Chapter 24 He Has Feelings for Her
Scarlett lugged the cardboard box through the door of her Lakeside Garden apartment. Yara glanced up from her building blocks scattered across the living room floor and immediately abandoned her masterpiece, toddling over on chubby little legs.
"Mommy, what's in the box?" She craned her neck, curiosity lighting up her face.
Scarlett set the box down with a thud. "Why don't you see for yourself?" She kicked off her heels and headed inside.
While Scarlett changed shoes, Yara dove headfirst into the box like a treasure hunter. By the time Scarlett made it to the kitchen for water, her phone was buzzing on the counter.
She glanced at the screen. Ambrose's number.
Her fingers hesitated for a split second before she grabbed the phone. "Mr. Boleyn."
"Did you sign everything?" His voice came through, cool and clipped.
Scarlett's mind flashed back to how he'd helped her at the Ross Group—the advice, the backup. She wouldn't have pulled this off without him.
"All signed."
"Good. Report to the Boleyn Group tomorrow."
A beat of silence.
"Mr. Boleyn, I can't." She kept her voice steady. "Wesley and I haven't finalized the divorce paperwork yet. If I start working at your company, he'll find out. If he gets suspicious and backs out..." She didn't need to finish that sentence.
The silence on his end stretched longer this time.
"Mr. Boleyn, I promise I'll keep my word," she rushed to add. "I can work on the museum designs from home."
Maybe her reassurance worked, because his tone stayed even. "When do you finalize the divorce?"
"There's a mandatory thirty-day cooling-off period." She explained the bureaucratic nightmare that was Chinese divorce law. "Starting from when we filed. If neither of us backs out, we can pick up the official papers after that."
She added quickly, "I'll push Wesley to go through with it as soon as possible."
"God, divorcing someone is such a pain in the ass."
His frustration echoed her own thoughts—and probably every woman who'd ever been through this mess.
"Tell me about it," she muttered.
That seemed to mollify him. "Fine. Work from home. I'll have someone send you the museum files."
"Thank you."
Just as Ambrose was about to hang up, a question popped into her head.
"Mr. Boleyn, are you and Delta siblings?"
Two seconds of dead air.
"If you've got time to worry about irrelevant stuff, maybe spend it figuring out how to get Wesley to that courthouse."
Scarlett stared at her phone.
"Mommy! Look how pretty this doll is! Can I keep it?" Yara's sweet voice piped up, accompanied by the patter of little feet.
Scarlett's gaze landed on what Yara was holding up.
Her stomach dropped.
Scarlett, holding her phone, froze when she saw the item Yara held up. It was the couple doll that Wesley had given her during college.
Over the years, she had always kept it by her side, and just now, when she was packing up, she had casually thrown it into the cardboard box.
"Yara, honey, that doll's dirty. We need to throw it away. I'll buy you a new one." She reached for it.
No point keeping reminders of dead feelings.
"Dirty?" Yara turned the doll over in her hands, squinting at it suspiciously.
"Yara's not in school today?" Ambrose's voice crackled through the speaker.
Oh crap. She'd forgotten to hang up.
"No, she's home."
"Mr. Boleyn, if there's nothing else, I should let you—"
"Mommy, is that the candy man?" Yara's eyes went wide with recognition.
Scarlett never lied to her daughter. Before she could answer, Yara stuck out her hand. "I wanna talk to him!"
The "candy incident" was still fresh in Scarlett's memory. No way was she handing over that phone.
"He's busy—"
"Let me talk to her." Ambrose cut her off.
Defeated, Scarlett passed the phone to her daughter.
"Ambrose!" Yara's greeting could've melted butter.
"What are you up to?" His voice actually sounded... amused?
"Playing with dolls! Hey, Ambrose, remember that candy you gave me? It made me sick, so you owe me more. But not mango flavor this time, 'cause then you'll just keep owing me forever!"
Her logic was both adorable and manipulative. Ambrose actually laughed out loud.
Scarlett pinched the bridge of her nose. Her daughter was shameless when it came to scoring sweets. And now she'd set her sights on Ambrose Boleyn.
A man way too smart to fall for—
"What flavors do you like?"
Scarlett's jaw dropped.
"Strawberry! And cherry!" Yara bounced on her toes.
"I'll pick some up."
"Ambrose, you're so generous! Lots of pretty ladies must like you."
Oh God. Here we go.
"Yara, stop bothering him—" Scarlett tried to intervene.
"Tell your mom it's rude to interrupt people's conversations." Ambrose's tone was dry but not annoyed.
Scarlett grabbed her water glass and retreated to the kitchen, face burning.
"Mommy went to do her thing," Yara whispered conspiratorially, giggling into her palm.
"These pretty ladies you mentioned—how pretty are we talking?"
Yara considered this seriously, her little brow furrowing. "Almost as pretty as my mommy. Like, a tiny bit less."
"That's not pretty enough."
Was he seriously having this conversation with a five-year-old?
Yara flopped onto the couch, dangling her feet off the edge. "So you want a girlfriend who's as pretty as my mommy?"
"What do you think?"
"Well, if you keep being nice and buying candy, I bet you'll find someone just as pretty as Mommy who likes you."
"Is that how it works?"
Yara's emotional intelligence would put most teenagers to shame. Even Hayden—sharp as he was—didn't have this level of social savvy.
After a few more minutes of their bizarre negotiation, the phone finally made its way back to Scarlett. She assumed he'd hung up and set it on the kitchen counter.
"Want noodles for lunch, baby?"
"Yes, please, Mommy!"
Then Yara's eyes got that mischievous sparkle.
"Mommy, Ambrose said you're really pretty. He said he hopes pretty ladies like you will like him back."
Scarlett's hand froze on the cabinet.
Ambrose said she was pretty. That he wanted her to like him?
Was he... into her?
But wasn't he supposed to be some workaholic who didn't chase women?
He'd been helping her this whole time. Was there an ulterior motive?
The more she thought about it, the more her expression darkened.