Page 34 of Mr. Not Nice Guy

The confusion causes her gaze to drift sideways and then return to my face. “Why?”

Do I tell her?

Do I say,I can’t even remember the last time I was this afraid?

Do I say,my guilt over this will probably drown me?

Do I clue her in to the feelings I have for her that have managed to surge to concerning heights over a matter of mere hours?

If nothing else, it seems inconsiderate to admit to feelings of that nature right after a woman was drugged and nearly raped. So I don’t mention it.

Instead, I lift my shoulders in a haphazard shrug. “I’m your manager, Scarlett. It’s my job to be there for you.”

That manages to elicit a faint smile on her full lips. “Well, you didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate it.”

I retract my hand from her face and rest my chin in my palm, doing my level best to mirror her small, casual smile; a gesture that belies the intensity of feelings I can no longer hide from. “Don’t mention it.”

10

Scarlett

We’re in the very last days before my very first single releases—holy mother fucking shit—and August has packed my schedule to the gills with about a million livestreams, radio station and podcast interviews, record store meet-and-greets, and a few local news appearances. Because of this, we are up at o-dark-thirty this morning, at the salon, where I am being coiffed and contoured, while I suck down coffee like my life depends on it in order to stay awake.

Francisco fluffs my crimson curls a few more times before strategically arranging a couple of waves to sit in a smoldering fashion just above my eyes. “Perfection! The little bit of extra length you’ve gotten since we cut it is justamazing. You look like a starlet.” He clutches my shoulders to press his cheek against mine. “Scarlett thestarlet.”

I smile brightly and squeeze one of his hands. “I freaking love you.”

“I freaking loveyou!” he squeals, whipping himself upright again and flitting a hand at August, who’s standing with a wardrobe stylist and a large rolling rack of clothes. “August! Look at your girl!” He spins my chair and then does a double-snap of his fingers in the air. “She is going to slay all day.”

August turns from the rack to inspect my appearance with a soft, thoughtful expression, then offers an approving nod. “She certainly is.” His mouth quirks with a quick smile as he meets my eyes for long enough that I feel a little weird.

Shrugging off the weirdness, I reach up to give my hair a toss and give him a flirty smile and wink in hopes that he’ll roll his eyes and groan like he used to. “Thanks,boss.”

But he doesn’t groan, and his eyes merely hold mine for another beat before he gestures at the rack. “Let’s get you dressed so we can get going.”

I squint at him. “Ooo-kay.” Francisco whips the styling cape off me, and I hop out of the chair to approach the clothes with my arms crossed over my chest. “So, what kind of stripper am I going to be today, boss man?”

“Actually.” August rubs his chin and stares at my feet. “I was thinking you might want to pick something that’s a little more authentic to your personal style.”

I blink. “What?”

He lifts one shoulder in a half shrug and slides his gaze to the clothes. “People across the country and the city are getting their first real introduction to you. I think it would be better for you to be the real you.”

I make a big show of reaching forward to place my hand on his forehead as if checking for a fever. “Are you feeling okay?”

August gently clasps my wrist and draws my arm away from him, then pats the back of my hand before letting go. “Just fine. Go ahead. Whatever you want to wear.”

He starts to walk away from the clothes, and I scamper in my flip-flops after him. “August.”

He stops walking and turns to me. “Yeah.”

“Why are you being like this? What happened?”

His neutral expression falters, and his complexion pales slightly. “What do you mean?”

I flip my hand in the direction of the clothing rack. “You suddenly don’t care what I wear?” I place my hands on my hips and tilt my head. “What is this, Invasion of the Body Snatchers? Other than myhair, this is the one thing you acted like was more important than anything else, and now you’re just all like…” I shrug dramatically. “Meh.”

“Scarlett…uh…” He rubs his forehead, then takes a step closer to me and lowers his voice. “I can’t help wondering if my insisting that you dress like…you know…that…may have contributed to the…you know…incidentlast week.”

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