On the tiniest boob tube covering her breasts.
On the tattoos I’ve never seen.
On her long dark hair that’s falling all over the place in a way I like that I wish I didn’t.
When she doesn’t answer me, because she’s always fucking got AirPods in listening to music, I press my boot against her Chucks.
She tilts her head to look at me, her usual scowl in place, and pulls her AirPods out. “What?”
“Where’s your shirt?”
More scowling. “I spilled tea on it.”
My brain struggles to focus. It could be that I’m trying to figure out why Scarlett has the word “London” tattooed down her side from her breast to her hip. It could be that Harlow’s words from last night have smashed back into my thoughts. Or it could be that I’m fighting like fuck not to glue my eyes to her tits.
Scarlett and I were not made for each other. Harlow’s wrong about that. I know that as sure as I know anything. I might be attracted to Scarlett, but hell, any man would be. She’s beautiful. However, she’s also frustratingly argumentative and downright hostile at times. Definitely not the woman for me.
I’m saved by Scott, who calls, dragging my attention back to what we’re dealing with this morning.
“Got your text,” he says when I answer his call. “How bad is it?”
“I just arrived. What I’m seeing so far isn’t good. Massive damage. There’s no way we’re opening today.”
“Not even if I pull every member onto cleaning up?”
Scarlett pushes up off the floor and stands, her hands on her hips, her eyes on mine, her body in my fucking face. It takes every ounce of strength I have to keep my eyes on hers.
“Wilder,” Scott says, pulling me back to our conversation. “Can you make this happen? We can’t afford to lose tonight.”
He’s right. The entire restaurant has been booked out by an event organiser who will bring us a lot of new business if she’s happy with how tonight goes.
“I’ll make this happen. Send me everyone you can afford to put on it.”
“I’m also sending Liam over. He’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
Liam works with Zane Stone, who runs Stone Security, a security company the club sometimes calls on for help. I figured Scott would call on them to investigate this when he told me not to report it to the cops.
“This is going to hurt the bank. You sure you don’t wanna involve the cops and the insurance company?”
“No cops. We’ve got too much going on that they don’t need to get anywhere near.”
“Yeah, agreed.” My gaze shifts to Scarlett again as she moves her hands from her hips to fold her arms in front of her. “I’ll keep you in the loop.”
“I’m busy all day going over shit with King. Whatever you need to do to make this happen, do it.”
“Will do.” I end the call and immediately pull up Gunnar’s number on my phone.
Before I can call him, Scarlett says, “We’re cleaning this up today and opening tonight?”
I’m fucking grateful for the lack of doubt I hear in her voice. It’s a simple question she’s asked, one not loaded with disbelief. That’s something I need right now because I really don’t know how the fuck I’m going to pull this off. Not only do we need to clean the vandalism up and replace a lot of shit, we’ve also still got a lot to organise for the event tonight.
“Yeah.”
She glances around the kitchen, slowly nodding. “Okay. You want me to call everyone in early?”
“Scott’s sending as many members over as he can to help with the clean-up, but yes, let’s find some staff members who can also come in today and help. I don’t want to call in anyone who’s already rostered for tonight though.” It’s a good thing Storm owns four restaurants we can pull staff from.
She frowns. “Why not?”
“They’re already working a long shift.”
“So? A few extra hours won’t kill them.”
Scarlett’s a hard-ass when it comes to the staff. We often go to battle over her lack of understanding and empathy for their personal situations. I agree with her today; however, I still have to walk the line between keeping everyone happy and achieving my goals. Pissed off staff won’t help with that.
“Just find other staff members to do this.” I glance at my phone as a text comes through.
Taylor: Fuck you, Wilder. You didn’t have to do that.
The fuck?
Me: Do what?
Taylor: Cancel our dinner reservation at Mohawk for tomorrow night. You know I’ve been trying to get into that place for months and now I’ll have to wait God knows how long to get another fucking reservation.
Before I can send a reply, Scarlett says, “Seriously, it’d just be easier to ask people already rostered for today to work longer.”
My head jerks up and I find her eyes. “Jesus, Scarlett, can you just do what I ask for once?”
Her lips pinch together, and I wait for her to unleash her usual serving of dislike for whatever I’ve said. She surprises me when she says, “Fine, but wish me luck.” She then makes my morning when she exits the kitchen, leaving me to get my thoughts together without her body and her attitude all up in my face.
I deal with Taylor before getting back to more important shit. She won’t leave me in peace if I leave her hanging.
Me: I didn’t cancel it. Take it up with them.
Hell, we made that reservation so long ago I didn’t even fucking remember we had it.
Taylor: I don’t believe you.
Me: Believe what you want. Now, can we go back to not talking to each other? I’ve got a lot of shit to get through this morning.
Taylor: God, you can be an asshole.
I don’t respond to that. Instead, I call Gunnar, who answers almost immediately.
“What’s up, brother?”
I detail what’s happened here today before saying, “You think Chelsea could help us on this today?” Gunnar’s old lady has previously helped me source some high-end stuff for Storm’s restaurants that I would never have found by myself. Having her help today would be in-fucking-valuable.
“I’ll ask her. She’s got the day off work so there’s a good chance she can.”
“Thanks, brother. Appreciate it.”
I end the call and survey the kitchen while mentally making a list of what I need to do today. I’m distracted with those thoughts when Scarlett waltzes back in, bringing her special style of sass with her.
“So, smart master of mine, here’s the list of staff who might be able to come in today.” She shoves a list containing two names on it at me.
My frown isn’t just over the list; it’s also over the fact she’s now wearing one of the spare shirts of mine from my office. My brain can’t decide whether it likes the fact the shirt looks good on her or whether it’s disturbed by this unfolding of events. Also, it’s trying to ignore the smart master reference. All of this is quite fucking frankly too much information to process while I’m still trying to process everything else going on today.
I shove the list back at her. “There’s only two people on this list.”
She arches her brows. “See, I knew you were smart. You can count to two.”