Fake Empire(9)

Against my better judgment, I do. I stand and step away from the computer that has full access to everything. I’m not worried she’ll snoop in any secret files. For two reasons, the second more troubling than the first. One, I don’t think she will. That suggests some level of trust. Two, if she wanted to spy, I expect her to come up with a more creative method to gain access to my files. Admiration, maybe even respect, is inherent in that thought.

I watch as she settles in my chair and starts typing.

“Have you talked to your father yet?”

“I headed straight from that meeting to meet with my attorney. If you’re annoyed about signing for a second time, maybe you should have confirmed I approved the agreement first. Seeing as it’ll be my signature above yours, not my father’s.”

I say nothing to that. She’s probably right, although I had as little involvement in the drafting of the document as she did. “Did your father mention dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Wedding dates?”

“Yes.”

I give up on conversation and take a seat on the leather couch. The printer whirs to life.

Scarlett stands and strolls over to it. The pages are still warm when she flings them into my lap. “Here you go, honey.”

“Testing out pet names?”

She doesn’t respond, just takes a seat behind my desk, again. I’m stuck on the couch like a visitor.

I flip through the pages of numbers, trying not to act impressed. I know next to nothing about the fashion industry, but I do know what a significant profit margin looks like. I also know that Haute was close to declaring bankruptcy before Scarlett bought the magazine.

I’m impressed.

I’m never impressed.

“You shouldn’t have shown these to me.”

“I know.”

“I’d be an idiot to sign away shares.”

“I know that too.”

“But you think I will.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“Yes.”

We stare at each other for a few heady seconds. I’m tempted to call what I think is a bluff. To see her mostly green eyes flash and catch the ire she’ll fling my way. If she was another woman—not my fiancée—I would. Then again, I can’t picture anyone else pulling a stunt like this with me.

“I’m not signing until my legal team has looked at it,” I say.

“But you’ll sign it?”

There’s no mistaking the hope in her voice. This matters to her; it’s not just a power play or a test. My response will ripple past this conversation to the rest of our relationship.

I want her to like me.

The thought is bizarre. People worry about what I think of them—not the other way around. “If that’s the only thing you changed? Yes.”

Scarlett bites down on her bottom lip. I watch her white teeth sink into the red skin. As we stare at each other, I realize two things. One, for all her brash declarations, she didn’t think I would agree. Two, I want to kiss her. Badly. The same awareness that swirled around us in Proof appears in my office, thickening the air until it’s all I can breathe.

There’s a knock on the door.

“What?” I call out. Irritation at the interruption seeps out into my voice.

Isabel, one of the board executives, opens it and pokes her head in. “Crew, I—” She stops speaking as soon as she spots Scarlett. “Oh. I—I didn’t realize you were in the middle of something.”

“We’re not.” Scarlett stands and shoulders her handbag. I’m expecting the contrary emotions she elicits in me this time. The wish that she’d stay. She thinks she makes the decisions, and I find it both amusing and arousing. “See you later, sweetheart.”

I smirk before replying. “Thanks for stopping by, dearest.”

Scarlett rolls her eyes before striding toward the doorway where Isabel is still standing. Isabel doesn’t move, blocking the door half-way open.

I watch the scene unfold, immediately knowing which woman I would bet money on. It would make my life a hell of a lot easier if Scarlett had the spineless socialite personality I was expecting, but I can’t summon any disappointment I ended up saddled with a spitfire. She fascinates me, and I’ve never been able to say that about a woman before.

Isabel Sterling is a year older than I am. She worked her way up the ranks of my family’s company since starting a position here right out of college to become one of only two female members of the board. I’ve seen her stare down powerful men until they fold.

I don’t think Scarlett isn’t going to scurry through the small opening like a dirty secret, though. And she doesn’t disappoint. “Move,” she instructs. Her tone is haughty and her back is straight as a ruler.

Reluctantly, Isabel shuffles to the side. In a minute act of defiance, she doesn’t push open the door. Scarlett shoves it ajar herself and walks out of my office.

Isabel shuts the door behind her with a huff. “That’s Scarlett Ellsworth?”

“Yep.” I stand from the couch and grab the stack of papers Scarlett left behind. “What did you need, Isabel?”

“The Powers Corporation sent over new slides before their pitch. I thought you’d like to look at the numbers before the Andover meeting.”