he pulls closer to the city, I brace myself for being so close to Jameson’s world, so I make a mental note to shut my eyes whenever we pass his firm.

I pass the test with flying colors, but fail a pop quiz when we near Times Square.

Straight ahead, the words “Tate & Associates” blare on a jumbo screen in bright white, right under the words, “Guilty of Being the #1 Defense Firm in the State.”

So, now he’s advertising…

Groaning, I pull out my cell phone and see several unanswered messages.

Mom

Hey…I need to talk to you. Can you call me back?

Please, Scarlett.

Jeneva

I left your tickets at the will-call window. (Be honest with me after the show. I can take it, promise :-) )

555-9768

What’s your new boyfriend’s name?

Does he know he’s touching what’s mine?

I delete the last two messages and place my mother on mute—again. If I ever have to do a coin toss between dealing with her or Jameson, she would win. Unfortunately.

“I think this is as close as I can get, Miss.” The driver’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “They’ve got the street blocked off for the theater losers again.”

“The who?” I look up.

“The theater losers.” He smiles. “Can you believe there are people in this life who get paid to prance around and play make believe on a stage all day?”

I blink.

“I’m not sure what’s worse,” he says. “The people who are performing or the people who pay to watch them.”

“Well, if you knew anything about...” I bite my lip instead of finishing my sentence. Getting into it with him isn’t worth it. “Thank you for the ride, sir.”

“If you change your mind about hanging out, I sent you my number in the app.” He winks at me as I step out.

Shutting the door, I sling my bag over my shoulder and rush down the block.

When I make it to Gershwin Theatre, I push my way through the swarming crowd and hold up my VIP pass to the security guard.

“Come through here, Miss.” He waves me through, and I make a beeline for the will-call window.

“Name?” The attendant asks.

“Scarlett Winters,” I say, still getting used to dropping my father’s name from everything I do.