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...
Warning!! This chapter contains violence that may be disturbing to some readers. Proceed with caution.
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Thanksgiving was an absolute nightmare. Not only did James have the audacity to show up unannounced, but he also had the nerve to talk business at my family gathering. My family, who of course grilled me endlessly about him the second he left. As if his sudden appearance wasn't confusing enough.
I've been stewing in my frustration ever since. Two weeks of silence—two weeks—and then he just pops up like nothing happened, weaving his way back into my life without answering any of my questions. And then there's the Natalia situation...the way she hinted at things I still can't shake. How could he not even bother to address what she said?
I'm furious. Furious at him for making me think there was a chance I could be pregnant, and more furious at myself for letting his games rattle me.
"Hey," a voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I nearly jump out of my seat.
I glance up and see Adriel standing there, an amused smile tugging at his lips. I let out a long breath, trying to calm my racing heart.
"Don't scare me like that," I mumble, but I can't help smiling back.
Adriel chuckles and then, without a word, hands me a small slip of paper. "Happy birthday. I know it's late, but intel takes time, and my contacts are slow," he says, leaning in conspiratorially.
I blink in surprise before grabbing the piece of paper from his hand. My eyes dart over the scribbled address and a name that's barely legible but familiar.
Acosta International.
My heart skips a beat. I glance back up at Adriel, my pulse quickening. "Where did you get this?"
He shrugs, but there's a glint of excitement in his eyes. "A guy I know. He's worked in shipping and logistics for years, and when I asked him about Acosta International, he got nervous—real nervous. He mentioned a warehouse, said it's where they 'handle things,' but wouldn't go into more detail. Just handed me the address and told me not to ask questions."
