“We didn’t like him from the very first night you introduced him to us. Jimmy hates him too,” Harlow says with a perfect pink pout on her face. “We don’t like the way he talks to you.”
“Yeah,” Monroe says. “It’s like he thinks he’s theonlyone who matters and that you’re lucky to be with him. Um, hello? We all know it’s the other way around. No one cares about Chadwick LaSalle Junior. Everyone cares about you, Scar. And if you want to know the truth, I think that drives Chad-dickcrazy. It’s like he’s jealous of his own girlfriend, and that’s pretty fucked up.”
The pair of women may not win any Nobel Peace Prizes, but they have good hearts.
I lower myself onto an antique settee of my mother’s and drop my head into my hands. “I don’t know what to do. He’s basically the only person who makes connecting with my father possible. I don’t want to lose that. I only have one parent left.”
Their heels click across the wooden floor as they come closer, and then Monroe sits beside me, sliding an arm around my shoulders for support.
“I know, honey. But that’s not a reason to be with someone. I mean, you should want to climb him, at least on occasion. When’s the last time you had really awesome, and I meankillersex with old Chaddy boy?”
I think of the last few months. The booty calls that left me feeling less than stellar about myself. The times when he’d push me for more because it had been so long, and he was a man with needs. I can’t even give them an answer out loud because of how stupid it makes me feel.
I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed sex. Or even reallywantedit. I only do it because I feel obligated.
My silence is answer enough.
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.” Monroe squeezes me tighter.
Harlow crouches between me and the coffee table, which is impressive, given her tight knee-length suede skirt. “Listen to me, Scarlett Priest. You deserve better. We’re going out to have some fun and get ready for Scarlett 2.0, because next time around, you’re getting what you deserve.”
“Okay,” I whisper, and both girls cheer. I’m excited for an update in my life, but I’ll never be someone who is good at good-byes. That’s probably why I’ve clung to Chadwick for so long.
“So, where and when are we going, anyway?” Monroe asks, and I’m grateful for the change in subject because I don’t want to think about my pathetic relationship anymore.
“Legend. Saturday night. We’re going to singlehandedly bring the club back to life and make it the most happening hot spot in town.”
They both stare at me like I’m crazy ... but neither of them back out. Legend’s blue eyes flash through my mind, and a shiver rips down my spine.
I hope you’re ready, Gabriel Legend. Because this ishappening.
Fifteen
Scarlett
I’m riding high on some awesome scores from an afternoon in my favorite vintage shops when I walk into La Familia, my father’s Italian restaurant of choice. It’s a far cry from the high-end, pretentious restaurants where Chadwick likes to be seen, which is fine with me. Honestly, I love the place, with its red-and-white-checked tablecloths and kitschy red candleholders. Plus, the eggplant parm is to die for.
The hostess’s face lights up when she sees me. “Welcome, Ms. Priest. Your father has already arrived. Please allow me to show you to your table.”
“Thanks, Lisa.” I smile at her, and she gestures with her hand for me to follow her.
We wind through the tables of diners until we arrive at a table with three place settings in an intimate back corner of the dining room. No doubt my father requested it specifically.
“Enjoy,” she says, returning my smile as the men rise from their seats.
“Scarlett, baby, it’s good to see you. I’ve missed you this week.” Chadwick’s light brown hair ruffles as he reaches out to grab my upper arm and pull me in for a kiss.
As soon as his dry lips slide against mine, my head jerks back, breaking the contact. His brown gaze narrows on my face while I pull myself together and try to shut down the feelings of disgust twisting in my stomach from his touch.
“Something wrong?” he murmurs in my ear as he pulls out my chair for me.
“Nothing, sorry. Thought I was going to sneeze and didn’t want to surprise you.” It’s a lame lie, but his expression smooths out into the placid one I’m used to seeing.
“Glad you could make it, Scarlett,” my father says from across the table as he reseats himself. “You’re looking well.”
I know he means I’m looking more like my mother every day, except for my height, which will never reach her statuesque levels. I haven’t grown an inch since I was fourteen.
“Sorry to keep you both waiting,” I reply, stemming the urge to check my phone and double-check the time to prove I’m not late.