"Thank you so much, Christian. I would have never gotten here on time if it wasn't for your smooth driving skills and shortcuts."

"I aim to please, Ms. Sinclair." He replied as he held his hand out to help me get out of the comfortable Escalade. If only I could have a driver like him and a car like this. Maybe, I could hire him privately. Oh, the sinful temptation.

"I have to get going but...well..." I began but trailed off, wondering what would be the best method of getting his number. His hand went into his front pocket – retrieving a cream colored card. He presented it to me.

"This is my private Uber line. If you ever need me to drive you around or party, just call me. I have another job besides this one, but I wouldn't hesitate to see you again Miss Sinclair." He admitted.

I took the card; his name in black, cursive ink with a purple bat at the corner, below his credentials was his private number. I looked up, giving him a sincere smile.

"Thank you Christian, and please, call me Scarlet or Scar." I thanked him.

"My pleasure Scarlet." He whispered before half bowing.

"I best be off. We'll keep in touch." I affirmed, pulling out my Louis Vuitton card holder and placing the delicate card in one of the slots.

"Indeed. All the best with your assignment." He bid his farewell, I waved as I speed walked my way up the entrance stairs of the large, university complex.

It took me five minutes to compose myself, passing by the washroom to fan myself. I looked up at the mirror to see my flushed face.

Jeez, Scar. Get a hold of yourself. Less than three days and you’ve already fucked a hot, sexy private investigator. Don’t try to add gorgeous, VIP Uber driver to the list.

I slipped my gloves off, opening the tap to splash cold water on my face. I was so glad my makeup was waterproof, or things would have gotten messy.

I set my black backpack with gold zippers down; the MK symbol dangled on my zipper as I opened it. I retrieved my makeup bag before taking my LV wallet from my pocket.

I couldn't ignore the urge to view his card again – the thickness and texture of the card demonstrated class and elegance.

The moment my hand brushed over the card I hissed; my surroundings changed rapidly.

I looked up to see Christian in combat attire – black pants with a bulletproof vest as he walked into the entrance of a what seemed to be a psychic shop. I noticed the gun, safely secured on his hip as he reached the entrance of the shop. As his hand reached out to knock on the door, a black van pulled up.

Before the door slid open to reveal the passengers in the large vehicle the vision faded.

I groaned, grasping the sink as I steadied myself from falling. I shook my head, blinking a few times as the dizziness faded.

I scrambled to grab my gloves – slipping on the black, fingerless gloves before I frowned at the card. His other job is a cop? I wonder if that really happened? It must be the past, seeing as he was just here. I guess I don’t need to worry.

My phone began to sing, cueing me in on a new text message from Cece.

I gathered my belongings, slipping the card gently into its slot before putting my card holder in my bag. I quickly touched up my lipstick and lashes before putting my makeup bag back and pulling the gold zipper closed.

I rushed out of the washroom, pulling my phone out of my pocket as I entered the main hall, heading towards Professor Hartwell’s office.

I gaped at the phone as I opened her text message and stopped in my tracks. This bitch.

I glanced up. My eyes followed her directions till I spotted the tall blonde frowning at her phone as she relaxed against the red lockers while the ginger nerd attempted to make conversation with her. Cece was clearly bored out of her mind.

Might as well bail her out of that awkward situation.

I made my way to her – those blue-green eyes glued to her screen.

"CECE! There you are. I'm so sorry I made you wait. Don't be mad." I announced; her eyes grew wide at my greeting before I hugged her.

"Took you long enough." She mumbled, looking confused. I turned to face the ginger with large glasses; white tape held together the old looking spectacles.

"Arnold. Nice to see ya. Sorry, I know you never get a chance to catch up with Cece, but I desperately need her." I stressed.

"But, I mean, morning Scarlet. I was just trying to get Cece to help me out with some Algebra questions." He confessed. I gave him a sad smile; his efforts of attempting to swoon over the queen of perfection failed miserably.

"I know. But I have a quiz in five minutes, and I need Cece's help, seeing as she is the perfect Ace of the school." I emphasized.

"But...you're a perfect Ace too. You two always get top scores in everything." He whined, blinking his hazelnut eyes at us.

"That's because Cece's my good luck charm. Next time she's free you can have her. Gotta go. Bye."

I tugged on Cece's arm, who willingly followed my lead as we headed towards Hartwell’s office.

"That's why we're best friends." Cece praised as we turned into another set of classrooms; the hall less crowded as students made their way to afternoon classes.

"Ride or Die, Bitch. Now stop stalking me and wait here. I don't think this is going to take long." I reassured her before giving her a quick squeeze and making my way to the last classroom.

"You have to tell me what happened with Mr. Grey." She urged; her voice loud enough for my ears to pick up from my distance.

I gave her a wave before opening the door, entering the office.

"Good afternoon Miss Sinclair. Right on time."

I turned, smiling as I faced our course professor – Kendrick Hartwell.

He was a well-groomed man with brown eyes and black hair. He looked to be in his late forties; wrinkles were beginning to show in his light, black skin. He had a heartfelt smile on his face which from day one made me feel relaxed in his presence. He made classes here a lot easier, even despite my "fainting lady" reputation.

"Thank you, Sir."

He ushered me to sit in the seat in front of his desk. I sank into the wooden chair, placing my backpack in front of me as I sat up straight; my attention focused on the man leaning against his desk.

"Can't believe it's your last semester, Sinclair. My perfect Ace." He began smiling, proudly.

"I never expected to be at this point, but I guess, I finally made it and please, I'm far from perfect. I think you've saved me from smashing into the ground at least four times this year alone." I joked, smiling shyly.

"Your faint spells aren't your fault. I know it runs in the family, and I had my close calls with Marilyn back then. No one deserves to lose their loved ones, and you weren’t the cause of her murder. I'm glad you're at least pursuing a career that will prevent such misfortunate events from occurring to another family." He expressed; his words laced with sorrow as he gave me a sad smile.

We allowed a moment of silence to pass as if we're both giving commemoration to the beautiful, talented woman and mother, Marilyn Sinclair.

Professor Hartwell had been a dear friend of hers, and even after her passing always came to check on me, reassuring my auntie that he'd provide anything I needed to reach my goals. Whether financial or moral support, he had helped me grow up into the individual I was today, teaching me many tactics and skills over the years.

I never knew how my Mother and Kendrick met, but I bet if my Mom wasn’t married to my Dad and had me, Kendrick would have been the best fit for her.

I always imagined them meeting at your typical coffee shop or at the art studio my mom used to paint at when Auntie Nela would watch me as a baby.

Despite not knowing, I cherished our bond and him staying by my side. He wasn’t expected to help raise me. My aunt had left, so I’d assumed he would too. But he stayed, giving me everything I needed and teaching me enough information and skill to reach this moment.

I was glad that no one but Cece knew of our ties. He was like a guardian to me, and he'd proven that many times throughout my life, including my years at Mc. Ryerson. He knew in detail about my gift, including the consequences that followed me having a vision.

Thanks to him, I was able to use the whole anemic card – usually the cause of me passing out or becoming disorientated to the point of drawing things at random. He was the Dad I wished to have.

"Why don't we focus on your assignment?"

He clapped his hands before turning and walking around his desk as he retrieved a medium-sized file with multiple papers inside from his top drawer. He walked up to my desk, placing the thick folder before me.

"This is your final assignment. You will be assigned to a team who is investigating a homicide case that occurred earlier today. It's not normal protocol to assign a student to these type cases, but I've reassured both the organization you're assigned to and the higher ups that I have high expectations for you. Your perfect grades in both academics and performance reflect that. I think you’ve worked hard and deserve the opportunity." He began, complimenting me with another prideful expression.

"Thank you, Sir." I stated quickly. He nodded before continuing.

"On the front page is a contract. You will help the investigating team I and the other staff have assigned you with. All you have to do is shadow each team member and write a report. I believe there are five members on your team. If you excel during this assignment you could be offered an apprenticeship contract until the case has been solved or two months have passed. After that, the organization can choose to offer you employment." He concluded, opening the folder to show me the contract.

"I guess I’ll sign my life away on the dotted line." I joked. He chuckled, passing me a black, inked pen.

"Did I forget to mention, if you get accepted as an apprentice, you will be placed in the field and be doing everything a private investigator would do in the line of duty?"

Silence descended on us as my hand froze above the dotted line encased by a box; SIGNATURE glared up at me. I smirked, looking him right in the eye.

"You forgot that tiny detail. Was that in the fine print?" I inquired. Doing everything a private investigator would do, essentially meant that my life could, and probably would, be placed in some type of mortal danger. PINC took on some of the strongest and most dangerous criminals running the streets of LA, so it wasn’t a position to bat your eyes at.

"Yes. Also, that you could potentially get shot, kidnapped or even thrown off a motorcycle. At least you have gun experience." He shrugged, an amused smile formed on his lips.

My left hand landed on the white sheet of paper – gliding across it as the ink left the black pen. I lifted my hand as I finished the last curve of the r in my last name, taking a moment to review my signature.

I looked back to Professor Hartwell.

"Challenge accepted."