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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As we pull up to the airport, I can't help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves swirling in my stomach. Paris. I'm actually going to Paris. Scarlett, on the other hand, is practically bouncing in her seat, her grin infectious.
"You seem way too happy to be sending me off," I tease, trying to lighten the mood.
"Are you kidding? You're going to Paris with Chris Bryant. That's like every rom-com dream come true," she says with a wink. "Plus, it's a great excuse to go shopping for souvenirs when you get back."
I roll my eyes but can't help but laugh. "Well, when you put it like that..."
Before I can say anything else, Scarlett's phone buzzes. She glances at it, her smile fading slightly, and quickly puts it away.
"Has James called or talked to you yet?" I ask, remembering how tense she was after the party.
She shakes her head. "No, ever since the party, he's been off the radar. Which is good. Maybe the arrangement I agreed to won't be so bad." Her tone is light, but there's something in her eyes that tells me she's not as carefree as she's pretending to be.
"And nothing happened at the party?" I ask, narrowing my eyes. She disappeared for a long time and came back looking a little shaken.
"No, I just went to get some fresh air," she says quickly, almost too quickly. I raise an eyebrow, but she avoids my gaze, focusing on the road instead. Why do I have the feeling she's hiding something?
"Scarlett, if something happened—"
"Nothing happened, Elizabeth. Really," she interrupts, forcing a smile. "You just go and enjoy Paris, okay? Don't worry about me."
I nod, but the uneasy feeling doesn't go away. "Alright, but you know you can call me anytime, right? I don't care if I'm halfway across the world."
She smiles, this time more genuinely. "I know. Thanks."
We pull up to the curb, and she helps me unload my luggage. Before I head inside, she pulls me into a tight hug. "Have fun, and don't forget to send me pictures. Lots of them."
"Of course," I say, hugging her back. "Take care of yourself while I'm gone."
As I watch her drive away, I can't shake the feeling that something's bothering her. But before I can dwell on it too much, my phone buzzes with a text from Chris.
Chris:At the terminal. Ready for an adventure?
I take a deep breath, pushing my worries aside for now, and text back.
Me:Ready as I'll ever be.
Paris, here I come.
As I meet Chris at the terminal, I expect us to head straight inside, but instead, he motions towards a sleek black car waiting nearby. I furrow my brows but follow his lead, getting into the car. We start driving around the airport, and I give him a curious glance. He just smirks in response, not offering any explanation. Typical.
