Page 3 of Choosing Scarlet

“I’m well,” I say, and it’s the truth. Life has been good, even if work at The Network can sometimes be draining with long nights and an occasional overly demanding client. Right now, though, everything feels better than it has ever been. I finally feel like I belong here at Cascade Point, something that would have seemed impossible a while ago.

“Wonderful … wonderful,” Jessie replies, but I hear the hesitation beneath it. She’s holding something back, and the tension sneaks in between us.

“What is it?” I ask, not bothering to soften my tone. I need to know. As I speak, though, a strange calm nudges me to keep shuffling my tarot cards. My hands know what to do, moving the deck with ease. I draw three cards: the Lovers, Two of Cups, and the Empress. I tilt my head, studying them carefully. Each one speaks of strong romantic energy and the kind of connections that could shift the course of someone’s life. With Venus and Mars in the mix, the meaning becomes even more intense.

“Don’t panic, but Seth reached out asking about you,” Jessie finally says, and the words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I freeze. My focus is no longer on my reading.

Seth is why I left Tennessee and moved across states, away from everything familiar. I had thought I knew him and that we were meant to be, only to discover he was nothing like the person I had thought he was. The breakup had been painful and messy. I had been lost for months, but finding work at The Network gave me the focus I needed to rebuild my life. So why is he trying to sneak his way back into my life now?

“What did you tell him?” I ask as I set the cards down gently on the couch, my fingers lingering on their smooth edges.

“To go to hell,” Jessie says immediately. “I told him I don’t know where you are, and that he should leave you alone. I just wanted you to know. Be careful.”

“Always,” I say, and she knows I mean it.

An hour later, I do what I always do when stress builds inside me. I reorganize my things. It’s a ritual that grounds me and helps me clear my head more. Today, my victim is my vintage glasses collection. Each pair is carefully lifted from its spot, polished, and rearranged by shape, color, and era. An astrology podcast plays in the background. After all, I need to confirm the readings from earlier.

Another buzz breaks through the quiet. This one is different, distinct and instantly recognizable. My phone lights up with a confirmation notification from The Network. My heartbeat quickens. I have been booked, which is exactly what I’ve been hoping for today.

I reach for the phone and open the details. Mr. Knox Fisher has requested that I accompany him to the upcoming country club gala. My brows draw together in curiosity. The payment is more than generous, above what I ask for events like this, and I can’t ignore the intrigue that rises in me.

Who is this man? And what kind of energy does he carry?

A quick internet search answers most of my questions. Knox Fisher. Hotel heir. Worth billions. Thirty years old. Six feet tall. The world, it seems, is already at his feet.

I click on one of the pictures. To say he is intimidating would be an understatement. His dark brown hair is neatly slicked back, framing sharp features. He has high cheekbones, full lips, and a jaw sculpted from marble, but it’s his eyes that capture me most. They carry a cold, piercing blue shade that seems to look straight through the layers of a person and see the truth beneath even the surface. I feel a shiver that wants to roll down my spine, but I force it back.

There is still one more thing I need to know before the gala, though. I begin scrolling through every article about him, searching for business profiles, interviews, and social media mentions, only to find his date of birth. Business details fill the pages, outlining acquisitions, hotels, and philanthropic endeavors, but the stars will tell me everything else I truly need to know.

KNOX

My serious reflection stares back at me from the mirror as I carefully adjust my bow-tie, ensuring every fold and angle is right. Every detail counts. In circles like mine, one slight misstep could end up splashed across social media and turn you into a laughingstock for the masses. I refuse to let that happen. I refuse to be the subject of someone else’s amusement.

“This gala will be a fantastic opportunity for you, sir,” Adeline says over the phone. She’s running me through last-minute details before I leave, just in case. “I’ve already sent you the list of attendees, but it looks very promising so far. We have a few event production managers; celebrity-event scale, and those are always good for business. Many famous real estate agents will be there, and a few signature chefs you may be interested in connecting with …” Her voice continues, listing more names and titles, but the words blur together in my mind. These are the tasks I have to complete, but I can’t say I enjoy them.

“I have all of their numbers and emails,” she adds, “so just send me a brief by tomorrow morning, and let me know if there’s anyone you want me to reach out to directly.”

“Of course,” I reply. “Thank you, Adeline. Have a pleasant night.”

I suspect her night will be far more pleasant than mine, but there is one small thing that eases the tight knot of tension in my chest. Scarlet. As I hang up with Adeline, her profile is open on my phone. My eyes trace the smallest details in her pictures that I previously overlooked. The faint freckles scattered across her cheeks. The soft, lighter streaks that run through her hair. The subtle curve of her lips. The shape of her eyes. The arch of her eyebrows. The perfect contours of her body.

Different thoughts begin to wander through my mind. Scarlet has been hired for a reason—to keep me company for the evening—and I’m determined to make it a pleasant night for both of us. That, much to my own frustration, includes small talk during the ride, something I have never been particularly skilled at. Still, a woman as captivating as her deserves a little exception.

A sharp ring from the doorbell pulls me out of my thoughts. I glance down at my watch. Five minutes to seven. That must be her, arriving in the car I arranged. With a final glance in the mirror to ensure I look nothing short of impeccable, I move toward the door. Boa and Tim follow close behind, tails wagging.

I shoot them a stern look. “You two better behave,” I warn, and just like that, they obediently settle onto the floor, ears perked but calm. I open the door, and the sight of her that awaits stops me in my tracks. Photos haven’t done her justice. Not even close.

Scarlet stands before me in a tight red dress that hugs her in all the right places, showing just enough to be striking while remaining entirely elegant. Her hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, perfectly complementing the bold red lipstick and sharp winged eyeliner that frames her warm brown eyes. The black vintage glasses she wears, shaped into a subtle cat-eye, only add to her charm. She’s, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful women I have ever had the chance to encounter both inside The Network and out.

“My name is Scarlet,” she says before I can gather my words. A small, confident smile accompanies her introduction. “I’ll be your date for tonight’s gala.”

I reach out and take her hand, giving it a firm, polite shake. Her skin is soft and smooth, though I immediately force my mind to stay professional. “Knox Fisher. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I reply, my eyes lingering on hers longer than I planned, but I can hardly help it. Our gaze only breaks when Tim and Boa rush forward.

I’m about to warn them and stop them in their steps, thinking they may scare her, but instead of their usual behavior around new people, they approach her wanting attention.

I arch a brow. This is unusual. Normally, they’re cautious around strangers and slow to warm up. Yet here they are, circling her, nudging her hands, and leaning into the pets she gives them.

“And who are these cuties?” she asks, still smiling, clearly amused.