Page 35 of Wreck Me

Scarlett flicks the light switch on. I blink, adjusting to the brightness. The apartment is tiny. The kitchen is older than my granny. Candles are dotted around the room. A cream fleece throw is draped over the back of a worn faux leather couch. A tiny TV sits on a small dresser. The room is colder than an industrial-sized freezer, but Scarlett has the place clean and smelling surprisingly inviting.

My heart breaks for the woman beside me.

How did she go from an education at St. Jude’s to living here, in one of the roughest parts of the city? I can only imagine that when her mother died she was left with nothing.

But how?

I nod towards a pile of textbooks sitting on a small, semi-circular table next to an ancient-looking laptop. ‘Grab those, Tim.’

There’s no way she’s staying here. Not when I have so much space. So much of everything.

I turn to Scarlett. ‘Pack a bag. Get whatever you need.’

‘Seriously?’ She stands, dusting invisible lint from her dress. ‘My front door locks. I know it’s far from fancy, but it’s fine, for me.’

‘Can you stop saying fine “for you”? Like you deserve less? You’re moving in with me until after graduation.’ My tone isfinal. ‘Even if the front door and stairs weren’t dangerous, the temperature in here is lethal.’

Her huge grey eyes dart to the floor.

‘There’s no shame in this. You should be fucking proud, sweetheart. You’ve survived God knows what, alone. You’re months away from graduating from Trinity Business School. I don’t know what you’ve been through but whatever it is, you’re not alone anymore.’ I clear my throat. ‘Besides, we have an arrangement, and if I want you to hold up your end of the deal, I need you safe, warm and protected. When I get the acquisition over the line, and you graduate, you’ll go your own way. See the world. Whatever it is you want to do. Until then, let me take care of you.’

Scarlett folds her arms over her chest. I’ve got a feeling she could be stubborn. Proud even.

‘You’d be doing me a favour. When my family and the Board hear I’ve moved my ‘new girlfriend’ in so quickly, they’ll have no choice but take me, us, seriously.’

Her throat flexes as she swallows. ‘I don’t need your pity,’ she murmurs.

‘I know you don’t.’ I lower my mouth to her ear, my breath brushing over her sensitive lobe. ‘Don’t mistake me for a good man, Scarlett. My intentions for you are purely selfish.’

She shivers. I’d like to think it’s anticipation, but equally it could be the Baltic temperature.

‘Fine.’ She stalks towards a narrow door which I can only assume is her bedroom.

Tim grabs her books and the laptop. ‘Shall I put these in the boot?’

‘Do.’

Twenty minutes later, we’re back in the car. The scent of Scarlett’s exotic shampoo invades my lungs.

What have I done?

Chapter Eighteen

SCARLETT

James is silent for the duration of the journey, but intermittently I feel the heat from his stare.

It’s just a job. It’s just a job. It’s just a job, I repeat in my head like a mantra.

Okay, it’s not your typical nine-to-five, but then neither was dancing at the Luxor Lounge.

We’re half an hour outside of the city, with the mountains to the left and the Irish Sea to the right, when the car slows to a stop. I peer through the darkness. Huge black electric gates mounted on ivory limestone pillars swing open.

Even through the darkness the mansion beyond is… majestic. I spent the last half an hour trying to imagine what James’s home might look like. In my wildest dreams, I couldn’t have come up with anything as grand.

The imposing façade is comprised of warm, toned, aged stone. Rising above the main structure, multiple spires and turrets pierce the sky. The largest tower is centrally positioned, its dome gleaming under the moonlight. Huge stone pillars bearing the Beckett family crest flank the doors.

James turns to me. ‘Welcome home, Scarlett. Tim will bring your belongings in. Let me give you a tour.’

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