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Chapter Thirteen

Scarlett

The first week after the Anderson event passed in a blur. The first few days, I was so shook from what happened, I barely registered that Piers was not showing up to the office. As the week came to a close, my concern switched to confusion. Why is he avoiding me?

Two Weeks. Still no Piers. No reply that the Anderson deal is done. I know this must have something to do with Willow. Please let him call.

Another week passes in an endless blur, days filled with going to work, coming home, eating, having a drink…and then crawling into bed, bone tired from doing absolutely nothing while my mind worked overtime. All the while, Piers is away, working from the Everlend estate and communicating with the office only by email.

Nearly three weeks now since I’ve heard from or seen Piers. The emotional whiplash I’m putting myself through has me feeling a new emotion: anger. This is really quite ridiculous!

By lunchtime on Wednesday, I’ve already completed all the work I possibly can. I’ve been carrying the slack while Piers is away playing house with his precious Willow. He hasn’t made it in all this week, nor the last two. I’ve been here, finalizing all the gala details, making calls, running the office and having lunch with Mr. Anderson to sign some additional documents that still require Piers’ signature. Thankfully, Alan was otherwise occupied that particular day. I don’t know that I could have held my shrimp salad and bruschetta down if I had to sit across from that wanker. A chill runs down my spine in memory of his hands on me.

Piers still doesn’t know about what happened. He never will. I don’t want it to be the reason he comes running. In the past, it would have worked. I might have even planned it that way, but I’m trying not to be that person—the one who lived in the shadows, the fuzzy grey area, making up the rules as I went, bending what little light I had and using it to forge little white lies.

Turning in my chair, I lean back and study a black and white painting on my wall. No grey, only the sharp contrast of black strokes, the ebony paint shadowing angles and lines on a snowy white canvas, carving out a woman’s profile. I strive to live in these shades now, even if I still color outside the lines.

I stare at the picture, as if seeing it for the first time, realizing what it portrays behind the visual. Letting out all the air out of my lungs, I slink down deeper into my seat. It’s nearly impossible to focus with the midweek buzz just beyond my door, though I know it’s really because he still hasn’t been to the office. I am used to being alone, but this alone is a new level, even for me.

It’s really quite frustrating, being forgotten, left behind. It’s like I’m eight years old all over again, begging for attention.

I can’t help but wonder why Piers is pushing me away. I get that he doesn’t want me and Willow to be besties, let alone in the same room, I just don’t understand why he’s letting it effect his work. The thought of going home to an empty flat again is depressing. It’s as if this fog is finally lifting and I realize how pathetic I’ve been, sulking about these last weeks.

Deciding to do something about it, I ring Teddy to see if he would like to meet for drinks and dinner this evening.

“Hello?” he answers after several rings.

“Hello, Professor Stone. What’s the meaning of life?” I tease my old friend.

“Scarlett, how are you?” he seems distracted. I’m certain I’ve caught him at work in the middle of something. I can just imagine him sitting at his massive antique desk, taking his glasses off and rubbing the bridge of his nose, the way he does when he’s nervous or stressed.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

“Your voice says otherwise, love.”

“You always were the smart one. But, really, I was calling to see if you want to grab a bite to eat tonight?”

“Oh, I wish I could, but I’m finalizing some things for a special seminar I’ll be teaching later in the summer,” he explains.

“You work too hard,” I scold him. “You can’t even break for a pint?” I worry about him.

“Says the woman who invented eighty-hour work weeks,” Teddy retorts. “Tell me, how have you been? How was the Anderson retreat? I’m sorry I haven’t rang. I’ve been a bit lost…in some research.”

I was hoping he was going to say he went on holiday or met someone who was keeping him away. But Professor Theodore Stone didn’t get his distinguished credentials at such a young age by faffing about. I do worry about how much time he spends with his books, but they’ve always been his escape. We all had our thing growing up, and the written word was Teddy’s version of a secret garden.

“It was a bit eventful, but the deal is done,” I tell him.

“What did you do?” His voice is laced with concern.

“Why do you always assume I’ve done something?” I mock scoff at him.

“Scarlett,” he warns, and I don’t want to waste anymore of his time, so I tell him the truth.

“It was fine. The deal was done and everything was just as we planned, but then Anderson’s son came on to me, and I tried to avoid his advances, but he got a little rough and another one of the male guests came to my rescue. All is well now.” I try not to remember it all as I recant what happened.

“What do you mean roughed you up!” he exclaims. “Does Piers know?”

“Teddy, really I’m fine.” And I am.Now.