She wasn’t sure yet if she was going to make a trip to the hotel she’d glimpsed in the tabloid photo of Royce. It would likely be an effort in futility. On the remote chance that she did spot someone who was part of his entourage, she doubted she could convince them to give him a message. And moreover, even if he had some of the same people working for him, they’d never remember her from eight years ago. He had legions of female fans trying desperately to pass him a phone number and an invitation all day, every day. Married or not, he probably had one-night stands all the time.
The biggest risk, of course, was that on the off chance that she was successful, she could literally be sued for seeking him out. But . . . it was Haddie’s health in jeopardy here. Or rather, the possibility—the very real fear—that Scarlett was mismanaging a mental illness because she was worried about being stripped of her payoff.
So yeah, maybe she would sit in the lobby in a pair of oversized sunglasses and at the very least, see if an opportunity arose. She owed it to Haddie and to herself.
After she’d finished her coffee and chatted with her mother for half an hour or so, Scarlett stood, kissing Haddie goodbye, giving her mom another embrace and heading for the door.
Scarlett made the drive to Merrilee’s, what should have taken ten minutes, taking an hour. LA traffic was definitely something she didn’t miss. By the time she dropped her bag in the living room of Merrilee’s condo, it was already three p.m.
She freshened up and then headed out to a nearby tile store, and then a lighting shop, spending the remainder of the afternoon lost in fixtures and materials that would complement the style and the age of the house, while also bringing it up to date. It was exactly what she’d needed. A few hours alone, and a chance to free her mind—however temporarily—of all that was currently weighing on her.
She called her mom and chatted with Haddie for a few minutes, made herself one of Merrilee’s microwave dinners, and poured a glass of wine. She almost didn’t go to the hotel. She almost put on her PJs and treated herself to an evening of Netflix. But as she stood there in her towel after the shower, she kept seeing that photo of Royce on the cover of the tabloid, kept seeing the headlines in her mind, kept recalling the way Haddie’s gaze slid away from her, and the way her daughter had stood there in the driveway, her expression shocked as she peed on the ground. No, she had to do this. She had to try. There might not be another opportunity to get in touch with Royce, no matter how improbable it was.
She dropped the towel, letting out an exasperated breath. She’d put on the black dress and red heels she’d brought, curl her hair, and have a drink at the bar. She was seldom going to be in LA from here on out. She was a single mom with a young child, a centuries-old house to overhaul, and a business to—hopefully—get off the ground. When was the next time she’d enjoy any nightlife at all?
No time soon.
Scarlett pulled on the strapless black dress, slid the heels on her feet, put on some makeup, and performed the rare task of blow-drying and adding loose, beachy waves to her hair. When she stood back and looked in the mirror, she barely recognized herself. It had been so long since she’d gotten ready for a social outing. For so many years, she’d had spit-up on her shirt and bags under her eyes, then applesauce in her hair and yesterday’s yoga pants on. Even now that Haddie was older and more self-sufficient every day, she honestly just felt most comfortable at home with her girl, a pizza on the coffee table in front of them, and a Disney movie on TV.
Yes, she loved spending time with Haddie, but she also hid behind her sometimes, used her as an excuse not to put herself out there, not to risk being hurt.
In her secret heart of hearts, she worried no man would ever want her again and so why even go through the motions of meeting one? It would only lead to disappointment.
She’d honestly convinced herself to forget she was still a woman, and not just a mom, a daughter, someone’s friend or employee. She’d forgotten she was more than the roles she played for others, most of which she loved, but that wasn’t the point.
Camden West had reminded her for a few brief moments, and then confirmed all her fears and insecurities. I won’t let it. No one else got to decide her value. Only her.