Page 31 of His Scarlette Obsession
Therefore, I must tender my resignation from Vista Lending, effective immediately. I realize this may seem sudden, but when one’s professional reputation has been eaten alive by predatory business practices—
I stop typing and delete the entire paragraph.
Get a grip, Scar.
I need to make this themostprofessional letter I’ve ever written in my entire life. My dignity depends on it.
To Whom It May Concern:
Please accept this letter as formal notification of my resignation from my position at Vista Lending. My last day will be—
The phone rings, and I stare at it like it’s a venomous snake.
Nope. Not today. Not happening.
I’ve had enough phone calls to last me a lifetime, thank you very much. Between Vaughn’s devastating friend-zoning and Lykan’s...well, everything about Lykan...I’m officially done with telecommunications.
The ringing stops.
Phew.
I go back to my resignation letter.
My last day will be two weeks from—
The door to my office suddenly bursts open, and I jump to my feet when Mr. Clarens pokes his head in.
“Sir?”
Something definitely has happened, for my normally composed supervisor to look this frazzled. His usually perfect hair is slightly mussed, his tie askew, and there’s a sheen of perspiration on his forehead despite the office’s aggressive air conditioning.
“Ms. Hood,” he wheezes out. “You’re needed on the fortieth floor,now.”
“But—”
“Stop wasting time, Ms. Hood. His Highness says you have four minutes and twenty seconds...and counting.”
Lykan
I’m standing with my back to the door, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a commanding view of Manhattan’s skyline. The same view I’ve stared at for the past three days, trying to forget the hurt in her eyes when I dropped her off like she meant nothing.
Like she doesn’t mean everything.
A soft knock interrupts my brooding.
“Come in.”
I don’t bother turning around; my secretary wouldn’t dare disturb me unless it was absolutely necessary. And there’s only one person I’ve been waiting for.
The door opens with a quiet click, followed by the whisper of heels on marble. I can smell her before I see her, that soft vanilla scent mixed with something uniquely Scarlette that makes my chest tighten and my hardness stir despite everything.
Despite the fact that she wants another man.
I turn slowly, and despite everything, I’m still not immune to the sight of her, with how I find myself inhaling sharply while clenching my hands against the urge to touch her.
She’s wearing a simple navy dress that hugs her curves in all the right places, her auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail that makes her look younger, more vulnerable. There are shadows under her eyes, like she hasn’t been sleeping. Her lips are bare,slightly parted, and blood rushes south when I remember how those lips felt under mine.
Enough, Qahiri.
