Читать книгу The Elliotts: Secret Affairs - Susan Crosby - Страница 12

On the Wednesday after the country club incident, John arrived a few minutes early for a three o’clock meeting with Finola Elliott at Charisma magazine. He wasn’t made to wait in the lobby but was escorted immediately to Fin’s office by an auburn-haired young woman named Jessie, who kept up a running commentary as they wove through the maze of cubicles. He learned she’d been raised in Colorado, was an unpaid intern and a roommate of a Charisma proofreader, Lanie Sinclair. And by the way Jessie eyed him curiously, he guessed she knew he’d been engaged to Summer.

He wished he could ask her which cubicle was Scarlet’s. If he could just look into her eyes, he’d know where things stood between them. They hadn’t spoken since the disaster at the club. In three days they were supposed to go on their first Woo U date.

Or were they?

Maybe his lesson had been only in how to ask a woman out, not the actual follow-through. Another question he needed answered.

Who would break the stalemate? Or had they already burned out? He wasn’t ready to end it. He wanted the whole month until Summer returned. Every last minute. And he wanted some of that in bed.

John wasn’t taken into Fin’s office but to the conference room attached to it. Several people were seated at the oval mahogany table—the editor in chief, Fin; her executive editor, Cade McMann; Bridget Elliott, the photo editor … and Scarlet.

He’d never been to a meeting with Scarlet in attendance before. Why would an assistant fashion editor be there?

John shook hands with Fin, Cade and Bridget. He met Scarlet’s gaze directly and nodded. She raised her brows. No clue there as to how she felt.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush, John,” Fin said. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the competition my father instituted.”

“I’m aware of the details.” Having just seen Maeve over the weekend, John realized how much Fin looked like her mother, although she had Patrick’s head—and drive—for business.

“I intend to win.” She leaned toward him, her body rigid. “But I can’t if you keep pulling ad revenue from my profits.”

“I’m responding to what my clients’ needs are, Fin.”

“We came up with an idea we’d like to toss out at you. Go ahead, Scarlet.”

Scarlet picked up a remote control. She gave him a quick look, all business, which might have worked had she been wearing a gray, pin-striped, baggy suit and her hair in a bun. Maybe. As it was, her shiny hair curled softly over her shoulders, and she wore a deep purple dress that clung to every shapely inch of her. His mind wandered ….

She brought up an image on the big-screen monitor on the wall. “Picture this as a feature article. We might call it ‘Trends,’ or something like that,” Scarlet said. “Ten to twelve photos of the hottest trends for each season, as we generally do. But this is an example of how we would incorporate your clients’ products.”

A hip blond model was seated at a bar in what looked to be a neighborhood pub. She wore an outfit meant to draw the magazine reader’s eye, but in her hand was a bottle of Crystal Crème soda. The juxtaposition of a soft drink being served at a bar would make the reader pay even more attention, he decided. Very clever.

“Product placement,” Scarlet said unnecessarily. “Here are a few more.”

Images flashed across the screen, each photo the superb quality that Charisma was known for, and each including a product of one of his clients, generally a food or drink item, easily integrated into the scene.

Cade pushed a folder toward John. “Price guides. You’ll find it cheaper than a full-page ad, of course, but a fair price, we think, for the value.”

Scarlet handed him a manila envelope. “Here’s a CD of each sample so you can pitch your clients with visuals. These are mock-ups, obviously. We’d have to work closely together, matching our focus for the article with your product for the layout. Some products will lend themselves easily, but some won’t. Some of these products have never been advertised in Charisma, like Crystal Crème. We think it opens a lot of new doors.”

“You know that once you start down this path, you won’t be able to go back,” John said, skimming the price sheets. “And you’ll be accused of selling out.”

“We’ve talked it over,” Cade answered. “Analyzed it. Had a few hearty debates, too. It’s no different from a television program or movie showcasing products.”

“It’s not as if it’s something new in the business,” John said. “But it is new for you. Something you’ve resisted because of the ethics involved.”

“It’s a new day,” Scarlet said. “A time for change.”

She’d parroted what she’d overheard him say to Patrick the past weekend.

“We ask one thing, John,” Fin said. “We want an exclusive. You don’t go to the other EPH magazines—or anyone else—asking for the same thing. Let us run with it first.”

John nodded. “Unless they ask. I can’t pass up reasonable business, either, Fin. And I want an exclusive, as well. You don’t offer this opportunity to anyone else for a few months, either.”

“Fair enough,” Fin said. “I’ve asked Scarlet to be your liaison on this project. Does that work for you?”

He didn’t dare look at Scarlet. “Sure.”

“She came up with a list of your clients whose products might be suitable for us.”

“That’s very competent of her.”

A momentary silence hung over the room, then Fin said coolly, “We’re pleased we found a way to keep your business at Charisma.”

“So am I.” And now he and Scarlet would work together as well as play together, if that was what they could call it. But this business relationship would extend beyond the month.

“If you have time to stay and talk with her now, we would appreciate it.”

“I do.”

“Good.” Finola rose, as did Cade and Bridget. “We’ll be in touch.”

The room emptied except for Scarlet and John, who sat across the wide table from each other.

“Your concept?” he asked her.

“Does it matter?”

“Just curious. I couldn’t figure out why an assistant fashion editor was in on an ad meeting. If you came up with the idea, it makes sense that you would be here. Seems to me, though, that you’d like to take credit for something so daring for Charisma.”

Scarlet sat back in her chair, her arms crossed. “Fin’s a great boss. She’s turned us into a team where credit and blame are shared.”

“I’ve known her for a few years. This is the most on edge I’ve seen her.”

“The competition.” Scarlet shrugged. “Everyone’s feeling the pressure.”

“You think she should be the one to win? The one to become CEO of EPH, over your uncles?”

“I don’t work for them.” She smiled sweetly. “Here’s the list.” She skated it across the table.

He caught it, stood and walked around the table, not taking his eyes off her. She watched him, as well. He sat beside her, close enough that her perfume drifted across the space between them. Her signature scent aroused him instantly.

“Are we still on for Saturday night?” he asked.

The door opened. Jessie shouldered her way in, carrying a tray with bottled water and glasses of ice. “Cade said I should sit in on your meeting.”

“Great,” Scarlet said with a little too much enthusiasm.

Saved by the intern. John could see the thought flash through Scarlet’s mind.

And because he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, he decided to be creative himself.

John had been right about one thing, Scarlet thought a half hour later as they left the conference room and headed to her cubicle. She did want credit for her idea to keep his business at Charisma. Not for the glory—she was a team player—but she wished her grandfather knew what she’d come up with. She wanted him to see that she was valuable to the magazine, not just an Elliott being given a position because of the family name.

As long as she was being honest with herself, she admitted she wanted John to know, too, because she needed him to acknowledge her abilities. It was unlike her to crave approval. What did that say about her? A sign of a new maturity … or insecurity? She wished Summer was home so they could talk about it, at least the part about Granddad. But their phone conversations, frequent but short, never allowed time for deep discussion, plus Summer was living a dream. Scarlet didn’t want to wake her with reality yet.

Scarlet knew John was right behind her as they reached her cubicle, but his footsteps were almost silent. Sneaky. He was sneaky in a lot of ways. Good ways, interesting ways, like his card with the flowers that had only his phone number printed on it. Like luring her to the conference room at the Spring Fling. Like disguising his incredible body with boring suits. Outwardly he needed some flair to match what he was inside, which was fascinating.

The orchids he’d sent were still fresh, the vase overflowing with the wondrous blooms. She saw his gaze land on them.

She thumbed through a stack of papers on her desk, pulling out the one she wanted to give him.

“Thanks,” he said. He stuffed the sheet into his briefcase. “I’ll be in touch as I meet with each client.”

He left. Just like that. Without finalizing plans for Saturday night, even though he’d asked her before.

An assortment of possibilities about how she could do him bodily harm ran through her head. Had he forgotten or was he playing a game with her? Maybe he was unhappy that they would be working together on the same project for an indefinite period of time.

Any other man might—

She stopped. Sat down. Set her elbows on her desk and rested her chin in her hands. John wasn’t like any other man. And that was the problem.

She was used to leading a relationship, had thought she was letting him lead. But the fact of the matter was, he wasn’t … leadable.

At five o’clock she headed to the elevator bank, grateful she wasn’t an executive, whose work hours often stretched long into the night, even more so since Granddad had fired the starting gun on the competition. She was worried about Aunt Finny, who was way too tense, and determined to win, and was spending far too much time in the office these days.

“Scarlet!” Jessie ran up to her at the elevator, holding tight to a red helium-filled balloon. “This just came. There wasn’t a card, but the delivery guy said it was for you.”

Scarlet spied a piece of paper inside the balloon. She had no doubt who’d sent it.

But what did the note say?

“Thanks,” she said to Jessie, leaving her curiosity unsatisfied as Scarlet stepped into the waiting elevator. “See you tomorrow.”

She strode down Park Avenue, the string wrapped securely around her hand, the balloon hovering just above her head. She smiled as she walked. People smiled back. It was a drizzly spring day, but it was beautiful.

The man learned fast, she thought. He could’ve talked to her while they were in her cubicle, or called her after he’d returned to his office. Instead he sent her a balloon. How imaginative. Maybe it held a little apology for last Saturday night, as well as a reminder of the upcoming Saturday night.

She hailed a cab, lucky to find one unoccupied. Then at the town house she swung open the gate and headed for the door to the underground pool and garage to get to her private entrance. The sound of someone knocking on a window caught her attention. She spied her grandmother waving at her, motioning her to come through the front door.

Gram rarely came into the city anymore unless she was going on a shopping binge, in which case she made arrangements to shop with Scarlet in tow. They always made a day of it.

Curious why Gram hadn’t alerted Scarlet that she was coming, Scarlet climbed the front stairs and walked into the entry, where a grand piano held center stage. When someone played, the sound reverberated through the entire three-story house.

“What are you doing here?” she asked her grandmother as they hugged.

“We have tickets for the opera. We came early so that Patrick could go into the office.” She smiled at the balloon. “It’s a special occasion, then, is it?”

“What? Oh, someone was passing them out. They’re advertising something.”

Maeve’s brows lifted. “And you carried it all the way home?”

Scarlet shrugged, trying to look innocent. “It suited my mood.”

“Why don’t you pop it and see what’s inside?”

“I, um, don’t really care what’s inside. I’d like to enjoy the balloon for a while.”

Gram’s eyes held a secret smile. “If you don’t want to share the note, just say so, colleen. I respect your privacy.”

Then for no fathomable reason the balloon popped on its own and the note went flying, landing faceup at Maeve’s feet. Scarlet grabbed it before her grandmother could bend down, then held it up to read.

I look forward to Saturday night. Pick you up at eight.

Scarlet somehow managed not to sigh her relief at the G-rated note, unsure whether her grandmother had had time to read it or not.

“So, you have a date tonight, then,” Gram said, her eyes twinkling.

Scarlet looked at the note again. “No. Saturday.”

Maeve pointed to it. “I think you’ve got a different message on the other side.”

With dread Scarlet turned the note over. Tonight. Nine. Be prepared for some lessons of your own.

Gram laughed, softly at first, then with utter amusement at Scarlet’s embarrassment.

“A healthy love life is a good thing. Is it anyone I know, then?”

Scarlet’s face heated to broil. “Gram, please.”

“Someone your granddad would approve of, for a change?”

She wished she could answer yes. Wished it with all her heart. But no one would be happy with her choice of John Harlan. No one.

Her grandmother patted her on the arm. “I won’t tell Patrick, if that’s your worry.”

“I’m just not ready to talk about it.”

“Sure, then, I’ll leave it alone for now. Oh. We’ll be taking the helicopter back to The Tides tonight, so you don’t have to be worrying about us seeing your young man in the morning.”

Like there was any way she would let John come over tonight, knowing that Patrick could change his mind and be there in the morning.

“Have a wonderful time at the opera,” she said to her impish grandmother.

“I don’t suppose you’ll be visiting us this weekend?”

Scarlet laughed. “Good night.” She headed to the indoor staircase, appreciating, as she always did, the calm, tasteful decor of the town house, decorated so similarly to The Tides. Maeve Elliott knew how to bring peace to a place—and a person.

When she reached her floor, she went straight into her room and dialed John’s number.

“You got my balloon?” he asked, his voice full of sexy promise.

“My grandmother got your balloon.”

“What?”

Good. At least she’d shocked him in return. “I was reading your lovely note about Saturday, while she was reading your more direct note on the other side.”

The sharp, succinct curse that came next made her relax, although she didn’t know why.

“What did she say?” he asked.

“That you could spend the night.”

A long pause, then, “I beg your pardon?”

“You didn’t sign your name to the note, so she doesn’t know it’s you specifically, but she made it clear that my young man could spend the night. She and Granddad are taking the copter home tonight.”

A pause ensued. “I’m not willing to risk that,” he said.

“Neither am I.”

“Are you disappointed?”

She waited a couple of beats to answer him, not because she didn’t know the answer but because she wasn’t sure she wanted him to know exactly how disappointed she was.

“I’m going to take that as a yes. Saturday night is still a go, though, right?”

“Of course.”

“Scarlet? About Saturday night … Is that to be a Woo U date, like a real first date?”

“You mean with no fringe benefits?”

“I’m just trying to know what to expect. Having two different—and opposite—relationships doesn’t make things simple.”

“It’s a first date,” she said. “We’ve already straightened out a few errors you’ve made in the past. Let’s see if anything else needs fixing.”

“All right.”

She couldn’t tell if he was disappointed, but she could guess. She didn’t know how well she could stick to her own rules herself. She was still revved up from Saturday night at the country club. Just sitting next to him at the meeting today had made her wish they could find a dark corner somewhere and put an end to the aching need.

“Goodnight, John,” she said as cheerfully as possible.

“‘Night.”

Scarlet changed into casual pants and a top, grabbed a leftover chicken Caesar salad from the refrigerator, then settled on the sofa with her sketch pad. She’d been unusually creative lately, ideas flowing so easily that she had already filled one pad and was halfway through another, in barely a month’s time.

A psychologist would say she was sublimating—diverting her forbidden desire for John into a socially acceptable substitute, like designing an entire clothing line. After more than an hour she set aside her pad and wandered to the living-room window. People walked along the sidewalk, going to or coming home from dinner, probably. Singles moved along in haste. Couples strolled.

When was the last time she’d been on a date? Gone out to dinner with someone other than Summer or a girlfriend? Sometime during the past year she’d given up trying to irritate her grandfather by dating men he wouldn’t approve of. She’d been asked out during that time, but had made excuses not to go.

Looking back, she realized she’d stopped dating when John and Summer had started getting serious, and Scarlet had begun falling in love with John. She’d spent a lot of time at home, sewing. Summer had been worried about her, had often invited her to come along with her and John. Scarlet had made so many excuses she’d run out of creative ideas.

The irony, of course, was that her grandfather would approve of John—if he hadn’t once been engaged to Summer. Patrick wouldn’t tolerate scandal. He’d even forced Aunt Finny at age fifteen to give up her baby born out of wedlock, in order to save public face. Scarlet figured Fin was fighting so hard to win Patrick’s corporate game because she’d harbored so much resentment for him these twenty-plus years since having her baby taken away.

Scarlet didn’t want to become like Fin. She wanted to make peace with Patrick. But there was no way she could make peace by pursuing John for anything beyond this month of stolen nights. People would talk too much, especially this soon after the breakup.

She wished she were brave enough to end the relationship now, but she wasn’t. Only a couple more weeks, then the choice would be taken from her.

The phone rang, slicing into her thoughts, for which she was grateful.

“What do you think about using Une Nuit as a locale for a shoot?” John asked without saying hello. “Models seated at a table, looking at a menu, the name of the restaurant right there for the world to see.”

“I think it could be considered a conflict of interest, since my cousin Bryan owns the place. Is he a client of yours now?”

“Brand-new.”

“I thought Bryan liked to fly low under the radar. And last I heard he had reservations booked until the twelfth of never.”

“I can’t tell you what his plans are.”

“Can’t or don’t know?”

“Take your pick.”

She smiled. She liked a man who could keep confidences. “So, you’re spending the evening working?”

“It was that or stand in a cold shower all night.”

She burrowed into the sofa cushions, tucking the phone closer. “Were you serious in your note about having something to teach me?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

How in the world had Summer given up this man? Scarlet wondered for the thousandth time. He was quick-witted, funny, smart and sexy. What more could a woman want?

“Want to reschedule tonight’s plan for Friday?” he asked.

“Can’t. I have a meet and greet at Michael Thor’s new studio,” Scarlet said.

“It can’t last all night.”

“I promised Jessie I’d take her by Une Nuit afterward. I’m really sorry.”

A beat passed. “So, that leaves us back at our Saturday night Woo U date,” he said.

“Good thing you asked early,” she said pertly, glad when he laughed. “John?”

“What?”

“I’ve been thinking.” She waited for him to come back with some clever insult, but there was only silence. Maybe he heard the tension in her voice. “I’m not sure we should be doing more than just the Woo U stuff.”

“Meaning?”

“We were lucky my grandparents didn’t catch us tonight. Maybe that’s a sign we shouldn’t spend all that much time together.”

“You believe in signs? Omens? Fate?” he asked.

“When it’s convenient … or logical.”

“Before we make such a big decision, why don’t we sleep on it? We’ll talk about it on Saturday. After the date ends.”

Because she wanted to avoid the discussion herself, she said, “Works for me. Good night, John.”

“Sweet dreams, Scarlet.”

The way he said the words turned her to mush. She knew he had to be disappointed in her decision, yet he’d said his own good-night with tenderness in his voice, not impatience or irritation. Personally, she would’ve been irritated if he’d come to the same determination that she had.

She liked that she kept learning something new about him.

After a minute she glanced at the clock. She could change her mind right now—grab a cab and surprise him. He was at home and alone. He would satisfy her deprived needs ….

Instead she took a warm bath and went to bed, in search of those elusive sweet dreams.

John printed the results of his evening at the computer, stacked the papers and put them in his briefcase. He started to pour himself a Glenfiddich, hesitated then went ahead and splashed some in a glass. The smooth, pricey scotch could’ve easily reminded him of the day Summer broke their engagement, but instead he chose to associate it with his first night with Scarlet.

He carried the glass with him to look out his window. It had started to rain sometime in the past hour. He turned off all the lights and stood, sipping and watching and remembering. The way she’d watched him undress. Her red bra and thong. The incredible sounds she made, flattering and arousing. Then the way she rushed away, leaving her coat behind. He’d sat on his bed, holding it to his nose, breathing in her scent for a long time after she was gone.

He hadn’t expected to ever see her again, at least not like that. He’d been wrong.

And somehow he’d gotten himself into a position where they would spend hours together on Saturday without hope of ending up in bed. Maybe never sleep together again.

He really wondered whether he’d fried a whole lot of brain cells since he’d first slept with her. He knew he was infatuated, because she was rarely out of his mind. Even now he’d gone hard just thinking about her, a condition he hadn’t experienced with this much uncontrolled regularity since he was a teenager.

It couldn’t be more than lust. He refused to have his heart broken by another Elliott woman. Or even have his life turned upside down.

But he wanted her ….

To hell with it. He set his empty glass on the bar, grabbed his coat and keys and went out the door. He could sneak out of her house long before anyone was up to see him, convince her not to give up the sexual relationship.

But when the elevator doors opened he stared at the empty car until the doors closed. He returned to his apartment. His huge, quiet apartment. And went to bed alone.