Chapter 41 A Gift That Hurt
Scarlett blushes deeply, the colour spreading all the way down her chest and disappearing into that sinful plunge of the dress.
"I'll keep that in mind, sir," she teases, eyeing me flirtatiously through the mirror.
"Good." I send a small slap to her ass before returning to my seat.
Scarlett does one more excited little twirl, the dress riding up dangerously high, before she disappears back into the dressing room with the assistant to change.
She tries on six more dresses after that, each one shorter, tighter, or more revealing than the last, plus three pairs of heels that make her legs look sinful.
I sit in the leather armchair and watch every single outfit.
I think I've found a new favourite hobby.
By the time we're done, we walk out with ten large shopping bags.
In the Maybach, Scarlett won't stop smothering my face with appreciative kisses. Soft, grateful little pecks all over my cheeks, my jaw, the corner of my mouth.
"Baby, please," I laugh, trying to dodge her while the car pulls into traffic. "I haven't even started spending money on you. This is just a speck of my wealth."
She pulls back to look at me, her eyes bright with happiness. "It might be small to you, but it's not to me. No one has ever spent this much on me before, Lawrence. So please… let me appreciate you. Okay?"
"It makes me feel weird," I mumble, rubbing the back of my neck. "You don't have to thank me."
Scarlett narrows her eyes, a wicked little smile tugging at her lips. "I see. If you don't like being thanked with words… perhaps I can thank you with something else."
"Now you're speaking my language."
She presses the button for the partition. It glides up smoothly, sealing us off from Elias in the front.
Scarlett gathers her new bouncy curls, twisting them up into a messy bun with a hair tie she pulls from her wrist.
My pulse kicks hard at the sight.
"You've been the one taking care of me all day," she says softly, her voice dropping into that sexy, husky tone I'm absolutely in love with.
"It's high time I did the same."
My throat goes tight as I watch her slide off the seat and kneel on the floor of the Maybach, between my thighs.
The car keeps moving, smooth and steady, but my heart is suddenly racing like we're doing ninety.
Scarlett looks up at me through her lashes, her hands already loosening my belt, a flirty little smile still playing on her lips.
And then she proceeds to show me exactly how she says thank you.
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SCARLETT
"You're not even trying." Lawrence's amused voice cuts through my concentration, and I glare at him from across the chessboard. We're settled on the floor of his living room, the board between us.
"I am trying," I mutter, studying the pieces. "You're just annoyingly good at everything."
"I'm aware." He drawls.
I move my bishop. He captures it in three seconds flat.
"See? That's not normal." I wave my hand at him. "You're supposed to be bad at something. It's basic human decency."
He leans back against the couch, stretching his long legs out. "Well, I'm bad at expressing emotions."
I guffaw. "That's debatable. You've been pretty expressive lately." I wiggle my eyebrows.
His lips lift faintly. "Focus on the game, Miss Thorn. You're about to lose."
"I'm not."
He moves his knight. "Checkmate in four."
I stare at the board blankly. Then at him, before muttering, "I hate you."
"No, you don't."
Knocking my king over dramatically, I slump against the couch cushions. "Fine. You win. Again."
Lawrence reaches for the board to reset it. "Rematch?"
"In your dreams."
We go quiet for a while.
He's already rearranging the pieces, as if he expects me to cave and agree to a rematch.
I watch him instead.
The way his mind works is almost too fast, too precise. Everything seems to come to him easily.
"You know, people always talk about how attractive intelligence is…" I begin, tilting my head as I study him. "The upsides of having a really sharp mind, like problem solving or the way ideas just click." I pause for a moment. "But there have to be downsides, too, right? What's the flip side?"
Lawrence looks mildly amused at the change in subject. "What makes you think there are downsides?" he asks smoothly.
"Come on." I scoff. "There have to be. No one gets to be this annoyingly good at everything without a catch."
He nods. "My photographic memory sounds impressive until you realise it means I remember things I'd rather forget."
Lawrence stops arranging the chess pieces and looks at me. "People think it's this flawless superpower, being able to replay every page of a book, or every detail of a conversation. But it's not.
Every single thing sticks, ready to resurface without invitation."
"They never fade?" I ask softly.
"Never. All I have is permanence."
"Damn," I mutter. "That's sad."
I realise this must be one of the reasons he left London so early... Because he couldn't bear to watch his mother slip away. He'd remember every second of it.
"And then there's the ideas." He continues. "When something really good, or really obsessive, takes root in my head, it's like my brain goes into overdrive and refuses to shut down. I won't be able to sleep until I've chased it down, sketched it out, tested it, built it, or at least exhausted every angle."
Lawrence is explaining it like he's talking about his favourite software or something, not his own mind.
"It's this restless, almost physical itch under my skin." He gesticulates. "My body might be tired, but my mind is still very active."
I stare at him in awe.
"It can be exhilarating, trust me, but then... the exhaustion crashes in and I realise I've burned through another night, another chunk of my life, because my brain won't let anything go half-finished."
Lawrence srugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"So yeah. The brilliance comes with a price tag. Most people get to forget, to rest, to move on. But me?"
He sets the last chess piece in place.
"I get to carry it all." He taps his temple lightly. "It's a gift. Just not always a kind one."
"That sounds exhausting," I say softly. "And a little unfair."
His smile changes into something more vulnerable.
I watch him for a few more moments before deciding I don't like the heaviness settling over him.
A heaviness I brought about by asking those questions.
"Good thing I'm here to give your brain a break," I add lightly.
Before he can respond, I grab his phone from the floor beside him and hold it up to his face to use Face Unlock.
He doesn't protest, watching me with a lazy smile as I unlock his phone.
"You have zero photos of yourself on here," I say, scrolling through his camera roll. "It's just documents and screenshots of code and…" I pause to zoom in. "Is that a cat?"
"Office cat in London. Quantum." He explains in a bored tone. "Veronica sends updates sometimes."
I pause at the name, a little jealous, but keep scrolling.