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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I arrive at my apartment feeling giddy, practically buzzing with excitement to hear all the juicy details Scarlett's been holding back all day. It's weird that she didn't text me after her interview. Seriously, it's like she's trying to kill me with suspense. But when I walk in, the apartment is completely empty. Oh wait, she doesn't get home until 5:20. I laugh at myself and head to my room to change into something more comfortable, something that says, "I'm ready to hear secrets."
Once I'm in my cozy clothes, I grab some wine glasses and start cooking tostones as a snack. I would've made mangu with salami and queso frito, but Seattle doesn't seem to know what queso frito is. I mean, I haven't exactly gone on a citywide hunt for it, but still—two weeks here, and I've got nada. I set everything up on the coffee table and settle in to wait.
As I sit there, staring at the TV, my mind drifts to Chris. Charming, witty Chris, who's been nothing but sweet since the moment we met. And that's the problem—I think I might be developing feelings for him. Which is terrifying. So many reasons why this is a bad idea, Elizabeth. And just to make it worse, Matt's threats still lurk in the back of my mind like a bad horror movie I can't turn off. The fact that he hasn't texted in a while only makes me more nervous. What if he finds me? Stop it. You're safe. Calm, cool, collected. Focus on the tostones.
By 5:30, I'm tapping my foot impatiently, shooting glances at the door every few seconds. Any minute now... Finally, at 5:40, I hear the familiar sound of keys in the door, followed by Scarlett shuffling in with an unreadable expression on her face.
"Scarlett! You're twenty minutes late," I exclaim, unable to hide my impatience.
"Sorry, traffic," she responds in the most monotone voice I've ever heard. Something's definitely off.
"What's wrong?" I ask, making her snap out of her trance.
"Hmm? Oh, um, nothing, just thinking," she says as she walks over and flops down next to me on the couch.
"Is this alcohol?" she asks, and before I can even answer, she grabs a wine glass and downs it like it's water.
"Okay, tell me what's going on. You're acting weird," I say, raising an eyebrow at her. If anyone's the queen of weird, it's her—but this isn't normal Scarlett weirdness.
"Nothing, I just feel... weird," Scarlett says, pouring herself another glass. I quickly snatch it away, but she just reaches for the bottle and takes a swig straight from it.
"Hey, let's calm down with the wine," I say, taking the bottle and putting it out of her reach. "Tell me what's going on," I demand, my curiosity reaching a boiling point.
"Nothing, I'm fine."
I narrow my eyes at her. "If your voice goes all squeaky and high when you say 'fine,' then you're definitely not fine."
