Page 81 of Piece Of Me

It was barely five in the morning and restless, she slid out of bed, headed to the bathroom, and splashed water on her face. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, her skin dull. God, she looked like shit.

With a groan she turned away from the mirror and grabbed the baby monitor before heading downstairs to the kitchen. Caffeine was what she needed.

Scarlett waited impatiently for the pot to brew and once there was enough for a cup, she poured it black and then sat in the living room to mull over the coming day. It was exhausting, this charade she’d been living, and today would test her. They were to meet Malcom at the American Museum of Natural History and then he’d booked dinner at a swanky restaurant uptown for later. Her mouth thinned at the thought. He’d actually wanted her to use a babysitting service and leave Hank with a stranger so that he could wine and dine her. How obtuse was the man?

He was a narcissist. Had to be.

Tears sprang up, something she couldn’t seem to curb these last few days, and she gripped the mug in her hand so tightly her fingers cramped.

Scarlett wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but she had hoped that he would at least show some modicum of interest in his son. But there’d been nothing. He hadn’t held him once.

“Not once,” she whispered, swiping angrily at her eyes. Hank deserved so much better. He deserved Taz.

Her laptop was open on the small writing desk. She’d spent more time than she cared to admit to, trying to find any kind of information on Malcom. But just like the year before when he’d left her pregnant and alone in some small village in Ireland, there was nothing. The odd mention about a Malcom David Kingsley the sixth, but it appeared that was Malcom’s father. It was as if he’d been scrubbed from all social media.

And that only added fuel to the fire in her gut. The one that had her not sleeping and on edge. She still didn’t know what he wanted but it clearly wasn’t his son. And it was also plain to see that she didn’t know anything about this man.

With a sigh, she finished her coffee and headed back up to shower, and by midmorning Scarlett was as ready for her day as she ever would be. She’d chosen a simple rose-colored blouse, sleeveless, with delicate white daisies, and paired it with white linen shorts and a pair of white sandals. Her hair she’d pulled up into a high ponytail, and her face sported minimal makeup, some gloss on her lips and mascara on her lashes. The usual. It was all she needed really, her skin was golden from all the time she’d spent outside at the Triple B.

She sent a quick message to Lacey, who she’d been in contact with daily, and reassured her once again that everything was fine. It was easy to fall into a pattern of lies it seemed, but it sure did leave a bad taste in her mouth.

Scarlett was in the living room watching Hank rock back and forth on his hands and knees, something he’d started the day before, when the doorbell chimed. It must be her food delivery, she thought, heading for the front door.

She swung it open and smiled as the young man from the grocery stood there with two bags. He’d been an absolute angel and had helped her out tremendously since she’d arrived in the city.

“Hi Joe,” she said, stepping aside. “You can put those on the counter in the kitchen.”

She followed him back in and grabbed his tip.

“Thank you,” he said with a grin. “Anything else you need just call me.”

“I will.”

“I’ll let myself out.”

Scarlett could see her son from the kitchen while she put away the few groceries she’d ordered. The bag with diapers and Hank’s butt cream she’d take upstairs later. She was about to peel an orange when the hairs stood up on the back of her neck and she swung around, a soft “oh,” falling from her lips when she spied Malcom watching her from the doorway of the kitchen.

“What the hell?”

“Good morning to you, too, luv.” He wore lime green trousers, beige shoes, and a cream-colored button up. The light colors were a great foil to his dark good looks, something he no doubt knew, and a slow grin took over his face as he continued to watch her.

“How did you get in?” Her voice was sharp.

“Your grocery boy. I told him I was your husband.”

“How did you find me?” Not once had she given him her address.

“I followed you home last night.”

“That’s not at all creepy,” she retorted, anger flushing her cheeks a dull pink.

“I thought it was ingenious myself.” His smile deepened. “Come on, Scar, you can’t keep me at bay forever.” He produced a bouquet of flowers from behind his back and held them up. When she didn’t move, he didn’t bother to hide his irritation.

“Don’t be like that, luv. I just thought we could so something this morning and you weren’t answering your phone.”

“I didn’t answer my cell because I don’t want…” Her voice trailed off and she grabbed the flowers, needing to do something before her mouth got her into trouble.

“Don’t want what?” His voice was low, and she jumped because he was at her back. She could feel the heat of his body, and her stomach turned.

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