Page 11 of Paint the Town, Dove
And still, no one in this house has ever liked fruit punch.
Chapter Four
Scarlett
“so when it burns, you light it on fire”
“En route, Mr. Turner. Did you receive the corrected amendment?”
His secretary already confirmed that he had, but this industry was built on a hill of formalities. You were categorized as one of the three RCSs: respectful, cordial or stern. Though more often than not, you’d come across as a raging OA –
Outright Asshole.
Take Mr. Turner, for example.
“I’ll have Devorah check,” he replied. His secretary’s name was Victoria. “Five minutes on the clock.”
I supressed an eyeroll and shoved my phone back in my purse. “Barnett,” I tapped Ryden’s driver on the shoulder. “Say we can make it in five. Say it, Barnett.”
“Four, Ms. Emory-Blake.”
“Beautiful.” I flashed a smile at Morty who sat in the passenger seat, one of the few men I actually trusted on this planet. “I’ve got a few words for you.”
“What’s that, Ms. Emory-Blake?”
His voice was calm water, no matter the circumstance. Not even a natural disaster could wake thesleeping giant burrowed beneath his skin.
I took a glance at Ryden who kept his eyes on the outside city, away from me. He twiddled with that purple dove guitar pick while tapping a finger against the window, humming.
“Careless. Senseless. Bodyguard.” I spoke in staccato, pricking Ryden’s pinstripe trousers with a black acrylic nail.
“It wasn’t his fault.” Ryden rebutted, turning his sharp green gaze my way.
The eyes of an eagle,I always thought. Ever since I’d known Ry, he possessed an iridescent glimmer that held pride, power,victory. A fierce loyalty to the ones he loved, but only to them and them alone.
I happened to rule that list.
Morty came close.
“Look, I got riled up. Didn’t give Morty much of a choice when I went to Kings.”
“And what riled you up?”
But it wasn’t awhat, no, it was awho. Ryden’s mania was printed on the tabloids just a few hours after he’d manhandled that journalist. I didn’t blame him; reporters were intolerable. I just wanted to know why.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, flexing out tan forearms covered in music lyrics and memories. “Just drop it, Scar.”
I narrowed my eyes, leaning forward. “It’s my job to manage you.”
He glanced up. “Over being my best friend?”
A pin lodged itself in my throat as I stared at the man who’d become my life. He was right, God he was so fucking right. Our devotion to each other, our commitment – that mattered more than anything.So answer the goddamn question, Ry.
“As yourbest friend,” my fingers found his, “I’ll kill any son of a bitch who steps out of line.”
His throat bobbed like a broken spring.
“Now,” I pushed, “tell me the truth, Ryden.”
