She was far too thin, he observed with a frown, with small breasts, a tiny waist, and boyishly slim hips. Her arms were slender to the point of being stick skinny, and he guessed that if she were to hike up her T-shirt a few inches the stark outline of her ribs would be visible. Her cheekbones were so sharply defined that they almost appeared sunken, and he wondered angrily why she didn’t take better care of herself. Was it because, like so many young women her age, that she was overly obsessed with her weight and barely ate to maintain her thin frame? Or was it for a totally different reason - a reason that filled Jackson with rage to even contemplate? After all, he had a pretty damned good idea of what her monthly expenses were, as well as the take home pay she earned from her three part-time jobs, and he guessed there wasn’t a whole lot of extra cash in her pocket to pay for groceries or meals. While Neil frequently dropped five hundred dollars or more on a fancy dinner for two, his daughter was probably going hungry because she didn’t have enough money to eat properly. It was, thought Jackson grimly, a state of affairs that was going to change in a damned hurry, no matter how all of this unfolded.
Jackson continued to watch her from a distance for a couple more minutes, observing the way she moved quickly but efficiently at the same time, ringing up a customer’s order and taking their payment before getting their coffee and plating the pastry they had selected, all with a minimum of movement and zero fuss. She would give each customer a brief, polite smile but didn’t seem inclined to make any sort of small talk. And those small smiles never seemed to reach her eyes, eyes that instead were filled with a combination of anger, sadness, and some other, inexplicable emotion that he couldn’t put a name to.
Still, though, despite her almost waifish appearance, and her plain, well worn clothes, she was the sort of woman you simply couldn’t take your eyes off of for very long. And it wasn’t just her vibrant coloring, or the way her blue eyes would occasionally flash sapphire fire. Her beauty was neither conventional nor immediately apparent. Instead, Scarlett was the sort of woman you looked at once, then twice just to make sure you hadn’t missed something the first time around. And by the third time you couldn’t look anywhere else, because you’d realized she was the most fascinating, unusual, and alluring woman you’d ever seen in your life. The half dozen or so photographs that the private detective had snapped of her hadn’t come close to capturing how vibrant and alive she was, or how the air around her practically crackled with electricity just with the smallest of movements.
And while Neil had scoffed at his daughter having been given what he’d referred to as a “ridiculous” name, Jackson thought instead that the name suited her perfectly. Not just because of the red gold hair, either. No, it was because Ms. Scarlett Strohman seemed to be every bit as feisty and fearless as her literary namesake.
Belatedly he realized he’d been standing still for almost ten minutes now, content to merely observe the young woman he had come out here to see rather than approach her outright. Though Jackson could sheepishly set aside his machismo to admit that his reluctance in approaching Scarlett was at least a little bit due to intimidation. After reading the detailed background information that had been compiled for him, he’d already been wary about asking her for what would amount to a huge favor. Now that he had seen her in person, his wariness was beginning to border on outright terror.
‘Shit,’ he muttered to himself as he forced one foot in front of another. ‘Why the hell couldn’t she have worked in a bar or cocktail lounge instead of a coffee shop? I could really do with a shot or two - or three - of tequila right about now.’
But the image of Hannah continued to propel him forward, until he was standing in line behind two other customers who’d arrived while he had been dawdling. Jackson offered up a silent prayer that they would each have very complex orders that would take a few minutes each to fulfill. Instead, as bad luck would have it, the first person in line simply wanted a cup of plain black coffee, while the second only ordered a pastry to go.
When it was his turn to step up to the counter, Scarlett looked up at him expectantly, a polite but bored expression on her face. She didn’t give the slightest indication that she was dazzled by his good looks, even when he automatically flashed her his sexiest smile, the one that had rarely failed to elicit an equally interested smile in return.
“What can I get you?” she asked in a slightly husky voice, in a tone that sounded both rehearsed and almost painfully solicitous, as though it was taking a tremendous amount of effort on her part to be courteous.
Jackson tried really, really hard not to stare at her open-mouthed when he met her gaze full-on. Her polite smile began to turn into a scowl as he continued to be at a loss for words, until he gave himself a little mental shake and blurted out, “Um, a - a double espresso and uh, what sort of pastry would you recommend?”
He could swear she gave him a little eye roll before shrugging and moving behind the pastry case.
“Depends, I guess,” she murmured disinterestedly. “Got any dietary restrictions for a start? Are you vegan or gluten intolerant? If not, the best thing in the whole place is the salted caramel butter bar. There’s a whole pound of butter in them. You’re lucky there’s one left, they usually sell out before the lunch hour.”
He nodded. “Yeah, that sounds amazing. Thanks for the suggestion.”
Scarlett merely nodded and placed the butter laden treat in a white paper bag before quickly and effortlessly making up his espresso. She rang up his order with the same casual, almost lackadaisical sort of attitude. And as he handed her a fifty dollar bill, this time the eye roll she gave him was unmistakable.
“You seriously don’t have anything smaller?” she asked, not bothering to hide her disdain. “This isn’t some fancy San Francisco café, you know. We’re a little more laidback here in Berkeley.”
Jackson actually felt his cheeks redden at her chastisement, and riffed through the wad of bills in his wallet until he found a twenty.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, as he handed her the bill.
Scarlett smirked as she gave him his change. “Word of advice, Mr. Big Spender. I wouldn’t be flashing that much cash around here. Thanks to Isaiah and his crew who hang out here during the day we don’t have a lot of trouble inside the cafe. Doesn’t mean you won’t run into some street punk or junkie when you leave, though.”
“Um, thanks for the advice,” he replied sheepishly, as he put his wallet back in his pocket and picked up his espresso. “Guess it’s pretty obvious I’m not from around these parts, huh?”
She gave a careless shrug that told him she hadn’t given the idea a moment’s thought until now. “Not really. We get all kinds here. They don’t call this place Berserkeley for nothing.”
Scarlett rather abruptly disappeared from view after that, passing through a doorway that most likely led to a kitchen area or storeroom. He stood by the counter, still clutching his espresso and takeout bag, more than a little taken aback by her sudden, unannounced departure.
‘Good thing she’s studying architecture and not communications,’ he muttered beneath his breath. ‘Because she’d damned sure be flunking out of the latter.’