House of Scarlett

by Meghan March

  He’s full of surprises in the absolute best way possible, and I am in serious danger. My heart can’t take many more gestures like this without me falling harder and faster.

  Even though he said he was going to show me, I wasn’t counting on it. Not this much, this soon. It hurt a hell of a lot to put myself out there and get rejected. But he used a bouillon cup.

  Deep breath. Don’t read into it. It’s fine.

  But I’m certain of one thing—Gabriel wanted this breakfast to look pretty for me, and it means a lot. More than he’ll ever know.

  “You pleading the fifth?”

  His question yanks my mind back to where it needs to be. The salt and pepper shakers.

  “I didn’t steal them.”

  “You bought them?” One of his eyebrows goes up, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Because I’m being interrogated about salt and pepper shakers, and I freaking love this.

  “No. Not exactly.”

  “Then you stole them.”

  “Flynn stole them to cheer me up after the night at the club.”

  His brows dart together this time. “Because of me.”

  I shrug. “I needed cheering up for a few reasons.” Reaching for Dolly, I then tap some pepper on the eggs. “Besides, if she hadn’t stolen them, I was seriously thinking about asking the waitress if I could buy them.”

  Gabriel crosses his arms over his chest. “And if she’d said no?”

  I bare my teeth, grimacing guiltily. “I might have encouraged Flynn to make sure they came home with us, but we’ll never know, will we?”

  That flirty lopsided grin comes back to his scruffy face.

  “It’s now my mission in life to find you every restaurant with cool salt and pepper shakers to test your willpower and haggling skills.”

  Oh my God! Inside, I’m squealing, because he’s talking about a future together. And one in which we go places so I can lust over salt and pepper shakers.

  “I’d be okay with that.” Be cool, Scarlett. This isn’t junior high. Don’t scare him away the first time he shows you this side of himself. “But I have high standards when it comes to shakers. Only the coolest and most unique make the cut.”

  Gabriel tilts his head to the side in the sexiest way imaginable. “I saw the lovebirds you have in there. I can do better than that. Just wait.”

  I fork up a bite of the eggs and pop it into my mouth. “Delicious too. I guess that means it’s game on, Gabriel.”

  “While you eat, you’re going to tell me how this started. Because I recognize an obsession when I see one.” He shifts on the side of my bed, one leg propped beside me atop my plush duvet.

  I take another bite of eggs and pause. “How did you make them so fluffy? Mine always turn out flat and either chewy or too runny.”

  “I’ll teach you when you feel better. Now spill.”

  He leans over on his elbow and watches me eat while he waits for his answer. I’m enjoying how comfortable he appears and how well he fits here.

  “I gave them to my mom as a kid, because my allowance would only stretch so far for the holidays, and she always made a big deal about them. It became an annual thing, and sometimes even more often. The lovebirds were for Mother’s Day. The giraffes were from the first trip I ever took to Africa. She loved them, or at least she said she did.”

  Gabriel’s hand wanders to the top of my feet next to him, and he gives them a squeeze. “She wasn’t pretending, ladybug. She loved them. It’d be impossible not to.”

  The yogurt is calling to me, and I reach for the spoon to dig into it. “I like to think she did too. And when she passed away, they all came back to me, along with this building. About a year later, Curated was born. Every time I find cool salt and pepper shakers, I snag them for myself. I can’t help it. And you’re right—it’s becoming an obsession.”

  “It’s a good one. You can have that come right after your obsession with me.”

  I gape at him, but because I’m hoping he’ll tell me something about himself if I’m honest with him, I confess without hesitation.

  “I only watched a few videos. And stalked your social media. A little. You’ve barely made it into obsession territory.” My teasing sounds weaker the more words I speak, so I trail off to find Gabriel’s expression shifting into something I’ve never seen before.

  Joy.

  It’s followed by booming laughter that fills my room.

  The yogurt on my spoon hangs suspended in midair while I soak him in. God, that’s a good look for him. His head thrown back, his hair swaying, the tendons of his throat flexing.

  Perfection.

  When Gabriel finally stops, he smiles at me, and I know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to see him laugh like that again. Every. Single. Day.

  “You should do that more,” I whisper before eating the bite of yogurt.

  He looks at me with a bemused brow cocked skyward and his jaw slack. “Do what more?”

  “Laugh. It suits you. You look good happy.”

  He glances down at the cowboy salt shaker. “Seems like Dolly should’ve been the salty one.”

  “Nah, women like her are too happy to be salty. But they can be spicy.”

  “And what kind of woman are you, Scarlett Priest?”

  The kind that’s falling in love with you, I think.

  Instead, I say with a smile, “The ordinary kind.”

  Gabriel shakes his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. There’s nothing ordinary about you. You are extraordinary in every single way. Now, eat your breakfast before it gets cold, or the cook might think you don’t like it.”

  Twenty-Nine

  Scarlett

  Every time I wake up, it’s with this feeling that every moment that has come before is part of a dream. To be more specific, every moment that involves Gabriel Legend feels like it was all a dream.

  When I open my eyes, I glance around my room, looking for signs that the conversation we had about salt and pepper shakers wasn’t a figment of my imagination. But there’s no sign of the breakfast tray. Just a glass of water on my bedside table . . . and the menu.

  He was here. It was real.

  As I stretch and yawn, I ignore the twinges from my incisions and focus on the warm feeling building in my chest. Gabriel Legend is good for my recovery.

  Sure, we’re from two completely different worlds, but we can work. Right? Because if we can’t, I need a sign now because I’m already headed into too-far-gone territory.

  I wait a few seconds, but there’s no sign from the universe. Okay, then. Good talk. I’ll take that to mean we’re all set. Smooth sailing from here on out.

  It may sound naive, but in my experience, optimism has never been a terrible thing.

  Carefully, I get out of bed, stop in the bathroom to take care of business, and then peek out into the living room and kitchen. The warm feeling grows as soon as I see his blond head bent over his laptop at my kitchen table.

  “I didn’t hear any swearing this time, so I’m taking that as a positive sign.”

  Gabriel whips his head to the side to look up at me and then pops out of the chair. “Shit. I was going to help you out of bed when you got up. I got sucked into trying to figure out this damn thing again.”

  “I appreciate the thought, but I can get up on my own.”

  I carefully tighten the belt on my robe, which is apparently my new favorite piece of clothing, and walk toward the table to pull out a chair. When I’m seated beside him, I hold out my hands and waggle my fingers at him.

  “Let me try. I’m pretty good with computers.”

  His blue gaze cuts from me to the laptop and then back to me again. “You don’t need to be working. You need to be resting.”

  “Trust me, this isn’t work. I’m helping my . . . friend.” I stumble over the last word, and the tension that seems ever present in Gabriel’s face fades.

  I wanted to say boyfriend, I tell him silently, but his expression is unreadable. I didn’t mean t
o friend-zone him after everything, but I chickened out.

  He swallows and clears his throat. “I’m not used to having many friends who are willing to help me with no strings attached. Thank you, though.”

  He pushes the laptop across the table so it sits open in front of me while my heart cracks.

  How could this man not have friends who are willing to do him a solid without expecting something in return?

  I don’t know him as well as I will, but even after the last few weeks, I get the sense that he’s a fiercely loyal man. Once someone is in his circle, I’d be willing to bet that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for them. Maybe that’s why he keeps his circle small—because he’s ferociously devoted to them. Once someone is in, they have the power to hurt him. It makes sense now that I put the pieces together.

  I stare blankly at the laptop as I complete a small corner of the puzzle that is Gabriel Legend. The fact that he has to be so guarded sends a slice of pain through me.

  But aren’t you the same way? It’s that pesky voice in my head, and she’s right.

  I am guarded with people who I think are trying to get close only because they want something from me. I keep my tribe at minimum capacity because my mother taught me from a young age that I have things others want and are willing to behave unfairly to get . . . and I’ve been burned more than once before.

  It’s a harsh lesson, but one that seems he and I shared in learning.

  “Scarlett?”

  Gabriel’s voice brings me back to the present and out of my head.

  “Sorry, I was off on a tangent.” I lift my eyes to his. “I get lost in my head sometimes. Not daydreaming, just . . . thinking.”

  Instead of nodding and moving on, he does something that surprises me. He pulls his wallet out of his pocket and peels off a stack of twenties and sets it in the middle of the table.

  “What is that for?”

  “I don’t have a penny, which is fine, because your thoughts are worth a hell of a lot more.”

  After blinking at the stack, I look back at him and stare in wonder. “You want to know what I’m thinking about?”

  That new ease in his features, the one that lets the corners of his mouth rise into an almost-smile, slays me. “Of course. You’re the most fascinating woman I’ve ever met.”

  It’s a miracle I don’t liquify right there on the chair. Instead, heat starts at my chest, and I can almost pinpoint my spreading blush. With a smile stretching my mouth, I press my lips together.

  Finally, I say, “No one’s ever asked me about my tangents, not since my mom.”

  “Their loss. You gonna tell me what made you look like you wanted to punch someone and then get so sad?”

  Gathering my courage, I nod. “I was thinking that it sucks that you don’t have many people who will do you favors without strings attached. Then I realized I keep my inner circle small too, because my mom taught me young that people would try to take advantage of me, and I couldn’t trust everyone.”

  “Some things shouldn’t be the way they are, but that’s life. Anything else?”

  “I was thinking that I’d be willing to bet money that you’re extremely loyal, and that’s why you’re guarded when it comes to getting close to new people. That kind of loyalty isn’t something you can spread all over town.”

  He leans back in the chair and rocks his square jaw before replying. “Small circle means less exposure. It’s about risk and survival.”

  “I hate that you have to worry about survival.” The thought comes out so quickly, that I don’t have a chance to reflect on how entitled and privileged it sounds until after it hangs between us.

  “Not everyone grows up in an ivory tower, ladybug, but that’s life. That’s the way it has to be. If it were fair, it’d be the most boring fucking experience ever.”

  I couldn’t agree more with him. “I’ve never heard someone put it that way.”

  “Probably because I’m not a philosopher, and it’s been a day or so since I’ve slept.”

  I can practically feel my eyes bug out at his statement, and guilt rushes in. “You stayed up all night for me. You should go home. Go to bed. Sleep.”

  He sits up and leans his elbows on the table. “I’m used to it. Besides, I’d rather be here making sure you’ve got what you need, than at home trying to sleep while Bump plays video games way too loud on the other side of the wall.”

  “Where do you and Bump live? I just realized I never asked. I’m such an asshole.” I drop my head into my palm and face him.

  Gabriel reaches out and uses his fingers to lift my chin. “You’re not an asshole. Trust me. We haven’t exactly done any of this the normal way. Besides, we live in Jersey. Not much to talk about.” He points one long finger at the screen in front of us. “You really think you can get this laptop to work? Because I’ve downloaded this spreadsheet a dozen times, and it keeps trying to open some weird program I don’t know anything about.”

  Taking the hint that he doesn’t like talking about himself much, yet thankful for the glimpse into his life, I turn my attention to the laptop and crack my knuckles for effect. I’ve never used my computer skills to impress anyone, but I’m ready to rock it now.

  “Of course I can. Give me a few minutes.”

  Thirty

  Legend

  I shouldn’t be so fascinated with watching Scarlett work, but I can’t help it. Her fingers move so gracefully over the keyboard rather than the hunt-and-peck style of typing I’ve adopted. Hell, I’m just proud of myself for being computer literate at all.

  It’s not like I went to a school that had resources. None of my foster homes had computers either, so I didn’t have much of a chance. It wasn’t until I got it in my head that I was going to open a club that I realized I’d have to learn or I’d never reach my goals.

  So I had Q hire me a tutor—his youngest sister. That’s how Zoe ended up working for me. The youngest female Quinterro is a math geek and a computer nerd, which is in total contrast to his other sisters, who both snagged their husbands the old-fashioned way—beauty, food, and sex.

  Zoe has always been completely uninterested in men, as far as I can tell. But, then again, she doesn’t seem interested in women either. Hell if I know where her preferences lie, and I don’t really care.

  The only woman whose sexuality actually matters to me is the blonde I’m with.

  When Scarlett turns the laptop around, I see the damn spreadsheet that’s been locked down like Fort Knox is open.

  “How the hell did you do that?”

  “You needed a license for Microsoft Word if you didn’t want to use Apple’s programs, so I set you up with a thirty-day free trial. You’ll have to pay for it when it expires if you still want to use Excel. It’s kind of a racket, but there’s really no other option, if that’s what you’re familiar using,” she states so matter-of-factly. As if it’s totally common knowledge.

  “Thank you. I appreciate it,” I tell her as my attention gets sucked in by the numbers.

  They’re better than they were, but they’re not where they need to be, according to any of the projections Q and I have put together. We made this month’s payments to all the investors, barely, but operating costs are going to eat up the rest of the cushion we thought we were going to have.

  We submit monthly financial statements to the investors, and I know they’re not going to be happy when they see the latest one. But more customers means more staff than the skeleton crew we were running on after the shooting and before Scarlett.

  “Is everything okay at the club? Do you need me to come back and help bring more people in?” Scarlett asks.

  I have two choices—lie to her or tell her the truth. Well, I guess there are really three choices. I could also sugarcoat the truth and make it sound like we’re in safer territory than we really are. None of those choices are perfect, but I know saying don’t worry about it is the absolute wrong way to go.

  Pushing off the table, I rise and
head for the fridge to grab her a bottle of water and one for myself. I hand hers off and crack the top on mine.

  “We’re heading in the right direction, but not fast enough. The lull after the shooting meant that all the cash we’d set aside for a rainy day is gone. We don’t have a cushion right now, and it makes Q nervous as fuck.”

  Holding her palm against her stomach, she slowly eases herself against the chair back. “What are we going to do about it?”

  I huff at the word we. Scarlett is a fixer. Like me. She would have to be to do what she did for me and the club. I still don’t know why she didn’t call the cops after Bump grabbed her, but it must have been her fixer nature that had her charging to the rescue like the cavalry back in the olden days.

  “I’m not sure yet. I have a few options, but none of them are great.”

  Concern etches lines into her brow that I don’t want to see there. “Like what?”

  I’m even more tempted to shut the subject down, but I don’t. If there’s a chance in hell that I get to have Scarlett Priest in my life, I can’t keep her locked outside. She has to know what she’s getting into with me.

  Well, to a point. She doesn’t need to know everything. Especially not about the mess I left in Mississippi. Not yet.

  “Go back to fighting. I can make quick cash, and that’s what we need. Just enough to tide us over. A few fights. One big one, maybe.”

  Scarlett’s lips press together, and I wait for her reaction. It’s not a test, but it sure as fuck will tell me a hell of a lot about whether I’m crazy for thinking we can make this work.

  “You’re going to fight Bodhi, aren’t you?”

  I’d almost forgotten she knew about the bad blood between me and Black. And that the motherfucker is still her self-defense instructor.

  “I don’t know, but if the number’s right, it might be the best chance I have to dig out of this hole.” As soon as I say the words, something else hits me.