“All the more reason, then,” Neil had concluded after setting the report aside, “that you should be the one to approach Scarlett initially and not me. I doubt she’d even consent to speak to me, much less consider what we need to ask of her.”
Jackson had looked at his brother-in-law scathingly. “Gee, you think? And here I pictured a tender father and daughter reunion. But I’m not sure she’ll be any more receptive to me. At least if I approach her at her place of business she might be less likely to cause a scene there. Or throw something at me once she realizes why I’m there.”
Neil had smiled faintly. “Just turn that famous charm of yours on her, Jack. Hell, I’ve seen you put the moves on the hottest and most unattainable woman in the room and then watched her fawn all over you. And, uh, while I realize you aren’t intending to put any moves on Scarlett, that doesn’t mean she won’t be susceptible to some flattery and a big smile.”
Jackson picked up the manila envelope that held the report. “From everything I’ve read about your daughter, I seriously doubt she’s got a vulnerable bone left in her body. She’s had a hard life, by all accounts, and my experience with people like her are that they’ve hardened their hearts as a result. For their own protection. I hope like hell I’m wrong, but Ms. Scarlett Strohman sure as hell doesn’t sound like the kind of girl who’s going to fall for any of the smooth lines I can dream up. And believe me, I know all the smooth lines.”
Neil had scowled, evidently discomfited at the reminder that he had been largely responsible for the hard life his daughter had had to endure. “Maybe instead of flirting with her you ought to flash a wad of cash in her face. If Scarlett is anything like her mercenary bitch of a mother, she’ll be willing to do almost anything for the money.” He shook his head in revolt. “And what a ridiculous name - Scarlett. It’s not like her idiot of a mother would have ever read something as classic as Gone With The Wind, so it had to be because of the hair color.”
Jackson had been so irritated by Neil’s scornful attitude towards the daughter he’d abandoned as an infant that he hadn’t bothered to point out that Scarlett’s red gold hair was nearly the same color as her paternal grandmother’s had been at the same age. Or, that before poor little Hannah had lost all of her hair from the chemo treatments, she’d had the same sort of curly reddish gold hair that her half-sister possessed in abundance.
Jackson slid one of the half dozen photos that the private investigator had discretely snapped from the manila envelope, thinking that Scarlett was perhaps the perfect name for her. Not just because of the color of her wildly curling hair, but because the look of fearless defiance on her vivid features that the photograph had captured reminded him of the bold, outspoken Scarlett O’Hara. And given all that this young woman had endured thus far in her life, it was small wonder she would have adopted a tough, “don’t fuck with me” attitude as a means of protection.
He slid the photo back inside the envelope with a heavy sigh, wondering yet again what horrific wrong he’d done in his life to have had this unpleasant task shoved down his throat. During his years of playing wide receiver on the UCLA football team, he’d taken more than his fair share of hits by the opposing team, and thought grimly that he would prefer to get tackled by a dozen defensive backs rather than endure the stormy confrontation that was sure to occur when he approached the fiery Scarlett Strohman.
But then the sweet, sad face of his beloved little niece came to mind, and he knew he had to at least try for her sake. Taking a deep breath, Jackson opened the door to Café Santosha and walked inside before he lost his nerve.
Given that it was the middle of the afternoon, the place was busier than he would have guessed, with nearly every one of the dozen or so tables occupied. A quick glance around the smallish space revealed that most of the clientele appeared to be students, though one table was occupied by three buff men in tank tops and track pants. Jackson had a vague recollection of walking by a gym a few doors down, but still found it odd that such macho looking guys would be hanging out in a New Age-y place like this.
Each wall of the shop had been painted a different color - one a deep burgundy, a second in sage green, a third in violet, and the one behind the counter a brilliant shade of goldenrod. Tinkling wind chimes and feathered dream catchers were suspended from the ceiling, and a wide variety of framed photographs, paintings, and woven tapestries were hung on the jewel toned walls. East Indian drum music played softly through hidden speakers, adding to the mystical, bohemian atmosphere.
‘Well, you’re definitely not in a Starbucks, are you?’ Jackson asked himself as he finally allowed his gaze to settle on the counter, where two people were waiting to place orders.
He had learned from the private investigator’s very detailed report that working at Café Santosha was only one of the three part-time jobs Scarlett held. She had started here during her freshman year of college, and continued to work several hours each afternoon, Monday through Friday. On weekends, she worked eight hour shifts at a local Ikea store, and in the evenings often did wait staff stints for a catering company at weddings, parties, and other events.
Jackson had made it a point to make Neil aware of just how hard his neglected daughter had to work to help pay her expenses - expenses that he should have been paying for all of these years. He’d looked pointedly at Neil’s five thousand dollar Italian suit, two hundred dollar silk tie, and equally pricey leather loafers, and had taken a small measure of satisfaction at seeing the guilty look on his brother-in-law’s face. And, after learning that Scarlett worked not one but three part-time jobs, Neil hadn’t dared to compare his daughter to her lazy, opportunistic mother again. Neil had been visibly shocked to learn that the daughter he had just assumed would take after her not-so-bright mother was in actuality an honors student at UC Berkeley, widely regarded as one of the top academic universities in the world. Not only that, but she was studying to be an architect, one of the most difficult programs to get accepted into at the school.
As he discreetly got his first in-person look at Scarlett Strohman, Jackson was immediately struck by two facts. The first was that the rather grainy, somewhat blurry photos the investigator had provided him with didn’t even begin to resemble the actual person, much less do her justice. And the second was that he was instantly, oddly, and very unwisely attracted to her.
She was smaller than she appeared in the photos, no more than five foot three or four he would guess, and overly slender. She was casually dressed, wearing a jade green T-shirt with the Café Santosha name and logo printed on the front, and faded jeans. Her abundant red gold curls had been carelessly pinned up in some sort of messy bun, with tendrils falling down the back of her neck. From this distance, she didn’t appear to be wearing a scrap of makeup, not even lip gloss, but he thought fervently that any sort of cosmetics would have been overkill on a face like hers. Her smooth ivory complexion was slightly flushed from her exertions, and he thought he noticed a light sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were enormous in that too-thin face, almost startlingly blue, and fringed by long curly lashes. Her eyebrows were on the thick side, and a darker shade than her hair, and she would no doubt scoff at the very idea of having them tweezed or waxed. She had a lushly full mouth, the lips a deep shade of coral even without benefit of any gloss or lipstick.