Fake Empire(103)

I look up. “What?”

My father strokes his chin, looking at the fire, not me. “Hanson came back to me a year later, when you were sixteen and Oliver was almost an adult. Said he would honor the agreement, but only if it changed to you and Scarlett. He was adamant about it. Something—someone—changed his mind. The only reason I ever figured he changed the terms was…he told her.”

I’m the reason you’re first in line.

I thought she meant our marriage when she said that.

“Don’t assume she didn’t choose you, Crew.”

With those parting words, my father leaves me in his dark study with a head spinning from a lot more than just alcohol.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE





SCARLETT





I wake up alone. Crew’s side of the bed is empty and cold. If he came home last night, he didn’t sleep next to me. I tossed and turned most of the night, so I’m confident I would have heard him come in. The realization he didn’t creeps in slowly, with plenty of other doubts I try to push aside.

I shower, then dry my hair and apply a light layer of makeup. Enough to cover the dark circles below my eyes and, of course, some red lipstick.

Armor feels especially important today. I pull on a pair of black tights and a gray sweater dress. It’s off-the-shoulder and loose without being baggy, camouflaging my small bump. At this point, my pregnancy is somewhat of an open secret. I doubt anyone I work with has missed the fact that I stopped drinking coffee, walk around carrying a granola bar, and occasionally run to the bathroom at inopportune times. Despite how strained our relationship is, it feels strange to tell my employees I’m pregnant before my own father. He was sleeping when I visited him yesterday, which was honestly a relief. My father and I don’t have much to say to each other under the best of circumstances.

Before I head downstairs, I peek into the guest bedroom Crew slept in when he first moved in. It’s empty, the bed neatly made and unwrinkled.

I’m stunned by how harsh and hard the panic hits. I thought I’d be okay if things between me and Crew ever went south. There’s a saying: how you’ll never know how much you want something until it’s gone. That’s not how I feel. I already knew how much I want him. I didn’t know the pain of possibly losing him would feel this visceral, how I wouldn’t be prepared for falling apart.

So, I do what I always do. I shove the pesky emotions far down and go to work.





The office isn’t as busy as it would be on a normal Thursday, but it’s far from empty. Prep work for the February issue is in full swing, which has become my professional focus now that rouge has officially launched. Approving the groundwork—from the branding to the hiring—has given me some flexibility in how much time I spend juggling my two endeavors. So has the reality I’ll have to take a stretch of time off in a few months.

Leah approaches as soon as she sees me step out of the elevator. “Good morning!”

“Good morning.” My greeting is decidedly less cheery than Leah’s.

“I’m so sorry about your father.”

I sigh. “Thank you. He’ll be fine, we think.”

“Oh, good. How was your Christmas?”

“Could have been better,” I admit. “Yours?”

“It was nice. My parents are visiting.”

“You should go, then. I told you to take today off.”

“But you’re here.”

“I can manage. Just let me know…” I glance up to see Leah is no longer paying attention to me. She’s focused behind me, on something.

Someone.

I glance over one shoulder. Sure enough, Crew is stepping out of the elevator I left minutes ago, headed straight toward me.

Most of the time, Haute’s open layout is convenient. I can quickly assess who is at their desk. Different departments can collaborate.

Right now, it’s fucking inconvenient. More people than I realized were even in the office today are poking their heads out of cubicles and from behind partitions, straining to get a better look. When I’ve been the subject of office gossip before, it wasn’t firsthand.

Up until now.

This is primetime entertainment.

“What are you doing here?” I snap.

He looks good. He always looks good. Freshly showered and clean shaven, and wearing a pressed, crisp suit tailored to fit him perfectly.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Now?” The condescending challenge in my voice would be enough to make most people shrink. Crew is not one of those people.

“Now.” His tone is one I haven’t heard directed at me in a while. Stern. Cold.

“I’m busy.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here.”

Crew makes a show of looking around the office. “Maybe there’s a meeting I could crash while I’m here? Interrupt during?”

I glare. He glares back. I spin on my heeled boots and stalk in the direction of my office, not waiting to see if he’s following. But he is. I feel his presence as soon as he steps inside my office, filling the confined space.

While he shuts the door, I shrug out of my wool peacoat and toss it on a chair. “Talk.”