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She looked at me then, really looked at me, as if she was trying to decide if she could trust me to keep that promise.
I didn’t look away.
Finally, she nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
I exhaled, tension easing ever so slightly from my chest.
Neither of us moved.
The air between us stretched tight, charged with something unspoken.
My gaze dropped to her lips, and for a second, I wondered if she’d let me close the distance.
If she’d let me erase every doubt with a kiss.
But then she straightened, clearing her throat.
“I should lock up,” she said softly.
I nodded, stepping back. “I’ll be in touch first thing in the morning. If anything else happens, you call me.”
Scarlett hesitated. Then, to my surprise, she reached for my hand, squeezing it briefly.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
And then, before I could pull her in, before I could do something reckless like kiss her senseless, she stepped away.
I watched her disappear into the back of the restaurant, knowing this was far from over.
But one thing was clear—whoever was trying to tear her down had just made a mistake.
Because now?
They weren’t just fighting Scarlett.
They were fighting me too.
8
CHRISTIAN/ SCARLETT
CHRISTIAN
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office.
The Luxe article had been dealt with—at least on the surface.
My PR team had handled it with the precision of a well-oiled machine, pushing out a carefully crafted narrative that countered the damage.
Calls had been made, favors pulled. The article was losing traction, and Scarlett’s reputation wouldn’t suffer a lasting hit.
But that didn’t change the fact that it had rattled her.
She wasn’t the type to let people see when she was shaken, but I’d seen it. In the tightness of her jaw.
The way she avoided my eyes when I told her I’d take care of it.