“She ran away last night. Again. She’s run away so many times in the past four months I’ve lost count. The police found her at Penn Station. I think she was trying to get back home, but she’s fourteen, for God’s sake. She doesn’t know the first thing about the real world, and she wouldn’t. She . . . had a bit of a rough start. Her father—my brother—died when she was a baby, and her mother . . . let’s just say Scarlett drew the short straw in that department.”
I sink onto the nearest barstool, hunched on my elbows as West opens up. He’s giving me an abbreviated version of her story, sparing any and all details, but it’s like a sliver of light peeking out from a closed door, a microscopic glimpse into West’s humanity.
For the first time in five years, my heart aches for this boardroom tyrant and his poor, sweet niece. She’s clearly grieving the loss of her old life. And he only wants to keep her safe.
“I don’t know,” I say. “As much as I’d love to be that touchstone in Scarlett’s life, you’re not exactly the easiest person to work for.”
“I’m aware.” He clears his throat. “But I’ll make it more than worth your while.”
“Not everything’s about money,” I say. “Maybe to you, but not to everyone. There’s not a salary you can give me that’ll make it worth suffering through your moods and your underhanded remarks.”
West responds with a rare bout of silence.
Or maybe he’s got nothing to say because he knows a tiger can’t change its stripes.
You can’t be an epic asshole your entire life, snap your fingers, and suddenly become a kindhearted gentleman with a heart of gold.
“I’m not a man who has to beg for anything,” he finally says. “But I’m not above making a fool of myself if it means securing Scarlett’s safety. So please. I’m begging you to do this—not for me but for her.”
Burying my face against my palm, I gather a hard breath into my lungs. “Your offer is extremely generous, and I’d love to be a positive role model for Scarlett, but I’m sorry, West—I can’t work for you.”
“Elle—”
“Which is why I’ll do it for free.” I sit up and find Indie’s mouth agape as she slams the lid on her laptop. “I’m not working; I’ve got nothing but time right now. I’ll spend time with her because it’s the right thing to do and because Lord knows this world is starving for authentic influences. But I can’t work for you. There’ll be no boss-employee dynamic between us. Not now, not ever. Understood?”
Indie waves her hands from across the room, frantic as she attempts to flag me down, eyes wild with unspoken protests.
I’m sure she thinks I’m making a grave mistake by associating with that man in any way, shape, or form, but I want to do this. If I’m not doing anything else, I might as well make a difference in someone’s life.
“Those are your terms?” he asks after a moment of contemplation.
“Those are my terms.”
Exhaling into the phone, he says, “Thank you, Elle. This means more to me than you could possibly understand.”
We end the call, and I get lost in my own thoughts while Indie fires off question after question about whether I’m making the right decision. I agreed to this for Scarlett—and only for Scarlett. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to unearthing the real West Maxwell in the process.
A dozen questions pollute my thoughts, followed by a hundred doubts and a million reasons to change my mind before it’s too late and I’m in over my head.
But something won’t let me.
An hour later, I’m lying in bed, replaying West’s phone call in my head until I have it memorized backward and forward, and I’ve deduced only one thing: West loves Scarlett.
Perhaps the tin man has a heart after all.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ELLE
“This is so weird.” Scarlett grips her backpack straps as we walk after school, her gaze trained straight ahead. She won’t look at me.
“Totally.” I sip my iced coffee, strutting alongside her as if this is the most natural thing in the world.
“So . . . like . . . what do we do?”
From what I understand, West told Scarlett I’m her “summer mentor,” and she immediately saw through it, proclaiming she was too old for a babysitter. It took a bit of convincing, but he managed to get through to her. That and he told her it was either this or boarding school.
I shrug. “We can do anything you want.”
I figured we should start slow, and I should let her call the shots instead of planning out activities like a nanny would do for her charge.
“What do you usually do after school?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “Nothing.”