Page 8 of The Aries Alliance
“Look for that email, Doc.”
“Okay.” Her breathy response surprised me, confirming that Scarlett Kane had the potential to be logical and compliant if she needed to be.
On my walk across campus, I checked out Scarlett’s social media profile on my phone. She was easy to find on all platforms, not hiding her personal and professional photos or thoughts. As I expected, she was a strong advocate for all things Black, especially women and girls.
I enlarged her profile picture. She looked like a fun, carefree woman who enjoyed life and hanging out with her friends and family. In every photo, she was front and center, as if she were the life of the party.
Scarlett was the perfect name for her, with flaming brownish-red hair that complemented her mocha skin to perfection. I wanted to touch both.
Why couldn’t I stop thinking about her? Maybe it was her diva-like Aries personality, which aligned with the late March birthday I found in her personnel file. Ironically, we were born two days apart, making her thirty-nine years old. Maybe that was why our dominant personalities clashed, and we argued like cats and dogs.
Scarlett carried herself like the baddest of bitches, with arrogance that repelled and intrigued me. Our banter sizzled, full of spice and heat that made me want to push her against the wall in my office, right under my degree, so I could show her my real credentials. I’d cover that smart mouth of hers with mine until she screamed my name in ecstasy. With her feisty ass.
I removed my round-rimmed glasses and rubbed my tired eyes, unable to believe I had possibly found a missing piece to a puzzle I had been trying to put together my entire life.
Stop, War. She may appear abrasive, but she’s nothing like you. Or is she?
I would find out soon enough.
Too Bold
I must have beenunder duress when I first met Warrick Redmond, because nothing hinted at his handsomeness that was on full display today. In previous meetings, he’d been useless, sitting like a bump on a log, spewing long-winded information about random work policies that made no sense. Or maybe he had not been relevant since his HR subordinates were usually the ones dealing with me and my “antics,” as many of them called it. Only now did I realize what I’d been missing by not being in his presence.
The dissonance of Warrick’s seriousness, natural attractiveness, and harsh words threw me off as he matched myenergy without flinching. Up close, he had an intense, attentive look that unsettled me. When I spoke, he lowered his head, peering at me above his adorable round-framed glasses as if he needed to see me to hear me better. Although subtle, he silently tracked my movements with longer-than-necessary gazes on my hands, lips, and legs.
As a researcher who studied human movement, I read his body language, which confirmed he was a keen listener too. Maybe that was how he ascended so quickly at EFU.
To my dismay, I became distracted every time Warrick gave me his full attention. Even when he said nothing, his light-colored eyes twinkled as his lips remained drawn. His recessive genes game was on point, reminding me of an older version of this popular Black British actor with light eyes and a deep voice who was all the rave on social media these days.
Other guys were intimidated by me and my assertiveness, but Warrick behaved as if I were a meek lamb holding a casual conversation with him. No matter what I threw at him, he remained poised—Mr. Calm, Cool, and Collected—with that piercing, steady look that made me want to shed my cardigan and dress in his office.
I shouldn’t have ogled his body, but when he stood, his physical dominance drew me in. He was a big guy, with broad shoulders and a strong chest that filled that pristine shirt and blazer in a way that made me pay attention closer than I intended to. Although his pants were dark and tapered at the leg, I couldn’t ignore howsomethingbelow his waist winked at me when he moved.
Despite all the cons of Warrick Redmond, he fascinated me more than he should have. I walked into his office fired up and ready to resolve my case, but I left excited for our next exchange, hoping he could push me to the edge of wherever we went in our conversations. The freaky side of me itched to touch him,but the logical side of me reasoned that I shouldn’t fantasize about an oppressor who did the bidding of an organization that disrespected marginalized people.
As I walked to the parking garage and my car, a social media notification and a private message popped up. My heart raced.
War? Chile . . . why was Warrick, aka War, slipping into my mindandmy social media account? Instead of opening the app, I dropped my phone to my side and walked the remaining distance to my car.
I allowed my mind to wander with umpteen questions about him. With his hawk-like skills, had Warrick picked up on my attraction to him? Was I a glutton for punishment or just horny? I didn’t have an ounce of energy for any drama associated with that. Or did I?
When I entered my car and turned on the ignition, I opened my social media app and pulled up Warrick’s profile. I expected to see a buttoned-up professional, but instead, I noticed a gorgeous glasses-free guy with the stance of a Greek god. That same glare stared into the camera as his full, pink lips remained closed above a chiseled jaw that signaled to the world that he was nobody’s pushover. Warrick Redmond may have been a snobby nerd in his EFU office, but this hunk of perfection, War, was sexy as sin, with muscles bulging from his olive-green button-up.
I imagined him picking me up and tossing me over his broad shoulder and placing his hand firmly over my behind so I wouldn’t fall. I would be the Jane to his Tarzan in a secluded jungle destination where we could unleash the pent-up tension that brewed between us. He would meet my verbal blows, throwing them back at me without missing a beat. We would fulfill each other’s naughty fantasies away from this hellhole of a place called work.
“What are you doing? This man is the enemy.” I spoke the words out loud as I forced myself to stop daydreaming about War.
There’s nothing wrong with imagining something that will never happen. You’re not hurting anyone.
I smiled and accepted War’s friend request, despite knowing that decision would only feed my foolish, budding obsession with him.
“Damn.” My thumbs couldn’t flick through photos in his online albums fast enough as he walked shirtless on a sandy beach in knee-length shorts, then ascended from a clear pool of aquamarine water in a pool at what appeared to be an expensive resort.
I thought Warrick was debonair in his office, but these photos placed him in a league I only dreamed about. What was his backstory? Why did he present himself in such different lights, and why was he inviting me into his private world after such a heated exchange?
Then it hit me. If I had access to his profile, he had access to mine. The rules may not be applied correctly to everyone else, but the evil people at my job could gain access to the private parts of me to put me in my place. I was an idiot.
I was seconds away from unfriending Warrick, when a message from him popped into my app’s inbox.
