Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Truth be told, when I told her I’d have extra work for her yesterday, I was talking out of my ass. I don’t have extra work. I do my work—with pleasure. I’m a control freak, and the last thing I’m going to do is let some first-year associate come anywhere near one of my contracts.
I’m still at the drawing board concerning the Scarlett situation when, around lunchtime, I head down to our building’s food court. Usually, Lucy will come down to get us both something to eat. Today, I volunteered to do it. I’ve been at my desk all morning and needed a little break. No, it has nothing to do with Lucy complaining about a headache.
I enjoy the quick walk. Later, I’ll use the building’s gym to work out, but for now, browsing the restaurant options in the food court will have to suffice for physical activity. Lucy requested Chinese food, which is just plain insane. Chinese food in the middle of the day? I opt for a sandwich and salad combo from a deli instead, knowing full well I’ll put away half of Lucy’s Chinese food when she inevitably doesn’t finish it. This way, though, I get the added health benefits of eating two lunches instead of one.
I’m waiting for the deli to finish making my turkey club when I scan the crowded seating area. I’m not consciously looking for Scarlett until I spot her left of center at a table by herself. She’s eating a salad topped with—I narrow my eyes trying to make out her plate from way over here—grilled chicken. Huh, so she’s health-conscious like me.
“Wait, did you want double cheese on this?” the teenager behind the counter asks me.
“Yeah, load ’er up.”
Scarlett’s reading a book while she eats, stuffing bite after bite into her mouth in quick succession like she’s in a hurry to get out of here. Maybe she’s in a rush to get back to work, or maybe she wants to avoid the other first-years from our department who are sitting only a few tables away from her. All ten of them are together, everyone sitting and goofing off while they eat—everyone except her.
Why?
Is it by choice? Did the group invite her to join and she declined? That doesn’t seem right. Why alienate yourself from your peers this early on? I mean, I didn’t make friends when I was her age, but that’s different.
I’m still watching when a guy walks up to her table and bends down to talk to her. Scarlett’s face lights up. The guy points down at the unoccupied chair right beside Scarlett, and I expect him to tug it out and sit down to join her. Instead, he pulls the chair away and plops it down at a new table, leaving Scarlett there, still all alone.
She looks up and around, her cheeks red. When our eyes meet, her gaze widens, and then she looks down quickly, brushing her hair behind her ear and acting as if it never happened.
“Here’s your turkey club.”
I take my sandwich and am about to curve around the edge of the food court and head toward the elevators. That’s the plan, at least until I somehow get lost on the way and end up right in front of Scarlett.
She’s looking down. She hasn’t seen me. From this angle, she seems so small and fragile.
Christ, when’s the last time I thought that about someone?
“What are you doing?” I ask the question brusquely, but that’s just how I talk. Ask Lucy; she’ll confirm my factory settings are gruff or gruffer.
Scarlett’s head shoots up in surprise, and I love watching the flurry of emotions race across her face. First is shock, but that quickly gives way to suspicion. I see it all in her inquisitive brow. Then, oh yes, anger. Her red lips thin into an annoyed line.
“I’m eating,” she says pointedly. She doesn’t like that I’ve come over here and interrupted her, I guess. Or who knows—I can’t possibly begin to understand this girl. All I know is she’s looking up at me with a scowl like she’d like me to excuse myself as efficiently as possible. I bet she’s wishing she had an evacuation button she could employ.
“Why not with them?” I tilt my head in the direction of the other first-years.
She looks their way and then turns back quickly, her cheeks turning red again. “Who cares? Does it matter? I’m just finishing up my salad while I read.”
She flips a page to prove her point. I’ll just bet she wasn’t done reading it yet. She’ll have to turn back when I walk away. The thought almost makes me laugh.
“Is it the last-name thing? Like you can’t deign to lower your standards and befriend a group of regular people?”
Her jaw drops. “Are you kidding?”
Okay good, so she’s not a snob.