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Chapter Three

Scarlett

A noise rouses me from a dream I’m all too familiar with. One where he chooses me. Where he finally owns my body the way he’s owned my heart all these years. I usually only have this dream at home, in the safety of my own bed. A cloud of secrets, a space no man has entered before—I’m saving that honor for him and him alone. Lord knows he wouldn’t be the first to lay me down, but he would be the first to take me there. In my own private refuge. Every time, I wake up breathless and wet, rolling over to find the bed empty, breaking my heart a little more with each sleepy mirage.

Pulling myself up off the black leather chase in my office, I strain to hear something that’s not there. Piers. I shake the fog from my power nap and remind myself he just returned from States and I’m here. Alone. Again.

Checking my watch, I see it’s getting late. Might as well wrap this up and get some rest. I want to look my best when I see him. After he’s seen her. It might be petty, but I never claimed to be a saint. Far from it, actually. Long blonde hair tickles my shoulders as I roll my neck in an attempt to ease the tension. Standing, I adjust my black dress and stretch before sliding my feet into tall black stilettos.

A surge of pride hits me, knowing I paid for these…for the tailored dress, my leather satchel, and this jewel encrusted timepiece adorning my slender wrist like a handcuff reminding me of the price.

It was worth every grueling hour, every sleepless night. From a gangly orphan to one of the best closers in the business. My mother thought I’d only ever be good for one thing. How wrong she was. It took a lot of years to learn I had other assets. I have Piers and Teddy to thank for that.

My mind drifts to a dark place, to some of the things I’ve done to close a deal before Piers showed me a better way. But he doesn’t know that, sometimes, old habits die hard. Guess mother dear wasn’t entirely wrong. But it got me here, and I can’t regret that. Enough memory lane for one night. Grabbing the files I need to go through, I realize Piers has one of the documents. Hopefully I can find it on his desk.

My designer heels echo on the slate floors as I quickly make my way to Piers’ office. With a renewed sense of energy, I let myself into his office and take a deep breath as I cross the threshold. It smells like him.

“What are you doing here so late?” His loud voice booms in the stillness.

“Christ! Piers!” I nearly jump out of my skin. Files scatter everywhere. “You scared the bloody hell out of me!”

“Sorry, Scarlett.” He stands to help me. “Why are you still here?”

He’s back. I breathe a sigh of relief.

I struggle to find my voice as we collect the mess of paper and files. “I got your message about being back. I didn’t expect you ’til tomorrow, but I had some things I was trying to catch up on before I take off for the weekend.”

“Oh, that’s right. The Anderson retreat. I completely forgot. You sure you’ll be okay on your own?” he questions, standing and handing the files over. He forgot.FORGOT!

“I think I can handle myself, Piers. I’ve been doing it long enough,” I remind him, struggling to keep the venom out of my tone. Annoyed that not only he forgot, but that he’s suddenly questioning my ability. Taking a seat on the corner of desk, I cross my arms, waiting.

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” he offers, leaning against the desk. “I just know how stubborn old man Anderson can be. His son is pushing for a seat, and with the timing of the retreat so close to the vote, and then the gala coming up…then there’s James. I’d feel a lot better if you would at least take one of the interns.” He runs a hand through his hair—a tell that he’s frustrated. “Maybe we can back out of the retreat? The deal is basically done.” What the bloody hell? My face grows hot.

“Are you serious right now? Listen to yourself! Back out? That’s bloody stupid!” My voice raises an octave. “I busted my arse on that damn account, and it may not be important enough for you to show up, but I’m sure as hell not going to bugger it up!

“What’s up with you? Since when did the Piers Nichols back down from anything? You’re the one who taught me about seventy-hour work weeks,” I continue, hitting my mark as he flinches.

“Watch it.” His tone carries a warning. I hear you, Piers. Loud. And. Clear.

“I’m serious. You’re distracted and look like shit, so what gives?” I push anyways.

“Not now,” he dismisses me. Now, it’s more than the retreat; this is personal.

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes, not caring how childish it is. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be going.” I stand to leave.

“It’s just that—” He begins pacing before sitting behind his desk. His behavior is so out of character for him, it has me concerned.

“I don’t doubt you can handle it,” he stalls. I can tell he wants to say more, but he won’t.

“Like I said, I’ll be fine,” I remind. “Speaking of the gala, our masks came in while you were away.”

“Hmmm? Oh, the masks. That’s great. Anything else I should know about the gala?”

I begin filling him in on the seating chart and some other trivial issues, none of which he hears as he looks past me and off into space. “Hello. Piers? Did you hear anything I just said?”

He turns his attention on me and stares. I begin to heat under his gaze, my anger for him fading as his eyes study me, like he’s seeing me for the first time. Heat pools between my legs, and I shift, pressing my thighs tighter together. Until I see he now looks amused. It’s like throwing ice water on a slow burning fire.

“What’s that look for?” I demand, more upset with myself than him. My earlier dream about him, about us, still lingers in the corners of my mind…playing tricks on me. Could he see it? The desire in my eyes?