Selling Scarlett (Love Inc 1)

“My name’s Elizabeth; you can call me Liz, Lizzy, Libby, or Beth, but I’m a little tired of ‘Miss DeVille’ today.”

His eyes search my face, warming, like he actually cares that I’m panting and flustered. My muscles freeze as his hand comes down on my shoulder. I must be zoning out on his nearness, because when he jerks me into a bathroom stall, I’m startled. Then I realize there are people in the bathroom now. They followed me in. Through the crack between the stall’s wall and its door, I recognize the worn-out loafers the khaki-shirted guy was wearing.

“Miss DeVille? Are you in here?”

Someone else says something I can’t make out.

Hunter picks me up, facing him, and urges my legs around his waist. He steps into a corner, so my butt and back are flush against the cold stall walls, and I lace my hands around his warm, thick neck. I can feel the prickle of his haircut just above his collar.

He wraps his arms around me and a rumbled whisper heats my neck and ear: “Shhhhh.”

“Miss DeVille?” The photographer’s voice echoes through the room, and I cling to Hunter. “Am I crazy?” the man mutters.

“I swear she went in here,” a woman says.

I suppress a giggle, digging my mouth into Hunter’s shoulder.

“She in here?” a third voice asks.

“Guess not.”

A moment later, they all clomp out. Hunter sets me down on my own two feet.

He lifts a brow. “You trust me?”

“Yes?”

He chuckles at my answer, and I notice how bright his eyes look.

“Hang on just a second.”

He leaves me in the stall and walks to the bathroom’s main door. Then he beckons me out, waving me toward a keypad-guarded door near the back of the men’s room.

“I take it you didn’t mean to come in here. But it’s your lucky day.”

His fingertip compresses a few of the worn-looking, metallic keys, and the door clicks open.

“Not a closet,” I murmur.

He grins. “This is how the good ole boys get from this building back next door, into the Justice Center.”

“Holy shit, that’s sexist.”

“They put another one in, along one of the halls out that way.” He waves toward the courtroom. “Didn’t happen until last year, though.” His face gentles as he steps into the secret hallway. “Come with me. I’ll get you to your car.”

He holds out his hand. I look into his eyes, and then I take it.

The hallway is dimly lit and made entirely out of cement.

“Little creepy,” he drawls as his grip on my hand tightens. “I try to just walk fast, think of something else. Usually whatever brought me in here.” His laugh is a low rasp. I steal a glance at his face and decide he looks almost self-conscious.

“What sorts of things bring you in here?”

“All sorts of shit.” He smirks, and I quirk a brow up at him.

“What brought you in here…” He shakes his head as I see a light at the end of our tunnel. “What you did is damned impressive, pinning in the governor in front of everybody. Bet he doesn’t take your money. Bad for P.R.”

My hand’s starting to feel sweaty in his. “I don’t know,” I manage.

Then we’re at the hall’s mouth, right behind a steel door with a long, vertical window showing me the inside of the other building.

There’s a moment where we’re both quiet and I think he looks surprisingly intense. Almost somber. He gives me a little, crooked smile and touches my shoulder—so light, it’s almost like he’s brushing lint off me.

“You take care of yourself, okay?”

I nod, looking up at his face.

“Let me know if you need something.”

Before I can reply, he’s pushing the door open, and we’re moving into the light.

Chapter 11

Elizabeth

DRIVING DOWN I-5 South, toward Los Angeles, the flowering hills seem to roll past me too quickly. The sky above is flat, pale blue. Watching the horizon line makes me feel dizzy—like I’m stuck on a carnival ride and can’t get off. I try to swallow back the sensation, but it builds in my chest, making my hands tremble on the wheel.

What am I doing?

I can’t do this.

I just said that I would do this.

“Let me know if you need something.”

Suddenly tears are pouring down my cheeks, and I want to pull my car over by the tall grass with its tiny flowers and sob.

I feel a thousand years old as I speed toward Mom’s rehab. I have an appointment with her care worker. To lay the groundwork for my grand deception. I have an appointment at 4:15, and Mom’s expecting me, but I don’t go there.

Instead I find myself at Cross’s cement high-rise. I’m sneaking past the sign-in desk and sprinting down the drab hall toward his room. I think that when I get there, things will be different. The gauze will be gone. Maybe he’ll even be sitting up and extubated. All I want in the world is to see my friend again before I go to Vegas. Or maybe, if he’s already awake, I won’t even have to go…