Fitting In

by Amanda Radley

  21

  Many Glasses

  Yasmin brought a mug of coffee into Heather’s office and placed it on the coaster by her laptop. Heather barely looked up, too busy focusing on the spreadsheets on her screen.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled distractedly.

  “Sorry to bother you, but Scarlett Flynn is here,” Yasmin said. “She said she had an email from you to come and see her before she starts work again?”

  Heather tore her eyes from the screen and looked at Yasmin. She’d sent the email the morning of the break-in; now she wondered if that had really been two days ago. In fact, time as a whole felt like more of an abstract concept to her lately.

  “Is it nine already?” Heather wondered aloud.

  “Ten to, she’s early,” Yasmin replied with a grin. She seemed to take pleasure in her boss’s inability to keep up with time and dates.

  “Send her in.” Heather noticed the mug of steaming coffee and picked it up. “And thanks for the coffee.”

  “You already thanked me,” Yasmin reminded her.

  “Coffee demands two thanks at least,” Heather joked.

  Yasmin chuckled and exited Heather’s office, and Heather heard a mumbled conversation before Scarlett entered the room. Heather had hoped that Scarlett would look a little bit better than she had the last time she saw her, but the cuts and bruises on her face looked just as angry.

  “You wanted to see me?” Scarlett asked, standing to loose attention in front of Heather’s desk.

  “I did,” Heather confirmed. “Take a seat.”

  Scarlett frowned but did as she was told.

  “How are you feeling?” Heather asked, leaning back in her chair, cupping the mug of coffee in her hands.

  “I’m ready to return to work.”

  “That’s not quite what I asked,” Heather pointed out. “We have facilities available to you if you need to talk about what happened.”

  Scarlett looked baffled. “I already gave a statement to the police.”

  Heather smiled. “I meant someone who could help you with any emotional feelings. I saw the CCTV footage; you were nearly killed.”

  Heather’s stomach lurched a little at the reminder of what she had seen. It had been dark and grainy, but the image of Scarlett standing in front of the car with her hand held high as if that would stop the teenagers intent on wreaking havoc was seared into her mind. Scarlett’s quick reflexes had allowed her to get out of the way before being hit, but the shower of glass was unavoidable.

  “I don’t feel the need to talk to anyone about what happened,” Scarlett said.

  “I see you got your glasses repaired,” Heather said. “That was fast.”

  “These are not the same pair that were damaged. They were beyond repair.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. They look very like your old pair.”

  “They are identical.”

  “Ah, that would explain it,” Heather said. “You’re lucky the optician had them in stock.”

  “I didn’t see an optician.”

  Heather felt a twinge of pain in her brain. Sometimes Scarlett was extremely difficult to talk to.

  “I’m not following,” Heather admitted.

  “I have several pairs of glasses,” Scarlett elaborated. “In case something should happen to one pair.”

  “I see. And you have a pair that are the same?”

  “They are all the same.”

  “You have several pairs of identical glasses?” Heather queried.

  “Yes. In case something happens.” Scarlett regarded Heather as if she were explaining something to a particularly slow child.

  “Right,” Heather said, not knowing what else to say.

  “I’d like to get back to work.”

  Heather bit her lip. “I’d like that, too, but you look a little like you’ve been in a brawl. It’s not a good look for a security officer on patrol.”

  “What do you suggest?” Scarlett asked, an edge to her tone indicating that she wasn’t entirely happy with Heather’s comment.

  “I’ll speak with Tara. I’m sure we can find you something away from the public for now. Until you’ve healed. As long as you’re sure you are ready to be back at work?” Heather asked again, intent on giving Scarlett every opportunity to take an extra day or two if she needed it.

  “I’d like to get back to work,” Scarlett repeated.

  “Very well.” Heather knew she couldn’t force Scarlett to take more time off. She clearly felt she was ready to get back to it, and Heather couldn’t detect any lingering issues.

  Not that Scarlett was the easiest to read at the best of times.

  Heather put her coffee down and picked up the phone, dialling Tara’s number.

  “What did you get up to while you were off?” Heather asked Scarlett conversationally.

  “I cleaned my apartment and read a book.”

  Tara answered the call, and Heather quickly spoke to her about Scarlett coming back to work and made arrangements for her to be office-bound for at least another week.

  When she hung up, Heather tried one last-ditch effort to converse with Scarlett. “I’ll be attending your mother’s birthday party this weekend. I assume you’ll be there?”

  “Yes. But she is my stepmother,” Scarlett corrected. “My mother died when I was very young; my father remarried when I was eight.”

  Heather wasn’t sure what to say to that. It was probably one of the most personal things that Scarlett had ever said to her, but with no idea of how Scarlett felt about either of those events, Heather felt unsure how to reply.

  “I see. I’m sorry to hear about your mother,” she said, opting for the safest route.

  “I don’t remember her,” Scarlett said without emotion.

  Heather thought that was both heart-breaking and a blessing rolled into one. She wondered if the loss of her mother and the subsequent introduction of a new woman when she was so young explained a little of why it was so difficult to get through to Scarlett now.

  She knew she was grasping for straws, trying to understand Scarlett a little better so she could know how to connect with her.

  “Well, if I don’t see you before, I’ll see you on Saturday,” Heather said to finish up the conversation that seemed to be going nowhere.

  Scarlett hesitated for a beat. “We are finished?”

  Heather nodded. “We are.”

  Scarlett jumped to her feet and hurriedly left the office. Heather watched her leave, a smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

  22

  Just a Loan

  Ravi exited the large bookseller following a meeting about the refurbishment they were due to undergo. He’d barely gotten a few steps out of the store when he heard a familiar voice shout out, “Traitor!”

  He smiled and turned around to see Nico at her pop-up shop, staring at him and shaking her head with mock despair.

  “They’re the enemy!” she called out, gesturing to the large, high-street retailer behind him.

  He walked over to her. “They are a client,” he corrected her.

  “Can’t believe you went in and spoke with the enemy,” Nico grumbled playfully. She tidied some books as she shook her head. “I thought we were mates, but now I see your true colours.”

  Ravi laughed. “You know that you’re my favourite.”

  “I better be,” Nico told him with a wide smile.

  Their playful banter came to an end as Scarlett Flynn appeared, a book in her hand. “I’m returning the book you loaned me.” She turned to look at Ravi. “The book was a loan and not a gift, which I have now returned. Therefore, I am not in breach of centre guidelines.”

  Ravi nodded formally. “Excellent, glad to hear it.”

  In truth, he knew gifts were quite common between stores and employees of The Arches Group. He generally turned a blind eye to it unless he knew it was meant more as a bribe than a gift.

  Most people knew the guidelines were just that, guidance, an indication to be careful abou
t accepting gifts in return for preferential treatment. But of course Scarlett would take the guidelines much more literally than that.

  “And, welcome back, hero,” he added.

  Scarlett shook her head. “I’m not a hero.”

  Nico took the proffered book. “No, you’re not. From what I hear you were stupid. You need to take care of yourself much better than that.”

  Scarlett blinked and stared at Nico in surprise, clearly not expecting the reprimand.

  “I am a security officer, it’s my job to sto—”

  “Blah blah,” Nico silenced her. “Not if it means risking yourself. That’s just stupid. Anyway, did you like the book?”

  Scarlett seemed to struggle to keep up with Nico, stuttering a little before she finally admitted, “No.”

  Ravi turned to face Nico, wondering what her response to that would be.

  “No? What didn’t you like?” Nico asked, leaning on the counter and attempting to gauge customer feedback.

  “It was unrealistic.”

  Nico chuckled. “Well, it is a book of fiction. It’s meant to take a little creative licence.”

  “I prefer realism.”

  “Okay then, I think I have something for you,” Nico said, standing up and shuffling through some books in a box behind her. “It just came in, but I know the author’s style.”

  “I don’t require another book,” Scarlett argued.

  “Ha! Next you’ll be saying you don’t require food,” Nico replied. She plucked a book out of the delivery box and held it out towards Scarlett.

  Scarlett looked at the book and then at Ravi.

  He held up his hands. “Nothing to do with me. But I warn you, I know from experience that if you don’t take it now she’ll hound you endlessly until you do.”

  Nico nodded her head seriously. “I will.”

  Scarlett tentatively took the book. “Very well. This is not a gift; this is a loan. It will be returned, as per centre guidelines.”

  Nico smothered a smile. “Absolutely. Just a loan. How about a selfie with the book? Do you feel like smiling today?”

  “No,” Scarlett replied honestly.

  “Fair enough,” Nico said. “I hope you enjoy this loan more than the previous one.”

  “I will let you know,” Scarlett said. She inclined her head in a formal farewell to them both before leaving.

  “I like her,” Nico declared when Scarlett was out of earshot.

  “You’re one of the few,” Ravi said.

  “She’s fun. Never know what she’ll say next.”

  Ravi laughed. “That’s definitely true.”

  “Now, about these meetings you’re having with the enemy,” Nico said, turning to Ravi with her arms folded.

  23

  The Party

  Heather stepped out of the taxi and put her small clutch bag under her arm while she adjusted her dress. She hoped it wasn’t too creased from the car journey; it had been a while since she’d worn a cocktail dress. In the hour since she’d put it on, she’d nearly spilt something on it and almost split a seam. She hoped she remembered how to woman before she embarrassed herself.

  As she expected, Leo Flynn lived in what could only be described as a mansion. It was located just outside of London, near enough to grant him fast access to the city but quiet enough to be considered rural.

  She walked through the open iron gates and past the well-tended front garden. The large, double front doors were open, and she could see into the hallway where guests mingled with champagne flutes.

  Heather sucked in a quick, fortifying breath before stepping into the house.

  “There she is!” a loud voice bellowed.

  She plastered on her best smile and turned to greet Leo.

  “This is the woman who is going to teach me how to make shopping centres profitable,” he said loudly to the group he had been speaking with.

  Heather chuckled. “Well, I hope so, at least!”

  The group politely smiled and laughed. Heather was quickly introduced to them all, knowing immediately that she wouldn’t remember a single one of them. But she did what was required of her and smiled and shook hands with everyone she was introduced to.

  Interestingly, most of the guests seemed to be business acquaintances of Leo’s rather than friends and family members. Heather knew that a business colleague could also be a friend, but it seemed very obvious to her that the party served a dual purpose: a birthday party and a networking opportunity.

  After an hour Heather had mingled with most people and found her way to the kitchen to introduce herself to Audrey Flynn, Leo’s wife.

  Audrey seemed genuinely pleased to see her and took Heather’s outstretched hand in both of hers.

  “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you. Leo has spoken about you.”

  “Some good, I hope?” Heather asked, chuckling.

  “All good. Which is rare for Leo.” Audrey gestured to Heather’s empty glass. “Can I get you some more champagne?”

  Heather placed the glass on the kitchen counter with a group of other empties. “No, thank you. I’m not much of a drinker.”

  “There’s plenty of orange juice going around,” Audrey said. “And we have a stash of cranberry juice for Scarlett, but she won’t mind sharing, I’m sure.”

  “I’ve not seen Scarlett,” Heather said. She didn’t want to admit it, but she had been looking for the young woman and had been increasingly disappointed to not see her in the crowds.

  “She doesn’t like parties; she’s here somewhere but probably skulking in a corner somewhere. Until Leo forces her to say hello to a few people, at least.” Audrey picked up a canapé and took a small bite. “I was surprised to see her when she arrived; I didn’t know she had been injured at work.”

  Heather couldn’t help but raise her eyebrow in surprise.

  “Leo and Scarlett don’t really speak,” Audrey explained before Heather had a chance to say anything.

  “So I’m realising,” Heather said diplomatically.

  “I’ve tried to get them to be closer, but, well, it’s not always easy with family, is it?”

  “No, not always,” Heather agreed.

  But she didn’t really agree. To her, family was the easiest thing. The most important thing, too. It ached in her that Scarlett didn’t have that support network that Heather relied on so much.

  “She’s a good girl, though,” Audrey said.

  Heather detected a warmth from Audrey and decided that she wasn’t the evil stepmother that fairy tales would have people assume.

  “She is,” Heather agreed. “She’s a fine addition to our team.”

  Audrey almost sagged with relied. “Oh, I am so glad to hear that. I don’t ask Leo because, well, he doesn’t know and wouldn’t want to discuss it even if he did. And Scarlett isn’t the easiest to talk to either. Which I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

  Heather couldn’t have agreed more. She was partly pleased that someone else also had trouble talking to Scarlett but was also saddened by the fact. Especially considering it was one of Scarlett’s parents.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Leo said as he appeared in the kitchen. “Audrey, Kathy wants to know which florist you chose in the end for the summer garden party?”

  Audrey placed her hand on Heather’s arm apologetically. “I’m sorry, I have to stop a literal war of roses happening. I hope we can speak more later.”

  Heather smiled. “Absolutely.”

  * * *

  Following directions from another guest, Heather walked up the large staircase of the Flynn house to locate a bathroom. The one downstairs seemed constantly occupied due to the sheer number of people at the party.

  Hanging around the downstairs bathroom only meant getting pulled into more conversations, and one thing was becoming abundantly clear: it wasn’t just a birthday party.

  Heather had engaged in fewer work-related conversations during business conferences. Every little group was discussing something to do wit
h economic projections, financial lending, buyouts, or investments.

  Thankfully, Heather was well versed in such conversations and could hold her own, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t boring to say the least.

  After locating and using a bathroom, she noticed a familiar figure in one of the rooms off the hallway.

  She paused in the doorway and took a moment to look at Scarlett, who was standing in the middle of the room with her back to the door. Heather had never seen Scarlett with her hair down and found herself staring at the perfect, soft curls.

  Sensing she was being observed, Scarlett turned.

  Heather swallowed at the sight of the figure-hugging red dress.

  Scarlett simply raised an eyebrow, questioning Heather’s presence.

  “Having a good time?” Heather asked.

  “No,” Scarlett replied, a hint of sarcasm in her otherwise honest tone.

  Heather laughed and stepped into the room. “Hiding?”

  Scarlett nodded. She gestured to the room and the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. “This was once my bedroom.”

  Heather thought it odd that a house with so many rooms would convert a child’s bedroom into a library. Her own childhood bedroom had been sacrificed to a spare bedroom for guests, but that was necessary due to a lack of space.

  “My old bedroom is a guest room,” Heather said, “which I use when I go down there. It’s quite surreal.”

  “You would prefer it to be the way it was?” Scarlett asked.

  Heather smiled at the memory of her old bedroom: the posters of bands, the mess of clothes, the guitar she had never learned to play leaning against the wall.

  “No, it’s probably better the way it is. Do you miss your bedroom?”

  Scarlett looked around the room thoughtfully. “It’s unsettling to see it so different. Especially as my brother’s room remains a bedroom.”

  Heather raised her eyebrow in surprise. “I didn’t know you had a brother?”

  “He died.”