Fine Print
If you were to ask, he probably couldn't tell you why he still had them.
The irrationally high heels were the only thing of hers he kept; black, with heels that could likely kill a man. He wondered, tracing the spike with a fingertip, if that was why she liked them. Seduction always had a darker side; he missed the girl who hadn't learned that yet.
It was raining the day she forgot them in his office; kicking them off with a familiar, childlike abandon and collapsing into his chair. She always stole his chair, relegating him to the uncomfortable standard-Shinra-issues. He hadn't minded, because her smile was bright and genuine as she did so.
He could still tell the difference then.
She was excited, blurting the news about her promotion – a big one; Assistant Head of Weapons Development – and he'd smiled back, settling their coffee down and pulling a chair beside hers to watch the rain beat against the windows.
He'd promised her brother that he'd protect this girl slouched beside him, but she was dancing beyond his reach even now. Oh, Scarlet could take care of herself. She was a dead aim with the automatic she kept in her clutch, and had more black belts than he could remember the names to. But she was ambitious, and it scared him that he could no longer protect her from her own goals, from the ice slipping into her eyes.
The knock of the President's aide betrayed just how ambitious she'd become. The aide passed him a note which he tossed to her, and though he saw surprise (fearhopedisgustdetermination) flicker across her face, she pulled her feet from over the arm of the chair and sat up straight, nodding brusquely to the man in the doorway.
Once he'd closed the door, he turned to her, his eyes filled with questions he'd never ask. She laughed with false levity, and kissed his cheek, her eyes hooded. He went dead-cold with fear; this was it. If she left alone, now, Scarlet Jamison was never going to return…
But she tugged at his ear, guessing his thoughts and shaking her head. "Fine print…" she whispered, steeling her smile. "Don't waste your worry on me." And she left, barefoot, casting a flirtatious wink over her shoulder as she closed the door behind her.
He saw her the next morning. She was imprisoned once more in stilettos, this time crimson ones that cost more than he knew she could afford. He pretended not to be hurt when she averted her eyes from his in the halls.
He knew, then, that he'd failed.
...finis
Sabe's Scribbles: Darkish, but when we're dealing with Scarlet, it's hard not to. Written as a request for a good friend and fellow writer, this one's all Cendrillo's.
Disclaimer: As per usual, they're not mine. But I'm starting to think I'd like to adopt Reeve…