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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Scarlett arrives at my new apartment just as I'm pulling the last box into the living room. I'm sweaty, out of breath, and completely over the idea of unpacking. She breezes in, looking like she just stepped off the runway, of course. How does she do that?
"Nice place," she says, her tone dripping with approval. "A little too perfect for my taste, but I guess that's what makes you, you." She winks, tossing her purse onto my freshly cleaned couch before plopping down like she owns the place.
I smile, wiping the sweat from my brow. "You're here to help, not judge my decorating skills."
Scarlett raises an eyebrow. "Help unpack? Oh no, I'm here for moral support. Unpacking is just an excuse for us to drink wine and gossip about your hot boss slash boyfriend."
I roll my eyes, plopping down beside her. "It's a little more complicated than that."
She looks at me over the rim of her imaginary wine glass, because let's be honest, I'm about two seconds from opening a bottle. "Elizabeth, everything is complicated with you. You overthink the most basic things. Like breathing."
"I do not overthink breathing."
"You do. I've seen you pause before taking a breath like you're worried it'll be the wrong one." She chuckles, leaning back into the cushions, her confidence radiating through the room. "Come on, spill. What's going on with Mr. Hot-and-Rich?"
I let out a sigh, my gaze drifting to the window overlooking the downtown skyline. "It's... a lot. I mean, it's Chris, you know? The guy who could have anyone he wants. Sometimes I wonder how serious we can even be. With his family, the Rebecca situation, all that baggage..."
Scarlett rolls her eyes dramatically. "Baggage? Please. The man is obsessed with you. He'd probably grovel if you asked him to."
"Grovel? Chris? No way." I laugh, picturing him trying to grovel. Yeah, not happening. "I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I'm in over my head. Like, what if this isn't real? What if I'm just the... side thing while he figures out his family drama?"
Scarlett sits up, her expression suddenly serious. "Elizabeth, look. Chris isn't the type to mess around. I've seen the way he looks at you. The man's practically undressing you with his eyes every time you walk into the room."
"Okay, but there's a difference between lust and... commitment. And that's what's freaking me out. What if I'm just... convenient right now?" My voice trails off, and I hate how vulnerable I sound.
Scarlett leans in, her face close to mine. "You, convenient? Girl, please. You're smart, gorgeous, and let's not forget, you have the patience of a saint dealing with me. If anything, Chris is lucky to have you. But you're also, like, the queen of second-guessing everything. It's just a relationship—stop putting it under a microscope."
