Chapter 10 Unacceptable Feelings
LAWRENCE
Scarlett arrives at 8:02 a.m.
I know it because I've been keeping track—annoying as that may sound—and because the moment she walks into the office, the entire floor starts buzzing like a celebrity walked into the lobby. Compliments fly everywhere.
I hear every single one from my office.
When curiosity gets the better of me, I step out to see what the fuss is all about.
The second I appear, everywhere goes quiet.
My eyes land on Scarlett, and my throat immediately goes dry.
She's wearing an emerald green wrap dress I've never seen before, that clings to her hips.
Her hair is loose and straightened.
I also notice she's wearing makeup. Her lips are painted a wine shade that does things to my pulse. And to make things worse for me, she's smiling brightly.
It irritates me instantly.
Why is she smiling like that?
And more importantly, why does it bother me?
Momentarily distracted, I glance down at a notification that pings my phone.
"Good morning, Mr Moore," she chirps, walking past me, that strawberry scent following her and embedding itself in my senses.
My jaw ticks.
Focus, Lawrence. You are a grown man, not a hormonal teenager.
"Morning, Miss Thorn," I respond curtly. "What's my schedule like this morning?"
She pulls out her tablet and swipes through. "Not too occupied. It's one of your lighter days. You have one meeting at nine, another at twelve and lastly, one in the afternoon."
I'm trying not to stare at the dress as she reviews the list.
Nodding sharply, I respond, "Thank you."
Then I flee back into my office like a coward and bury myself in the breach tracing.
The most recent update from Ricardo, the lead Forensics Analyst changed everything. After weeks of tracking Ace Corp's motives, their access, and even a strange surge in activity that seemed to line up perfectly with the breach—the forensics team finally ruled them out.
Which leaves only one real possibility now.
Lee Technologies.
Scarlett's laughter floats in again after another coworker's compliment, and something bitter swells in my chest.
This is highly ridiculous and unacceptable.
Fix this, Lawrence.
By the time my nine o'clock ends, I'm pacing my office like a caged animal because my irritation with myself has grown to a degree I can't control.
I've rewritten the same line of code six times, and it still looks wrong, because all I can see is a green wrap dress and red hair, and a smile that makes my heartbeat misbehave.
So… I do something I've resisted for a few days. Dropping into my chair, I pull my MacBook closer and slip into her laptop.
Twenty seconds is all it takes to have access to her tabs and streaming history.
Stranger Things.
The hell is that?
I click on more information about the damn thing and blink in surprise.
Kids on bicycles fighting imaginary monsters made of CGI smoke is what she's been watching with religious devotion? Unbelievable.
I'm about to exit when a message preview from a 'Chris', saved with a champagne emoji, catches my eye on the corner of her mail dashboard.
"The dress looks so lovely on you. Can't wait till you get off work and I see you in it. Blowing kiss emoji
My entire body goes still, my blood turning to ice.
I stare at the preview longer than I should, but I don't open the thread.
I don't need to because I already know what it means.
So, that explains the dress, new hairstyle and the makeup.
She got dolled up for some idiot named Chris.
Something feral courses through my veins as I close out of her session, erasing every trace of my presence. I slam the laptop shut.
A date.
She has a date.
My irritation morphs into cold anger.
It won't happen.
Not on my watch.
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The rest of the day, I let myself be every inch the arrogant prick Scarlett called me—especially toward her.
My meetings were done since one, but I stay back just so I can torture her.
I send back an email she spent forty minutes drafting, telling her to redo it entirely because the placement of her Oxford comma "offends me."
I make her re-format a pitch deck four times because the bullet indentation is off by 0.2 centimetres.
I reject the first coffee she brings me because the foam is too high.
The second because it's two degrees too cool.
The third because I can.
Each time she comes back, looking a little more murderous, I feel the thing in my chest twist tighter.
Good.
Hating me is safer for both of us.
I invent reasons to call her into my office just to pretend to find new flaws in things that were flawless a day ago.
I am a vicious bastard, completely aware of how insane I'm being.
Because every time she walks out, I picture her in that green dress tonight, laughing at some wine bar with Chris, and my jealousy is a living, breathing thing rearing its ugly head.
So, I punish her for it.
By 5:00, the office is starting to empty. Scarlett knocks and appears in my doorway, looking exhausted. "Mr Moore, I'm retiring for the…"
"Close the door."
She hesitates for a second, then obeys.
I gesture to the neat stack of binders I had a staff member bring up an hour ago.
"These," I say flatly, "are financial documents. They need to be checked, corrected, and matched up tonight because the counteroffer from Choi Labs might affect our taxes, and I need someone…"
I stare at her. "... you, Scarlett… to help go through them."
Her eyes move to the clock on the wall. It reads 5:02 p.m.
Her shoulders sag. "Mr Moore…"
Pushing the binders toward her, I tap the table.
"Sir," she says, frustration in her voice, "we're talking over a hundred documents here. This is going to take hours. I already have plans…"
"Cancel them."
For a moment, Scarlett holds my gaze, anger in her eyes.
Then all of a sudden, it's gone, smoothed behind a professional mask.
"Yes, sir," she says in a perfectly neutral voice, crossing the room and taking the chair opposite me.
We work in silence.
Every few minutes, she sneaks a glance at the clock, looking disappointed, and something unpleasant squeezes in my chest.
I know I'm being an asshole.
Spectacularly so.
But I just don't care. If being an asshole keeps her away from Chris, then I can live with that.
At 6:14 p.m., Scarlett hides a yawn behind her hand, blinking hard, but she keeps reading.
A loose strand of hair slips across her cheek, and I have to physically restrain myself from brushing it back.
Like, I have to curl my fingers into a fist to keep from reaching across the table and fixing the damn thing behind her ear.
Keeping her here this long is ridiculous, petty, and possessive. I'm disgusted with myself for doing that. Especially since what I feel is just a stupid crush… a temporary fixation that will pass soon.
But until it does, she's not going anywhere near that man.
At least, not today.
I keep her in my office until a little past seven, watching her fight sleep like a child. When her head dips forward for the third time, I decide to end the torture.
"Miss Thorn," I call quietly.
Scarlett jolts awake, blinking quickly.
She tries to continue reading, but I take the papers away.
"Go home."
She looks at the clock, then at me, before rising to her feet.
"I'll have my driver take you home," I say.
Scarlett scoffs bitterly. "No, thank you, sir. I'm fine."
I understand her anger.
I've kept her hostage here, going through unimportant stuff, and now I'm offering to take her home.
She smooths her dress, pulling the fabric back into place along her hips.
My gaze follows the motion before I can stop it.
"Goodnight, Mr Moore," she says, heading for the door.
I want to insist that she take my offer, because the idea of her riding the subway by this time does not sit well with me.
But she's spent all day doing what I want.
The least I can do is let her leave the way she chooses.
I move to the window when the door shuts, and watch the street below until she finally exits the building— a small figure in a green dress, disappearing into the flow of pedestrians.
For a split second, I'm tempted to access the exterior CCTV feed just to keep an eye on her, but that would be insane.
Foolish.
And I'm none of those things.
Forcing myself back into my chair, I stare at my screen, willing this entire ridiculous infatuation out of my system.
A sigh leaves my mouth.
Turns out I am insane and foolish afterall.
I hack into the cameras.