Meet Scarlett Striker, a bold and quirky journalist for the Seattle Times. She's fun, confident, sassy, and just the right amount of weird. Scarlett is determined to rise to the top, no matter what it takes.
When her boss offers a golden opportunity...
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It's the big day. By ten, I'm ready. Dressed to impress, or at least to survive whatever this interview might throw at me. I've chosen a light pink tie-sleeve dress with a deep V-neckline, paired with white heels. My hair's down, as usual, and my makeup is a natural look-except for my lips, which are a bold, rosy color. A little pop of confidence, just in case I need it.
Elizabeth had to drag me out of bed this morning-thank God for her-or I'd still be snoozing after staying up way too late planning out questions just for Mr. Cold and Mysterious. With everything gathered and stuffed into my purse, I head out of the apartment, where I'm greeted by an older gentleman in a black and white suit.
"Miss Striker?" he asks, his tone polite but firm. I nod, a bit startled. It's scary how this man was just waiting for me like he knew exactly when I'd come out.
"I'm Mr. Harrigan, but you can call me Ron," he introduces himself, his dark eyes shining under the partly cloudy sky.
He seems nice enough... Let's just hope he's not an imposter and this isn't the start of a murder mystery. "Mr. Wilson sent me," he adds, and I glance at the expensive car parked nearby.
"I can tell," I reply with a smirk, earning a chuckle from him.
"Come right along," he says, and that's when I catch his British accent. Well, isn't that a nice touch?
"You're British?" I ask as he opens the back door for me.
"Yes," he confirms, and I nod, unable to resist the urge to be a little silly.
"Noice," I say, immediately furrowing my eyebrows. Did I just say "noice"? What the hell is wrong with me? But Ron just chuckles again, unfazed by my awkwardness.
The ride is silent, and it takes about forty minutes to get to wherever we're going. When we finally enter a building garage, I happen to catch the name on the sign outside: Wilson Hotel.Classy. Just slap your own name on it, why don't you? He probably owns a chain of these things, but if he lives here, it's definitely the high life.
