“Scarlett, please?” I ask, batting my lashes and injecting hope into my tone. “I know this is probably really uncomfortable for you, but let’s talk about it.”
“That won’t be necessary.” West’s words slice through mine. “Scarlett and I will have a talk later. Privately.”
Just like that, he cuts me out of an equation that I’m a part of whether he likes it or not.
West’s terrible track record in communicating with his teenage niece was sort of the whole reason I was brought on, but I silently digress. He’s clearly not in an amenable mood.
“I was just trying to help,” I say. My mouth is dry, but I don’t dare uncap the bottled water in my hands. Nothing about this moment is casual.
West directs his attention to me. “It’s not your place. Need I remind you, you’re not her parent; you’re just her mentor.”
Just . . . her . . . mentor.
The words land with a sharpened, heavy thud, and even Scarlett gasps.
Maybe I am “just her mentor,” but the curtness of his voice reduces me to a rung far lower.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, West exhales. “Fuck. Elle. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I should go.” I turn to Scarlett. “Again, I’m so sorry.”
“Elle,” West calls after me as I head for the elevator, but I don’t stop.
I grab my things from his room, change into last night’s clothes, and leave.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
WEST
I check my phone for the hundredth time today.
Elle has been ignoring me for days—deservedly so, if I’m being truthful with myself. I didn’t mean to snap at her in the kitchen Friday morning, but Scarlett’s blatant disrespect and accusations were getting the best of me. I found myself in a position that I hadn’t been anticipating, and I did what I do best—command the situation like the epic asshole I am.
“You going to eat, or are you just going to push your food around your plate?” I point to Scarlett with my fork. “Bettina worked hard on this meal.”
I leave out any mention of starving children in third-world countries. The comment would surely fall upon deaf ears.
Scarlett has been a girl of few words lately as well. Only speaking when spoken to and only offering a handful of sullen words. It’s impossible to know if she’s upset with me for getting romantically involved with Elle—or for not telling her I was romantically involved with Elle. Either way, she feels betrayed, and the foundation of trust we’ve been building these last few months has been shaken.
Still, it’s a minor setback, and I’m confident we’ll get through it with a little bit of time and effort.
“I know you think the world of Elle.” I slice into my filet as Scarlett’s goes cold and untouched. “And I do too. Which is why we need to get past what happened the other day. Once I talk to Elle, I intend to make things right again.”
Scarlett sits unmoving, unresponsive.
“Elle is going to be a part of our lives regardless of how you feel about what took place this past week,” I say. She may be ignoring me now, but she won’t ignore me forever. She’s upset with me—and she has every reason to be. But she would never ghost Scarlett. “Your support would make it easier on all of us. Yourself included.”
Shoving her plate aside, she slumps back into her seat. “It’s your life. Do what you want.”
I swallow my bite. “So you’re not upset about Elle and me?”
She lifts a shoulder. “What’s it matter? You’re just going to screw it up.”
“Not this time.”
Scarlett chuffs. “If you say so.”
I take another bite, contemplating her mood, though it’s a futile effort. Every time I think I have an idea what she’s thinking, she throws me for a loop.
“Are you worried you’ll never see her again if things don’t work out between us?” I ask.
Releasing a breath that sinks her shoulders, she says, “I guess.”
“I take it you’re not upset with Elle anymore?”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know. This whole thing is weird, and I really don’t want to talk about it. Can I please be excused?”
My gaze flicks to her untouched meal. “Yes.”
Wasting no time, she shoves herself out from the table and trots off, arms crossed. I finish my dinner alone, and in the deafening silence my thoughts veer toward tomorrow—the thirteenth anniversary of Will’s passing. While I’m not a man of tradition, I’ve always taken that day each year to reflect and do something in his memory—always alone, always watching The Karate Kid (Will’s favorite) and ordering Thai takeout (also Will’s favorite). One of these days—when Scarlett and I are on more affable terms—I intend to include her in that tradition. Until then, if I could spend the day with Elle and Scarlett, it’d be a symbolic gesture, a step in the right direction. Will would’ve loved Elle. He’d have given her shit to see if she could roll with the punches, and I imagine she’d go head to head with his one-liners without missing a beat.