He shrugs, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “We can still hate each other. We’re just two people who know where the line is. Remember, I need you in one piece so we can finish this project.”
“Right.” For a second I thought he was going to acknowledge the weird energy that hangs in the air between us. After this mess of a day, I don’t know where we stand on the frenemy scale.
“You’re not going to throw up or anything, are you?” he asks, nodding to my door.
“Why? So, you can hold my hair back and whisper sweet nothings into my ear?” I tease. His face remains stoic, a look of complete defiance.
“Scarlett,” he presses.
“I can handle myself, Branson. I didn’t need you to walk me up here. I didn’t need you to take me home,” I say defensively. Then, for extra emphasis, I add, “I’m fine.”
“Yeah, but I did.”
“Yeah, but why?”
He scratches the back of his neck, finding the ground more interesting than my face as he mumbles, “Why does anyone do anything, Angel?”
I could say something smart to catch him out. I could sass him in some way and get him to roll his eyes at me. This new dynamic is making me feel uncomfortable. I just want us to go back to our normal before he helped me. Instead, I let out a soft, “Stop calling me that.”
He looks at me now, grinning. “I don’t think I ever will,” he says. He reaches behind me, pushing the door open and urging me to shove me in. “Don’t die before morning. We’ve got a big day ahead of us.”
I crinkle my eyebrow. “What's happening tomorrow?”
“Our big plan to find out who that dodgy guy is, remember?”
“Oh.”
He tuts, shaking his head. “Don’t ‘Oh’ me. This could be a breakthrough in our case.”
“It's notourcase, it’smycase. You’re just tagging along.”
“Fine by me,” he says happily, shrugging. “Goodnight, Scarlett.”
Standing there dumbfounded for two minutes after Evan descended the stairs out of my apartment helped me come to a startling realisation: I no longer hate Evan Branson, I tolerate him. Maybe even respect him. He’s done way more than necessary today while still managing to be a prick. It’s weird. I want him to push me around. I want to pushhimaround.
Sometimes I feel like I’m desperately waiting to see which one of us breaks first.
16
Evan
Something terrible is happening.
Something that should not be happening to a person like me. I’m always in control of my emotions and events. Well, as in control as one can be with a life like mine.
After what went down with Cat and my image for the business, I’ve been trying to be more cautious about how I present myself. After being humiliated from the whole Oreo situation, not only have I steered clear from those cookie and cream flavoured monsters, but I’ve also tried to keep a clean record from all things to do with the press.
It’s natural to get photographed because of who my family is, but it’s worse when you’re also out in public with another millionaire. Somehow, while I was helping Scarlett get into the car last night, some dweeb took a picture of us and blew it out of proportion. The picture is low quality, only capturing the back of us, but you can tell it’s us by the car and the location.
Everyone and their mothers were at the Greyson Fauvel event last night. I’ve done my best to get it taken down before more people around NU get a whiff of it, but some accounts are persistent.
After feeling like a fool for crossing line after line with Scarlett last night, I kept my distance in class today. I kept all talk to be strictly academic, planning to talk more about her family situation later. The more I press on about it, the more likely she’ll become suspicious.
When classes finished, we agreed to meet at her apartment before heading to the restaurant. Yelsy’s is an Arabian restaurant, a good half an hour drive from my house and Scarlett’s apartment. According to the reviews on Google, the owner, Gerard Rothschild attends the restaurant every day to help keep it afloat. That is the guy we need.
I’m not exactly sure what it is we’re going to do, but we decided that going as undercover as we can is probably the best idea. That’s why I’m dressed down today, replacing my usual attire with dark blue baggy jeans and a white hoodie. Miles said I blend more with NU’s population looking like this, but I feel like I’m sticking out like a sore thumb.
Just as I walk down the street towards her apartment complex, I send her a text.
