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“No,” he says.
Before I can think better of it, I push the bike forward, hard, and it bangs into his knee.
“Ow,” he says. He moves then, but it’s not to let me pass. Instead, he walks around the bike and rests a hand on my arm. “Please,” he says.
“Don’t touch me!” I shake his hand off, starting to tremble.
He holds both hands up. But then he says, “Scarlett, I’m so sorry that your parents died, especially so close together. I lost my mothersix years ago. I do understand some of what you must be feeling. And I’m sorry I arranged this meeting so soon. I actually asked to meet with the Elders. I didn’t expect one of Blake’s daughters to show or of course I would have waited.”
He’s not touching me now, but he is standing close to me. He’s so tall—he towers over me, with his broad shoulders and wide chest. I’m so tempted to push him aside and get out as quickly as I can. But his words, delivered in a gentle tone, mollify me, just a tiny bit. It makes sense. Most of those who live in the commune assume that the land belongs to it, but at the reading of the will it was revealed that my father never transferred ownership. As the eldest child, I’ve technically inherited the land, which is why the Elders asked me to come today. Orson probably wouldn’t have known that.
My chest heaves with resentment, but I make myself stand still. My father and Orson’s father have been bitter enemies for nearly thirty years. Dad made it very clear that the Cavendish family were our polar opposites, and they stood against everything that he and the other Elders have tried to build at the commune. The Cavendishes are rich, privileged, arrogant, and elitist. They believe everyone should earn their own wealth and use it as they see fit. You’re from a rich, smart family and have every opportunity open to you? Lucky you. Screw all the others who come from broken homes and have no money for an excellent education, and no connections they can call on to give them a leg up with employment. It ain’t what you know, it’s who you know, right?
They have all this wealth, and what have they done with it? They could have helped those who are less fortunate than themselves the way my father did all his life, and organized medical facilities and disability programs and educational support and computers for schools. But no. Instead, they opened the exclusive Midnight Resort and Night Club on the land next to our commune. The kind that only extremely rich people can afford to go to, with helicopter pads and heated pools and swanky restaurants.
I hate them and everything they stand for. But the Elders have sent me here and want me to report back, and as much as I detest every second I’ll have to spend in Orson’s company, I don’t have a choice.
“I’ll stay,” I tell him, my voice almost inaudible. “But I’m not promising anything.”
“Thank you.” He gently takes the bike from me and returns it to the wall. Then he gestures for me to precede him.
I walk past him, stiff and resentful, to where Jack is waiting. Jack gives me a smile and says, “This way,” and walks down the corridor into an office on the left.
I follow with a rising sense of dread, not looking back to see if Orson is behind me, but feeling as if I’m being followed by a big cat—a tiger, or a black panther. I can almost hear him padding behind me, swishing his tail menacingly, his teeth bared in a menacing smile.
His family is known for being ruthless in business. If I make it out of here in one piece, I’ll be incredibly surprised.
Chapter Two
Orson
I feel a little lightheaded.
I follow Scarlett along the corridor, my gaze sliding down the curves outlined beneath the short sundress. She’s tiny—to me anyway. I’m six two and big all over, and most women look small to me. She’s wearing flat sandals, so she’s maybe five foot two or three at most, but everything is in proportion, and she’s super cute.
The moment where she took the dress out of her bag and tugged it down over her tight cycling jumpsuit in the lobby was one of the most erotic things I’ve seen in a long time, and it made me hard immediately. The scene was totally incongruous with the professional business atmosphere of the firm, and it made me feel as if I was on the beach, watching her get dressed after a swim.
I couldn’t stop staring at her. The dress is above the knee, made of a flowing material, and cream with tiny red flowers all over it. Her sandals are made from leather straps with a white and red leather flower on top of her toes. Her hair is in a simple braid, and it doesn’t look as if she’s put on any makeup—no eyeliner, mascara, foundation, or even lip gloss. And I’m pretty sure she’s wearing a real fucking rosebud in her hair.
I honestly can’t remember the last time I saw a woman like this. Every day I’m surrounded by businesswomen. In the office they all wear suits, smart blouses, and skirts or wide-leg trousers; their hair has highlights and lowlights and is styled to perfection; their makeup is faultless, with not a freckle or a blemish in sight. The women staying at the Midnight Club walk around in designer swimming costumes or expensive day dresses, and in the evening, they wear sparkling, tight gowns that have clearly cost a fortune. But Scarlett takes the words fresh and relaxed to a whole new level.
“After you.” Jack gestures for Scarlett to precede him into his office. She walks in, and I follow her. Jack set up this law firm with a friend, and so his office is one of the largest in the building, with large windows that overlook a walled garden, an expensive-looking wooden desk in front of us with a black leather chair, and a dark-gray sofa and chairs on the far side.
“Please take a seat over there,” he says, gesturing to the sofa and chairs as he collects a few papers from his desk.
Scarlett and I walk across the room, and she lowers herself onto one of the corner seats of the three-seater sofa. I sit at the other end, and she glares at me, presumably for not taking one of the chairs. I know that although her father was Pakeha or white, her mother was Maori, and this is reflected in her light-brown skin, dark-brown hair, and brown eyes. Her icy glare should have turned the blood in my veins to ice, but those eyes are far too dark and passionate for that.
“Did you know that the word scarlet comes from the Arabic wordsiklat?” I ask.
She blinks. “No.”
“Siklatrefers to silks dyed red with insects called kermes. Red symbolizes wealth and power. And passion and love in cultures all around the world.”
Her cheeks gradually take on a reddish hue. Jesus, is she actually blushing? I didn’t think women did that in this day and age.
Half of me expects her to tell me to fuck off. Instead, though, she says, “Mahuika is a Maori goddess of fire. When I was young, I used to wear red all the time because I wanted to be like her. So everyone started calling me Scarlett, and it stuck.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Don’t you dare make a joke about me being a scarlet woman.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”