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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I continue my search on this foundation, but no matter how deep I dig, I come up blank. No trace of the man who gave me the tour, no one by the name Nico Lopez. My frown deepens as I realize that Nico Lopez likely wasn't his real name. He seemed too secretive, too calculated, and there were those vague threats he made. The last thing I need is to have caught the attention of some shadowy figure in this murky world of charity and crime.
My phone buzzes, pulling me out of my thoughts. James Wilson's name lights up the screen, and my heart does that annoying flutter it seems to do whenever he's involved. It's Friday, and he did mention something about attending an event, but I can't stop thinking about that kiss—how he just brushed it off like it was nothing. Like it didn't make my world tilt off its axis.
I'm about to answer when Elizabeth walks into the living room, startling me. I quickly put the phone down, feeling a flush of guilt. "What are you doing?" she asks, plopping down on the couch next to me.
"Just taking a break from my investigation and scrolling through my phone," I lie, the words slipping out so easily now. It's becoming a bad habit.
Elizabeth glances at the TV, her eyes unfocused. "Have you talked to Chris after everything that happened on Wednesday?" I ask, hoping to steer the conversation away from my secrets. She looks down at her hands, her expression tight.
"No. I've been ignoring him, keeping things professional. Like he said, we were never friends." The hurt in her voice is palpable, and I feel a surge of anger toward Chris. How could he be such a jerk?
"Maybe his mother visiting messed with his head," I suggest, trying to soothe her. "She seems like the type who's good at manipulating him into doing what she wants."
Elizabeth sighs, pulling her knees to her chest and hugging them. "He can suck it. I knew we shouldn't have kissed, but I let it happen. Now he's acting like such a dick." She runs a hand through her hair, frustration etched on her face. She's trying to be strong, but I can see the vulnerability beneath the surface.
"Anyways, I wanted to tell you I've been looking for apartments," she says, changing the subject abruptly. My eyebrow shoots up.
"You're moving out?"
"I mean, we can't exactly keep sharing a one-bedroom apartment," Elizabeth says with a chuckle, but there's a hint of reluctance in her voice. I nod, understanding. The month she's been here has made rent cheaper and life a lot less lonely.
"I think I found something more downtown, closer to my job. It's really nice. I would ask you to come live in a two-bedroom with me, but you have a lease here and all," she continues, and I nod again.
"I get it. But I'll miss having you around," I say, giving her a playful nudge. It's true—I've gotten used to her presence, her company.
"Well, I'll bother you almost every day, don't worry," Elizabeth says with a small smile. "And I wouldn't move until the end of November, so we still have time."
