Sugar Baby Âœ”ϸ sixth: scarlett

dedicated to itsmezenashaw for the beautiful graphic <3 

A monotonic female voice woke me up the next morning.

I stayed still for a while. My brain hazy. My eyelids fluttered open to the bright light in the exquisitely furnished room. It took me a while to understand the words that the robotic voice chanted.

“Good morning, Rosalie,” it spoke in a staccato. “Your lucky number today is nine.”

Cursing under my breath, I lifted my head off the pillow and saw a phone ringing on the bedside table. I slid off the soft mattress and gazed at it, rubbing my eyes to clear my vision.

“Ugh sorry. Just turn it off.”

Rosalie’s annoyed voice called, muffled by the pillow as she buried her face into it. I reached for the phone and saw that it was a notification from an application of some kind. Tiny, strange symbols floated at the top of the screen. Golden letters below it read, ‘Your Lucky Number Today is-‘

Below that, a bright white number flashed on and off on the black screen. Nine. The spoken words continued from the speakers.

I dragged the alarm towards the little ‘x’, noticing that it was seven am. I started pulling on my discarded clothes and asked, “You’re into numerology?”

She didn’t answer right away and I wondered if she had gone back to sleep. I marvelled for a few moments at the way the gentle gold of the sun was kissing her bare shoulders and equally golden hair. Making it look as though it was shimmering.

“Yes. I know it’s a little odd or superstitious or whatever.” She glanced to look at me, her eyes shining. “But I like to squeeze as much optimism out of the universe as I can.”

I took a deep breath, “I’m not going to fault you on that.”

“By the way,” she continued, her voice muffled again as she buried her face in the pillow. “You can help yourself to the kitchen or the bathroom or anything.”

“Thanks. Would you like some breakfast?”

She was quiet before answering softly, “I don’t think I’ll be waking up anytime soon.”

I smirked. “Alright.”

I made my way to the flamboyant washroom and had to wolf whistle softly. It seemed to be as big as my apartment. A huge bathtub had been carved into the floor with a massive number of settings on a panel in the tiles behind. There was also a huge bath enclosure, which made no sense to me. A full-length mirror and a big shelf which held what looked like every item Atkinson Association had ever come up with.

I walked over to the large sink and washed my face. I did a double-take when I saw the dark red marks on my neck. Rosalie Atkinson seemed to have something in common with a vacuum cleaner.

I walked back out and saw that she had fallen asleep. Now that I gazed around the room, it was slowly getting to me exactly how rich she was. There were large, floor-length windows on the opposite side of the room. Golden sunlight cascaded onto the floor, mesmerizing me with its simple beauty. A tiger hide carpet (faux, I hoped) decorated the floor in front of the luxurious couch set. It was a sophisticated white. Classic Rosalie Atkinson.

A home theatre size television was fixed on the wall in front of it. There was a huge door on one of the walls which I presumed led to the closet. There were a few busts of people whom I recognized as famous fashion moguls. The only thing I couldn’t understand was why someone would want headless sculptures staring at them while they slept. Each to their own I supposed.

I sighed and quickly pulled on my shirt and made my way downstairs.

The entire mansion seemed to be empty, which meant that it was up to me to find the kitchen on my own. The good thing was I could explore it, and if found in the wrong place, could brush it off as ‘being lost.’

The only issue was I still didn’t know if she would want to see me again. Although I had made sure to offer my very best ‘performance’, so to speak, last night. There was something else that felt wrong to me, although I couldn’t quite pinpoint towards it. 

Had it been too easy?

Before I could ponder, my phone vibrated and I reached into my pocket. A notification for a text popped up.

Grayson: good job on making it into her pants

I rolled my eyes and texted back.

Xavier: it was a dress 😉

I stuck the phone back into my pocket. I wasn’t going to try and poke around the place. I had to play it safe. Even if she became a tiny bit suspicious, my cover could be blown. My priority was to prove my worth. Have her want me to stay.

I was surprised to see that despite the massive size of the mansion, she didn’t seem to have any house help. Or maybe the help just wasn’t there yet.

Rosalie had shown extreme hostility both the times that the police had arrived to investigate her place. However, Grayson had managed to draw up a rough map and presented it to me. I closed my eyes, recalling the memorized map. According to it, the kitchen was located along the right corridor.

I turned towards it and started walking through the long hallway. The lights were still on from last night. The floor was covered in dark red carpet, just like out in the hall. A polished wooden panelling acted as elite wainscoting.

I reached the very end of the hallway where a larger wooden door stood and opened it. A massive kitchen was revealed. There were multiple counters and a load of cutlery arranged neatly in the racks at the back wall. It looked like the kitchen I would see at some classy ridiculously expensive restaurant. 

I looked around and saw a large metal door which I opened to find the storeroom. Another metal door beside it led to the freezer.

I scrounged around for some eggs, strawberries, milk, honey and cinnamon. I decided to go for something simple. French toast had been a personal favourite of mine.

I reached towards the cooking station and started mixing the blend. A few minutes later, I froze when I heard a voice.

“Who are you?”

I turned around at the sound of the soft female voice, knowing who it would be. I tried to appear flustered and stuttered expertly.

“Oh. Er…Hi.”

Scarlett Atkinson had her arms crossed in front of her chest. Up close, Rosalie’s seventeen-year-old daughter had even more similarities to her than on paper. She had the same blonde hair and grey eyes. Her nose, however, was upturned. Unlike her mother’s sharp, chiselled one. Unlike her mother, she also seemed to be really laid back, or perhaps it was simply her age. I studied her graphic T-Shirt with ‘bitch what you looking at’ written on it. She wore grey sweatpants and was barefoot. There wasn’t much I could deduce about her from her outfit, which distressed me. Apart from the basics which I already knew about her, I couldn’t tell anything about her personality.

She stared at me, squinting her eyes. “Hi. Did my mom bring you back from the bar?”

I flinched. “A little harsh choice of words but I suppose she did.”

She sighed, “I’m her daughter, Scarlett.”

Fifty kilograms. Five feet five.State-level badminton player. Above average in academics.

That was what my background check on her had provided me with. Hardly anything that would help me bond with her. Unless I started taking about badminton.

“Good to see you, Scarlett. Would you like some French toast?”

I pointed at the burner where I had set the frying pan. She sighed, “Sure.”

I gave her a winning smile. Her eyes widened slightly. Shocker perhaps, by my friendly demeanour and slid behind the counter, resting her elbows on it and staring at me.

“So, no school today?”

She sighed, “No.”

I knew she had been homeschooled but had to hide my extent of extensive knowledge on her for the fear of being seen as a stalker. Gaining her trust could prove to be an indispensable weapon.

“You don’t sound so pleased about that,” I observed.

She sighed again. I placed the food on the plate and garnished it with strawberries. I hoped Rosalie would wake late enough for me to talk to Scarlett alone.

“I’m homeschooled,” she said. She picked at the piece of bread moodily before sighing, “I’m going to snap at you. I’m cranky.”

I laughed softly, gazing at her. “That’s okay. I can take it. Do your worst.”

She tore into the bread and lifted the fork to her mouth, “So you’re Mason.”

I fought hard to keep a straight face. I guess Rosalie was louder than I had thought. “I suppose I’m flattered.”

She sounded nauseated. Her face rapidly drained of blood and turned pale before a sickly green. She seemed to gulp as I struggled to hold back laughter. “That’s okay. I’m glad you guys had a nice time.”

I dug into the bread and took a small bite, studying her intently. I needed to find a conversation starter. Something that would make her want to talk to me. I noticed that her left hand had short nails as if filed every day. The ends of it seemed discoloured. Pale, dry and flaking. Her right, however, had longer nails. I took a deep breath and decided to shoot my shot.

“So, you’re learning to play the guitar?”

Her eyes widened. “How…how did you know?”

Bingo.

I shrugged. “The first few months that I learnt it, my nails were a fucking mess. The skin toughened. It was painful.”

I had been fourteen then, but still remembered the nightmare that the bar chords turned out to be. I had come to the conclusion that playing a stringed instrument, no matter how cool it looked was not my thing. I would have to resort to other, more sure ways of attraction. 

She stared at me for a while before smiling. It was good for me that she was impressed instead of being freaked. “You have good observation, Mason.”

“Not usually,” I said, giving her a slightly flirty smile. “But I do tend to observe things and people that I find intriguing.”

Her cheeks flushed. “This is good,” she spoke. “The food I mean.”

I smiled at her “Thank You.”

“My mom used to make this you know…” she said, sighing softly. “Before she went a little…”

She stopped talking in alarm and I placed my hand closer to hers on the counter. “It has to be hard. You must not have her around very often.”

I approached cautiously. With just the perfect amount of hesitation. I knew there was something she must know that would prove valuable. But I couldn’t rush it. She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “She’s nice to me but…I just wish we were closer.”

“Of course.” I hesitantly reached for her hand, enclosing it in mine. She stiffened up for a second but didn’t flinch, which was a positive sign.

“Maybe some day you could play the guitar? I’d love to hear you play.”

She smiled, her cheeks flushed. “I’d like that.”

I felt a little guilty at her reaction. To escape the incessant media attention, Rosalie had taken to keeping her daughter safe at home. I couldn’t imagine she had ever had much interaction with others around her age. Maybe in a way, she was desperate for friendship. Maybe even something more. A chance which I would have to exploit when the time came. 

I let her hand go and leaned back, gazing at her. She opened her mouth as if to say something. Before she could, however, we heard footsteps approaching and she stiffened up automatically. Rosalie walked into the kitchen a while later, looking like a vision in her neck-deep blue gown and bed hair. She smiled at me. “Hey there.”

I smiled back as she walked over and gave her daughter half a hug. “Good morning, honey.”

“Morning mom,” Scarlett replied.

She walked over to me and leaned over, kissing me sweetly. “What did you make?”

She leaned on my side as I snaked an arm around her waist and replied, “It’s simple but one of my favourites.”

She sat beside me and took a bite of the bread, closing her eyes. “Mmm. This is really good, Mason.” She turned to her daughter and smiled. “And I see you have already met my beautiful baby. This is Scarlett and she is the best daughter anyone could ever ask for.”

Scarlett groaned softly but blushed.

We fell into a relaxed genial conversation that flowed naturally. Thanks to my ability to articulate well. I got to learn about them, although, I knew most of the things they told me. I told them about the made-up restaurant commercial that I had worked in, inventing a few details and taking a mental note to write them down later. My lies had to be consistent.

The one thing I was interested in knowing about, however, was her husband. There seemed to be no information about her marital life which some speculated had ended horrifyingly. Rosalie had stuck to her maiden name ever since. 

After a while, Scarlett finished eating and rose to her feet. I gave her a soft smile as she bid goodbye. She blushed slightly as she walked out, leaving Rosalie and me alone. I knew that after breakfast, I would have to take my leave. I had one last opportunity to make my mark on her. To make her want to see me again.

I reached for a cut strawberry and bit into it, gazing at her seductively. I studied her eyes as they travelled to my lips, her breath increasing as I licked my lower lip.

“So…” I leaned over her and whispered in her ear, making my voice low and husky, “are you still sore from last night or can you…” I grazed her thigh, letting my hot breath caress her ear.

She sighed deeply, leaning back to look at me.

“Yes and yes,” she whispered, a mischievous smile spreading on her lips. Her eyes glittered as she leaned forward and bit my lower lip, pulling it as I grinned. “I am sore…but I can still…” I shivered slightly as her hand slid under my shirt, stroking my bare skin. “Let’s take this upstairs.”

I nodded and got to my feet. Although a part of me was telling me that she would want to see me again anyway, I still had to make sure that there was absolutely no doubt to that.

As I stood at the exit after a couple of hours, I hoped she would ask to see me again. 

She leaned over and kissed me hungrily. “So, I hope I can see you again?”

I wondered if I was pushing it, but I had to shoot my shot.

“You mean, exclusively of course?”

I couldn’t have another guy in the picture till I was on the case. Infatuation was the key. She sighed against my mouth. When she spoke, her voice was low, carrying a heavy sadness that took me by surprise. 

“It’s lonely at the top, Mason.”

I smiled against her mouth, gripping her waist tightly. “Then how about tonight…and every night till you’re begging me to stop?”

She gasped, “I cannot imagine ever asking you to stop.”

I bit her lip, letting my hands move lower and grasping her possessively. “Even better.”