Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 30055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
I walk over and pull it open.
Jameson is standing on the other side with a single red rose in his hand, looking better than any man has a right to.
His white button-down is slightly undone at the collar, and the second our eyes meet, he takes my breath away with ease.
There’s something in his expression I can’t quite place.
Something different.
“Thank you…” I reach for the rose, but he doesn’t let me take it.
Instead, he pulls me against his chest and kisses me long and hard in a way I’ve missed far too much.
He steps inside and sets me atop the table, and within seconds, I forget where the hell we are.
I forget about the show.
I forget about everything.
“I love you, Scarlett,” he says, sliding his hands along my back.
“Wait, I…” I’m still kissing him. “I’m not sure if I can let you—”
“Help you relax?”
“No, I can’t if you—”
“I dropped your father this morning,” he says. “I meant to do it weeks ago.”
My mind goes blank.
He kisses me again, harder this time, and every reason I had for keeping him at a distance starts slipping away.
It’s us.
Just us.
The first man I’ve ever fucked.
The man I want to be my last.
It’s been so long since I’ve had him that I can’t hold on for long, and I bite into his shoulder to keep from screaming his name.
“There’s nothing like falling in love with someone you hate…”
The first line comes to me with ease.
“I, um…” I struggle to catch my breath. “I need to get ready for my performance, Jameson. We should talk after, though.”
“We will.” He kisses my forehead.
“What happened to Cole?” he asks. “Is he still in the picture?”
“I dumped him after we talked on the phone that night,” I say. “I realized he would never be you.”
“You can’t possibly want to be with a murderer…”
“Some people deserve to die…”
He kisses me again, pulling me closer.
I try to push him away, but I can’t.
And deep down, I know I don’t really want to.
I never want to let him go again…
NOT GUILTY (N.):
PLEA OF A PERSON WHO CLAIMS NOT TO HAVE COMMITTED THE CRIME OF WHICH HE/SHE IS ACCUSED, MADE IN COURT WHEN ARRAIGNED (FIRST BROUGHT BEFORE A JUDGE) OR AT A LATER TIME SET BY THE COURT.
SCARLETT
After the Curtain Closes
The theater is nearly empty by the time I step outside.
My mother left twenty minutes ago after hugging me twice, crying once, and making me promise that moving back to New York doesn’t mean I’m allowed to disappear from her life again.
The rest of the cast is somewhere inside celebrating another successful show.
And Jameson is standing in front of me with another bouquet of roses.
This time, I take them.
“What happens now, Jameson?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Are the scales of justice balanced enough for you?”
“They’ll never be completely balanced.”
“You know what I meant…”
“I do.” He slips his hands into his pockets. “I think I’m going to take some time off to focus on my personal life.”
“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow. “You have one of those?”
“I’m attempting to.”
“Well, good to know.” I glance down at the roses. “This was my last night on this show.”
His expression changes instantly.
“Why?”
“Because I miss New York,” I admit. “And the director offered me a pay increase to come back for the role I left behind.”
“When were you planning to tell me that?”
“I’m sure Rachel would’ve told you within days of me landing at the airport.”
His lips curve into a smile. “I’ve never asked her to stalk you.”
“Because she knows you well enough to do it anyway.”
“Fair.”
Silence settles between us, but for once, it doesn’t feel uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry I didn’t drop your father as a client,” he says. “I should’ve done it a lot sooner.”
“Like the night I first asked you to?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “A few weeks after that, though.”
“How romantic.”
“I’m being serious, Scarlett.”
“So am I.”
He gives me a look, and I smile.
“I know.” I step closer. “And I believe you.”
Something shifts in his expression.
For a man who can argue murderers out of prison and talk his way around almost anything, he suddenly doesn’t have a response.
I like him better this way.
“Are you going to ask me?” I say.
“Ask you what?” He arches a brow.
“If I’ve been with someone else.”
“No.” He trails a finger across my lips. “I know you haven’t.”
“You don’t know everything.”
“I know you.”
“I went on quite a few dates.”
“To make me jealous.”
“To try and move on.”
“Did it work?”
“No.”
His smile comes slowly.
Arrogantly.
Very Jameson.
“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” I say. “I tried really hard.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“One of them was actually pretty great.”
“Scarlett.”
“He was.”
“Then why are you standing here with me?”
“Because he would never be you.”
The smugness disappears from his face.
Before he can say anything else, I grab the front of his shirt and kiss him.
He pulls me closer, wrapping one arm around my waist as the roses get crushed between us.