Page 10 of Open for Negotiation
“You can’t let that haunt you forever, babe.”
“What if this is me falling into the same bullshit cycle?”
“You were eighteen years old, Scarlett. Fresh out of high school, looking to make some mistakes and have some fun. He preyed on that. You weren’t to blame for any of it.”
“Tell that to the people who threatened my life and trashed my dorm room.”
“What happened to you was horrible. It was something I’d never wish on anyone. I know that it completely changed the path you thought your life was taking you on, but don't let that one decision, that one mistake, keep you from living your life at one hundred and ten percent. You are an adult now. Maxwell is an adult. There’s no law against dating your boss. I say go for it. Have some fun. You deserve it.”
I tap my fingers against my countertop and ponder what she has said.
As much as I try not to admit it out loud, I’ve let that time in my life dictate every choice I’ve made. Hell, I dropped out of college in Texas, ran home to Tennessee, cut and colored my hair, and tried my best to remove myself from the girl in the newspapers and Instagram photos.
I didn’t want to be the college co-ed, or as social media deemed me, “The Whore,” who got Coach Whitaker fired during what could have been a championship year. I wanted to just be... Scarlett Hale.
“I don't know...”
“Nope.” Eden holds up her hand, currently clasping the knife, giving her a terrifying look, to stop me. “I’m done letting you do this to yourself. Do you want to go to dinner with him? Don’t think, just answer with your immediate instinct.”
I blurt out my true feelings without a thought. “Yes. I do.”
“Then pick up that phone and text him. You don’t have to live your life any other way than the way you want because of Carson fucking Whitaker.”
I tap my nails on the counter and glance over at my cell phone lying next to my laptop. I blow out a breath and my lips vibrate together obnoxiously.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” Eden adds.
“I don’t know if I even want to consider the answer to that question,” I say honestly.
My mind wants him. My body obviously wants him.
We are adults. Consenting adults, at that.
Maxwell Duke is a grown man, who makes me feel smart and desired. He’s a business professional who excels in his field.
He’s not a fucking college football coach with an ego that constantly needs to be stroked and protected.
Maxwell Duke wants me.
And I want him, so I swipe my phone from the counter.
“Fuck it.”
Max
I recline back against my sofa, CNN playing on the TV screen mounted on the wall in front of me, smartphone resting facedown on my chest, and trying my hardest to keep my eyes open. I want to catch up on the day’s events, politically, financially, etcetera, but my body and mind are exhausted. I’m worn out, even though I’d never admit that out loud to anyone.
I’m lucky I even feel the vibration of my phone, because I was nearly out cold.
When I slide my finger over the screen to unlock it, I see a text message from a certain blonde bombshell waiting for me.
Scarlett: About dinner? I’m in.
It takes a larger amount of self-control than I’d like to admit not to do an excited little jig like a fucking teenager when I see her words. I decide to play with her a little bit, for no other reason than I just want to flirt with her. That’s where I am now. I want to make her smile, even if I can’t see it.
Me: I’m sorry, who is this?
I add a confused emoji for added effect.
