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Chapter Twenty-Three

Scarlett

I’m half way to the pub when I realize that I’ve forgotten my diary. It has all my contacts, my schedule and pretty much everything I need to survive, so it’s rarely more than an arm’s length away.

As modern as I am, I still prefer to keep a hard copy. Much the same way I prefer the weight of a proper book in my hand, to smell the ink, feel the worn edges on my fingertips when turning pages. Grabbing my mobile from my bag, I see that it’s already half past eight and Cohen will be waiting at our spot, the Ship’s Wheel.

My heels click on the pavement as I walk back to my building. It’s hard to believe it’s only been a few weeks since running into him there. After Cohen came back from Edinburg, we had an incredible weekend, probably the best weekend of my life. Second only to the day I moved to the Everlend estate as a child. Back then, I was so sure I was living a dream, that it was a fairytale that would vanish if I closed my eyes for too long. Oddly enough, I feel the same way about Cohen.

I want to cling to him, but I’m afraid if I squeeze to tightly, what we have will crumble and slip though my fingers, like sand when building a castle. I try to hold back, to make sure it’s what he wants too. I see the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not looking, and I know all about stolen glances. I can’t keep my eyes off of him, when he’s in the same room. He’s everything I never knew I was missing.

He’s been back and forth a lot, so after the weekend we shared at the Kensington, he moved his bags to my flat. He’s been staying at my place when he’s here and I know things are moving fast, but it’s just more convenient than him keeping a room in the city, when he’s spending all his time with me anyway. I’ll be glad when he’s not back and forth so much, but it seems his mum has a long road to recovery. We never really speak about the after, what happens when he doesn’t have to go back, I can’t help but feel like there is something else keeping him in London, but I brush it off as insecurities.

We’ve spoken the phone almost every single day, but I haven’t seen his azure blue eyes or smelled his freshwater scent in over a week, except for his worn grey tee shirt he left behind. I’ve been sleeping in it to feel like he’s with me, and to keep the nightmares at bay. I want him, I need him, and I’m finally realizing that it's okay to lean on other people.

Even though I miss him when he is away, it’s been refreshing, getting to know each other over the distance, it has allowed us both our space. Space that Cohen insists is driving him mad. I feel the same. But I don’t tell him… yet. I learned a long time ago not to show all your cards right away, so I hold back, just a little.

The lobby is empty when I enter the building that’s been my second home the past few years and walk to the lift. Where is the guard? I make a mental not to ask Piers about that. Things are still tense, but he’s been back to work, we just avoid each other as much as possible. Willow even spoke to me the other day, so I’d call that progress.

Shooting Cohen a quick text, I let him know that I’m running a few minutes late.

When I step off the lift, I notice a sliver of light spilling from beneath my office door. That's odd. I'm sure I turned it off when I left this afternoon for my meeting. Gripping my mobile, I inch my way to the door.

I automatically sense something is off. I have that tingling feeling, not the electric surge I get whenever Cohen is near, but that niggling, in the pit of your stomach feeling that lets you know that something bad is about to happen. Texting him once more, I let him know that I'm at the office and ask if he can meet me here.

Something is rustling around and I know I should turn and run. If not for the feeling in my chest that something is awry, I would just assume it could be the cleaning people or another employee. But the only person that has a key to my office, besides me, is Piers.

He wouldn’t be in there with the door closed. But maybe… Willow? No, no. That’s water under the bridge.

Ignoring the voice telling me to turn around, I march myself forward and fling my door open, ready to confront whoever is trespassing in my office.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” I demand, trying to insert as much steel into my voice as I can muster.

Stepping through the door I see that my office is empty, but papers are strewn about everywhere. Walking further into the office, I kneel behind my desk and began picking up the mess.

My little black diary lays open, with red X’s marked through all the dates as I flip through the pages, as fear snakes its way up my spine. What the f-

“Well, well, well… she does work night’s folks. It just cost extra.” My skin crawls as his creepy voice carries across the room, from the door.

My head jerks upward and in an instant I’m standing, ready to flee when my fears are confirmed. Alan Anderson.

“Don’t stand on my account. I think we can have plenty of fun with you on your knees like the filthy, lying whore that you are.” He walks slowly towards me. “I think we have a little bit unfinished business, don’t you Scarlett?”

The way my name rolls off his tongue makes my stomach recoil.

“I think we’re completely finished, you need to go.” My knees lock to keep my legs from shaking. Don’t show fear, vermin like him feed on it.

“No, were not finished, not even close.” He raises his voice. “You nearly cost me my inheritance you little bitch!” His hand strikes out, grabbing the back of my neck and his fingers tangle in my hair, pulling it painfully away from the scalp. “If it wasn't for my mum threatening to leave my dad, they never would've bailed me out.”

“I wondered how you got out. Figures. A weak, pathetic little wanker like you had to have mummy dearest come do your bidding.” I laugh at him, and my scalp screams out in pain as he pulls harder. I’m not going down without a fight.

“That's the funny thing about money. It talks, and now thanks to my Mum's generous contribution, it’s saying, I'll be walking away a free man.” The alcohol on his sour breath hits me in the face as he explains, shifting us so that he is now standing directly in front of me and my desk is biting into my arse.

“I don't believe you!” I hiss out, trying to wiggle free from him as he holds my head in place, using my long blonde hair as a rein. His other hand drags tortuously slow down the front of my dress, until he reaches the hem and tugs it up.

“I just can’t decide if I want to bend you over this desk, or maybe we could go to the big boss’ office? How many times has Piers had you there? Hmm? How many deals have you closed with this sleek wood kissing your bare skin?” He asks as he tries to turn and push me forward.

A loud ring echoes in the office as my mobile rings and Alan freezes. Cohen!