Intelligent, accomplished, and unapologetically honest, she’s precisely the type of influence Scarlett needs in her life, and given that Elle is currently without a job . . .
I fold the issue and place it back on the coffee table.
Elle would never.
Unless I make her an offer she can’t refuse.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ELLE
“Hello?” Because it’s a lazy Friday morning and I have nothing better to do, I answer a random number that I fully expect to be either spam or my doctor’s office calling with an automated appointment reminder.
“Elle.” A man’s velvet voice fills my ear. “Didn’t think you’d answer. And on the first ring, no less. Lucky me.”
“Who is this?”
“Really?” The caller sniffs. “You worked for me for five years, I darkened your doorstep less than twenty-four hours ago, and already you’re forgetting the sound of my voice? That’s a shame.”
“West?”
Indie glances up from her laptop on the sofa, shooting me a quizzical look.
I shoot one back.
“Why are you calling?” I rise from my chair and pace our small living room in hopes that a little movement will keep my heart rate under control. This man has an uncanny ability to send my blood pressure to the damn moon.
“I have a proposition for you,” he says. “An offer.”
“I’m not coming back,” I say before he can elaborate.
“Nor am I asking you to.”
Returning to my chair, I swallow a deep breath as my knee bounces. I’m not sure what kind of offer West could possibly have in mind for me, but every second that passes tortures my curiosity.
“Normally I’d present the offer in person, but seeing how you’re averse to being in the same room as me lately, I’ll cut to the chase and lay it out for you now,” he says. “My niece, Scarlett—the one you met yesterday in Hell’s Kitchen?”
“Yeah, what about her?”
“She’s in need of a decent influence in her life. A grown woman she can look up to,” he says.
My jaw falls. “And I was the first person you thought to call?”
“You’re not perfect, Elle, but you’re what she needs,” he says.
I choke out a laugh. “Seriously? All that money and all those connections? You could make a phone call and have someone at your door within the hour, ready to shape her into whatever you want her to be—but you want me?”
“She likes you,” he says. “Which means she borderline respects you. Which means she’ll listen to you. She neither likes nor respects me, and she sure as hell doesn’t listen to me. Short of sending her to some boarding school, you’re my next best option.”
“I don’t understand what you’re asking. Do you want me to babysit her? She’s kind of old for that, yeah?”
“I want you to spend time with her. Get to know her. Let her get to know you. Fill her head with all that shit about being fearless or whatever it is you’re doing now,” he says. “And while you’re doing all of that, keep tabs on her. Make sure she’s safe and keeping out of trouble. Teach her how to navigate the city like a local. Treat her like your kid sister, and I’ll pay you double what you were making at the magazine.”
“You’re insane.”
“Triple.”
“Officially off your rocker.” I rise from my chair again, this time patrolling our tiny New York kitchen.
“Name your price.”
“I don’t even . . . I’m not trained to work with teenagers . . . I wouldn’t even know where to begin . . . and this entire thing is absurd, honestly . . .” I trip over my thoughts, each one hurtling faster to my lips than the one before.
“You have sisters,” he says.
“How do you know?”
“There was a picture in your box, you with three women who looked just like blonde versions of you.”
I hunch over the island. “You went through my things?”
“At least I’m being honest . . . that’s your whole thing now, isn’t it? Transparency?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t need to know that. Now I’m just picturing you rifling through my belongings, and it’s creeping me out.”
“I can assure you my intentions couldn’t have been further from . . . creepy,” he says. “So tell me, Elle. What’s your price? And would you be willing to start at three o’clock today?”
“Today?”
“Highland Prep dismisses at three ten. You can wait there with her driver. I’ll send her a text and let her know I’ve hired her a companion,” he says.
“She’s going to see through this,” I say. “Any teenage girl with half a brain cell would. And not only will she see through it, she’ll hate it twice as much.”
I don’t know much about teenage girls, but once upon a time I was one. And the last thing I wanted back then was to be under someone’s lens. Constant supervision doesn’t exactly allow for a girl to find her voice and figure out her place in this world.