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...
Sorry about the long wait. I've moved to another state so I've been trying to get myself comfortable. I'll be posting more soon.
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I spend my Saturday evening cleaning my new apartment, glancing occasionally at Scarlett, who's lounging on my couch with her laptop balanced on her knees. She's tapping away furiously, her face a picture of concentration. I fluff the pillows on the armchair, wondering what could have her so focused.
"What are you writing?" I ask, straightening the rug in the living room.
"Finishing up my piece on a shady charity," Scarlett replies without looking up. "It's due Monday, so I'm in crunch mode."
"Seems like the deal with James is working out," I say, eyeing her closely.
She nods, still glued to her screen. The casualness in her response doesn't match the tension I can sense just beneath the surface.
"How have things been?" Scarlett asks, her tone neutral, though I know she's prying for more than small talk.
I shrug. "Everything's good, except for the shady messages and that guy from Paris showing up the other day." I set down a vase on the coffee table, sighing. "He gave me serious creeps."
That gets her attention. She immediately shuts her laptop and sits up straighter. "Is Matt threatening you again?"
"No," I shake my head, sitting down on the edge of the chair. "I thought it was him at first, but Chris said he's 'taken care of it.' Whatever that means." I raise an eyebrow, still unsure what Chris meant. "But now, I'm questioning everything. I met this Spaniard guy in Paris, and then—surprise, surprise—he just ran into me at the coffee shop the other day. Coincidentally, or so he says. He keeps giving me these cryptic warnings about the people around me. It's got me spiraling, questioning my own relationship with Chris, which is crazy, right? I shouldn't let some stranger get into my head like that."
Scarlett's eyes narrow, and I can see the wheels turning in her head. "Spaniard, you say? Do you think he's the one sending you those messages?"
I bite my lip. "Honestly, I do. It makes sense, but it just leaves me with more questions. Why would he be messaging me? I don't even know him."
Scarlett perks up, looking like she's just connected a few dots in her head. "Wait—what's his name?"
"Nicolas. He said he's in Seattle for business, but the whole thing just feels... off."
Scarlett's eyes go wide, and she practically leaps off the couch. "Nicolas Acosta?!"
I blink, taken aback by her reaction. "What? Who's Nicolas Acosta?"
"If it's the same Nicolas Acosta I'm thinking of, he's tied to that shady charity I've been digging into," Scarlett says, running a hand through her hair like she's trying to keep her head from exploding.
