I take a swig from my water bottle before I set it back down on the end table, focusing on the open laptop before me.
The cursor blinks over the blank screen. I stare, waiting for the words to come to me.
Crickets.
Fucking crickets.
I pause, trying to figure out how to start the story I’ve been trying to tell for years. I know what I want to say, know what needs to be written, but the words don’t come to me. The words I need to expose them for who they are can’t seem to make their way onto the screen. I realize I should probably start from the beginning, but where do I even begin? There was no definitive beginning or end to this fucked-up situation.
Expelling a frustrated sigh, I click onto an open tab that displays my detailed notes on each of the Savages. I reread what I have written so far, refreshing my memory. When my gaze hovers near Baz’s name and his details, I get a weird sensation in my chest. I don’t know how to feel where he’s concerned. I should’ve dropped him once I left LA. Forgot about him. I’m sure that would’ve been a futile attempt.
Now, I’m even more determined to find out who he is and how he plays into my sister’s past. Into our past. I don’t want him to be guilty. He can’t be guilty.
My heart lurches in my throat when a knock sounds on my suite door. Heat enters my chest. I freeze in place, my lungs squeezing, causing the burn to spread. My eyes dart toward the looming door, and I swallow thickly.
What the hell?
It can only be one person. Even though I didn’t tell him what room I was in, I know it’s Baz. I feel it with every fiber of my being. That magnetic draw I have to him is here. Who else could it possibly be?
Hurriedly, I close out my tabs and pull up one of my older freelance projects before pushing off the couch. Smoothing my hand over my straight hair that’s slicked down my back, I quickly dart my gaze down my body, chastising myself for not dressing yet. Dammit, baggy sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt really don’t win me any points in the sexy department. Especially not compared to the slew of models he’s been photographed with over the past few weeks.
I suck in a calming breath and strut toward the door, trying to summon even an ounce of confidence.
I’m not Mackenzie anymore. I’m Scarlett. I need to remember that.
As expected, when I open the door, there stands Baz, as handsome, tall, and formidable as ever. I swallow the thick lump lodged in my throat, not expecting the thrill to shoot down my spine and the butterflies to take flight in my belly. I take in his pristine black and gray bespoke three-piece suit. A smile spreads across my face at the sight of him, and I don’t even bother reprimanding myself at this point.
“Hi.” My greeting comes out breathier than I would’ve liked.
A smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, and my cheeks burn with color. How is it possible I can feel that damn smirk all the way down to my toes?
His eyes trail up and down my body, lingering on my black painted toenails before settling back on my face. He cocks his head to the side ever so slightly, raising a single brow.
“You look … different.”
My insides coil, tightening with unease. I rake an anxious hand through my hair that I touched up a few days prior, shifting on my feet under the scrutiny of his gaze.
He must notice the expression on my face because his lips twist ruefully. He rubs the pad of his thumb enticingly over his bottom lip, taking a step toward me, and on instinct, I step back.
“It’s a good look. It’s you. I like it,” he says, eyes lingering on my nipples beading against the material of the baggy shirt.
I clear my throat, stepping back to make room. “You, uh, want to come in?”
Baz chuckles. “Yes, Mackenzie.”
His name choice has me snapping back to reality, remembering who I am, and most of all, who he is. A scowl pulls taut across the lines of my face. “Stop calling me that. I already told you my name is Scarlett.”
Baz heaves a deep sigh as though I should know better—and maybe I should. “And I already told you that’s bullshit. Don’t lie to me, Mackenzie. Ever.” His ominous tone gives me pause. My body stiffens, and my throat constricts. It takes me a few beats to regain the upper hand—or at the very least, a semblance of it. I close the door behind Baz and decide I need to regroup back inside the privacy of the bedroom.
“Let me get dressed really fast, then we can go.” I whirl on my heels, hurrying into the bedroom and shutting the door behind me. My back sags against the wood, and I coach myself to breathe. In and out. Deep, stabling breaths.
Shit. Shit. Shit. I am so in over my head.
I drop my head into my hands and rub at my temples, trying to stave off a headache. I wasn’t prepared for this. I was supposed to have the upper hand tonight, not him. He’s in my space, screwing with my head, already ruining everything. I haven’t been around him for even a full hour yet, and he’s already skewed my psyche.
Shaking myself out of it, I push off the door and hurry toward the closet. I yank the hangers across the rod, looking at the dresses I brought for occasions like tonight. I pause on a strappy lilac satin midi bodycon dress that hugs my curves. The slit up the left side shows just enough thigh to be distracting but not overtly sexy. I’d typically go for a hot red and short little number to get Baz’s attention, but I need to be sweet Scarlett and sweet Mackenzie tonight. The best of both worlds. And this dress will play into the façade perfectly.
He’s already seen me at my sexiest, but obviously, that’s not enough. He’s surrounded by a slew of sexy and willing women day in and day out. I need to be more. I need to be interesting. He has to want to keep me around. And that’ll be the biggest test of all.
I slip into a pair of nude heels with straps that wrap around my ankles before I head into the bathroom and spread out the contents of my makeup bag. As much as I’d like to go heavy on the makeup, hiding the girl from my past, I need to embrace my features. Baz seems to like them.
I settle for some concealer under the eyes, mascara, and eyeliner with a little blush. I fluff my hair in the mirror and take a step back to check out the whole ensemble. It’s not perfect, not even close, but it’ll do.
Snatching my clutch off the nightstand, I walk back into the kitchen and lounging area of the suite, and I stop short. Baz sits on the edge of the couch, leaning over my laptop, scrolling through a document. Of their own accord, my feet take me in his direction, clicking along the ground as I go. I slam the laptop closed, my chest heaving wildly as I work to control my anger and my fear.
“What do you think you’re doing?” My voice shakes, betraying the nervousness coursing through my veins. Slowly, Baz shifts his gaze from the closed laptop up to me. His face is void of any expression. The stirrings of a smirk tease the corners of his lips as he pushes to his feet. His tall, intimidating form towers over me, and I fight the urge to cower and step back.
“Interesting piece, dirty girl. I take it you’re ready?” His eyes travel along the exposed skin of my shoulders, then down the material of the dress.
My brows tug down, questions and reprimands on the tip of my tongue, but he steals the words from my lips when he bends down near my ear to whisper, “You almost look too sweet to eat. Almost.”
Tension hangs heavy in the air as we head down for dinner. It thrums in the confines of the elevator and travels down my spine, straight toward my core, when he takes my hand. Baz expertly navigates his way through his resort, leading us toward the same restaurant and the same table where we first met. The setup is almost identical, only this time around, there are two place settings and a candle lit in the center of the table to give it more of a … romantic vibe than the last time we were here. Baz pulls my chair out for me before he settles in the seat across from me.