“I know you’re busy, but I need another quick research favor from your assistant Rachel, if that’s okay.”
“She already looked into your daughter’s check-cashing thing,” I say. “You have nothing to worry about there.”
“It’s not that.” He pulls a stack of business cards from his pocket and hands them to me. “I took the liberty of walking through your firm this morning and plucking cards from the lawyers who match certain credentials.”
“My firm has a website, Lucas…”
“Whenever you get a chance, can you let me know if any of those young men would be good enough for a date with Scarlett?”
“Excuse me?”
“I feel bad for how I’ve treated her lately.” He frowns, looking remorseful for the first time I’ve ever known him. “I would like to make it up to her.”
“By playing matchmaker?”
“We may be slightly estranged, but I know my daughter.” He pauses. “She’s lonely and doesn’t have many friends. I would allow a boyfriend—as long as he’s decent and someone you would approve of as well.”
I blink.
“No rush on this request,” he says. “It can take months since she’s busy with her studies anyway. My cases come first, of course.”
“Of course.” I slip the cards into my pocket. “I need to go check on a docket upstairs. Anything else you need from me for now?”
“Not at all.” He extends his hand. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I wait for him to walk past me, to disappear through the crowd. Then I slip into the closest restroom and flush his stack of business cards down the toilet.
NEGLIGENCE (N.):
FAILURE TO EXERCISE THE CARE TOWARD OTHERS WHICH A REASONABLE OR PRUDENT PERSON WOULD DO IN THE CIRCUMSTANCES, OR TAKING ACTION WHICH SUCH A REASONABLE PERSON WOULD NOT.
SCARLETT
Three Weeks Later
My heart is attempting to escape from my chest.
With its fingers gripping the bars of my ribcage, it’s knocking against my chest with a heaviness I’ve never felt before.
If it could speak, I’m sure it would tell me that this is my punishment for putting it through a week’s worth of auditions and for not giving in once to call Jameson.
As much as I’ve yearned to hear his voice or feel his lips pressed against mine, I refuse to relent first.
Taking a deep breath, I press a hand against my chest and lean back in my seat at Second Stage Theater.
“Actor 3451!” The director walks onto the stage. “Please join me up here for your cold reading, please.”
No one makes a move.
Only the sounds of flipping sheets and nervous footsteps echo off the walls.
“Can you all in the back hear me?” He glances at his clipboard. “Is actor 3451 in the house this morning?”
Still no answer.
“Okay, then.” He pulls a pen from his pocket and draws a line. “We will move onto Actor 3452. Are you here?”
