Page 34 of Sinful Desires
Chapter
Eleven
“I am a wild woman. It would take a warrior to tame my spirit.”
?Nikki Rowe
Scarlett
“Quit sulking. You already look terrifying without it. I’d rather have these sick kids happy to see me, not convinced I’m here to announce their funeral.”
The air reeked of sanitizer, vinegar, and something heavier. Nurses and doctors bustled around in little uniforms, stationed like soldiers on a battlefield no one won.
St. Andrew’s wasn’t exactly a five-star resort. It was a public hospital in the Bronx where thousands came in for colds, births, heart attacks, or just the end of the line.
Life, sickness, surgery, and death all shoved under one crumbling roof.
Last night, after ten hours of dance rehearsals prepping for my tour, Love is in the Dark, I collapsed on my couch, half dead,brain leaking out of my ears. My second solo album,To Dream Is To Die, had dropped a week ago and had already shot to number one everywhere.
It was insane, especially since the label had gambled big by announcing the tour just a week before release. It was a risky move with a monumental payoff. All ten dates had sold out in under a minute.
This time, I’d ditched stadiums. I wanted smaller venues.
This album was personal. It deserved more than faceless glow sticks and echoing screams.
Somewhere between blacking out and giving up on sleep, a guilt-tripping commercial had ambushed me—St. Andrew’s Hospital, begging for donations. The video had shown an old woman holding hands with a little girl in a hospital gown, tubes in her nose, clutching a teddy bear. They looked into the camera and said in shaky unison, “Please, help us.”
Something had twisted in my chest. I’d sighed, picked up my phone, and called the hospital, leaving a message for the director:TheScarlett Harper would be there by one o’clock, with a big fat check.
One of the biggest blessings in this life was the abundance around me. If I could help, I would. Gladly. It didn’t hurt that it made me feel a little better too.
Charity and self-pity in one go. Win-win.
That’s how I’d ended up here—heels clicking against the linoleum, sunglasses on, a black denim dress hugging every inch, my long red hair straight down my back. LeRoy trailed behind me like a grumpy, hot pack mule.
Between the two of us, we were dragging half the damn toy store, bags packed with anything that might slap a smile on a sick kid’s face. I’d sent the list to my assistants at one in the morning, and sure enough, the delivery truck was already waiting when we pulled in.
LeRoy marched stiffly, like he was hauling explosives instead of teddy bears.
“You decided to organize a charity event,” he said, voice clipped, “with ten minutes’ notice. No security checks. No clearance. No sweep. Fucking unacceptable.”
I flashed him a wicked smile. “Shh. Language. Innocent ears are listening.”
One of the bags smacked against his thigh as he tried to keep up. “I have every right to be pissed right now, Miss Harper.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
“Are you seriously telling me my beautiful, selfless act has you sulking like a heathen? Wow, soldier. You need confession. Maybe an exorcism.”
“You—”
“Besides,” I cut in, “youcalled me a selfish, spoiled girl playing at misery.”
The words still burned, bitter and raw.
“I’m just here to rewrite that little story you made up about me.”
Not that it mattered.
