05. Why is he here?

Scarlett:

______

ONE WEEK LATER

_____

“I set twelve alarms last night, Hera. I can’t believe I slept through all of them.”

My eyes darted to the clock on the wall — fifteen minutes to nine. My closet doors were flung wide open, and I was skimming shelves like a woman on the brink of losing her job before it even started.

“Maybe it’s a good thing,” Hera’s voice came through my phone, perched against a perfume bottle on my dresser. She was on video, one perfectly shaped brow arched, sipping her coffee. “Ever since that night, things have been… lucky for you. Mystery dick might be lucky dick after all.”

I shot her a look on the screen. “Please stop calling it — him that.”

Her smirk deepened. “Then give me a name. No? Didn’t think so.”

I stepped into my skirt and pulled the zipper up, ignoring her smug expression. “I have more important things to worry about right now. Like starting a new job at Eden Properties and not looking like I woke up twenty minutes ago.”

“As if thinking about him isn’t the most important thing on the list.” Hera pushed, waiting for a reaction.

I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. But even as I reached for my blouse, the thought of him slid in uninvited — like it had been doing all of last week.

The warm, filthy press of his hand between my thighs, finding me already wet for him. His mouth rough and unrelenting. The weight of him against me pounding into me.

Heat pooled low in my stomach, and I shook my head like that would erase the memory. It didn’t.

I slipped my heels on, snatched my bag from the chair. “It’s not,” I muttered, more to myself than to Hera, “And I won’t be.”

Now with a job, I would be preoccupied with work rather than those sinful memories of him. It was just shameless how I let a stranger take up a huge space in my head.

“Sure,” Hera said, her tone dripping with smugness. “Drinking wine is not essential to me either.”

I rolled my eyes. “Bye, Hera.”

“Text me if Lucien Whitmore is as hot as they say!” She called as I ended the call.

Before I left the bedroom, I stood before the mirror running my hand through my waves, taking in how prim I looked despite the tardiness. My eyes were brighter and my face had a certain glow to it — one I almost forgot used to be there. Taking a deep breath, I spun on my heels and headed out.

Congratulations Scarlett Bennett. You have a job.

Outside in the parking garage, sat my car, gleaming under the morning sun like it was calling out to me.

Yes. My car.

Hera had come through. Not only had she gotten it back from Stephen, she’d had it repainted obsidian, glossy and perfect in the morning light. I couldn’t help but grin as I slid into the driver’s seat.

Take that, Stephen!

The week so far had been… surprisingly pleasant. Probably one of the best I’d had in years. No late-night phone calls from Stephen. No guilt-tripping from his family. No waking up wondering what I’d done wrong.

And now, I was heading to work at Eden.

The Eden.

Maybe Hera was right. Maybe I had, indeed, fucked a man with a lucky dick.

I shook my head, chuckling as I turned the key in the ignition. No. I could not start thinking like Hera.

One of us had to be normal, at least.

__________

Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the underground parking of Eden Tower, heart pounding in my chest.

The last time I was here, I’d been a wreck — running on too little sleep, too much caffeine, and the raw nerves of someone smack in the middle of a nasty divorce phase. The only reason I’d even shown up was because my old boss had all but begged me to.

Mr. Brantley had been the only one who didn’t care for the rumors about my mental state. He was not happy when I turned in my resignation. A week after I’d left, he was at my place, telling me he’d recommended me to Eden.

“Just honor the recommendation,” He’d said. “It’s Eden. Even a long shot is worth taking.”

That’s exactly what it had felt like back then. A long shot. A dream.

And Eden’s technical exams either made or broke those dreams.

I remember sitting in that testing room with fifteen other seasoned architects and creatives, all of them polished and confident while I was barely holding it together. I don’t even recall all I had written in the exams or said in the interview, but I know I told myself they wouldn’t consider me.

But they did. No, I’d passed as the best and today... I was here as staff.

Ha! Scarlett, you should be proud.

I checked in at the reception. The curvy blonde behind the desk handed me my ID after briefly typing on her computer and then said,

“Fiftieth floor, Ms. Bennett.”

I smoothed a hand down my skirt as I stepped into the private elevator, watching the numbers light up above the doors. When the doors opened, I stepped into a corridor lined with walls sporting artwork that probably cost more than my house rent.

A poised woman in a fitted navy dress approached me, tablet in hand. Her auburn hair was neatly styled. She was older, maybe in her mid-forties, but there was nothing outdated about her.

“Scarlett Bennett?”

“Yes.”

She offered a small, polite smile. “Marla Scott. I’m Mr. Whitmore’s executive assistant. Welcome to Eden.”

Her handshake was firm, her gaze sharper than I expected.

“This way,” she said, leading me past glass-walled offices and a neat open lounge that looked more like a luxury hotel than a workplace. “I’ll give you a quick tour of the floor before we get you settled. And then…” She glanced back at me, her tone dropping a fraction. “…you’ll meet Mr. Whitmore.”

My stomach did a slow, traitorous flip.

“This floor houses Eden’s main executives — congratulations by the way...” She smiled fondly at me. “You’re the youngest executive we’ve ever hired but then your resumé is that impressive.”

My cheeks warmed as I gave her a polite smile. “Thank you.”

Her compliment did a lot to boost my confidence but also, it affirmed how much I’d have to push myself to prove that I deserved to be here.

“You will be reporting directly to Lucien. The creative department is under his purview — hands-on. So, expect high standards. He’s private, but very involved.” She divulged and I nodded, keeping my expression neutral, but her words landed heavily in my chest.

Private. Hands-on. High standards.

Got it.

Marla led me through a quick tour of the floor. Everything about it was neat, precise, and expensive.

Soon, we looped back to a wide seating area in front of a huge matte door with a gold nameplate that read: Lucien Whitmore – Chief Executive Officer.

“Wait here,” Marla said with a small smile. “I’ll check if he’s ready for you.”

She disappeared inside, leaving me in the quiet lobby. I sat and pretended not to be counting the seconds.

Lucien Whitmore.

The name alone was practically its own currency in Chicago. Born into a family that had its fingers in media, entertainment, and a dozen other industries, I could only guess at. Their faces were always in the society pages, their movements catalogued like royalty. Yet, Lucien himself was something of a mystery. He didn’t court publicity. He was known for closing deals that no one else could touch and for keeping the rest of the world guessing.

I’d done my research before the interview. Everyone had a story about him. No one had the same story — not even the high-class models he’d bedded. They all said in simple terms, that he was hot. Insanely at that. One said she’d passed out in the middle of coitus because of his handsomeness.

That reason could've been a pass if she hadn’t followed up saying, he was a very endowed man. Although I wouldn’t doubt that, considering I’d been with a very endowed man myself. You do get overwhelmed.

Jesus Christ, Scarlett. Get out of your head.

The low hum of conversation pulled me from my thoughts. Thankfully.

A group of suited men had stepped out of the room, looking quietly satisfied. Marla trailed them, a polite smile fixed in place as she walked them toward the main elevators.

Once they were gone, she turned back toward me. “He’ll see you now.”

I rose, palms suddenly damp.

This was it.

Following her into the office, I barely had time to take in the space before I saw him —

My eyes widened a fraction, recognition slamming into me like a truck. My chest forgot how to work, my knees loosened, and for a horrifying second, I thought I might stagger backward.

That face. That mouth.

Fuck.

It was him. The stranger.

What the hell was he doing here?