“Thanks.”
Preoccupied with the troublesome women in his life, he’d forgotten all about the multimillion-dollar proposal they were working on to overhaul Schaefer Industries’s security system. The deadline for the bid was four this afternoon. He needed to look over the final numbers and make sure there were no holes in the strategy they’d created. Scarlett would have to wait.
* * *
The big closet full of costumes wasn’t having its usual soothing effect on Scarlett. She grazed her fingertips along sequined sleeves and plucked at organza skirts but couldn’t summon up the charisma to wear Marilyn Monroe’s white dress from The Seven Year Itch or the slinky green number Cyd Charisse wore to dance with Gene Kelly in Singin’ in the Rain. Her heart was too heavy to play her namesake, Scarlett O’Hara, and she’d never be able to pull off Cleopatra’s sexy strength.
Her confidence had been dipping lower and lower ever since she’d told Bobby her decision about the television series. Logic told her she’d chosen correctly, but she couldn’t shake the worry that she’d irrevocably closed the door because she was afraid of putting herself out there and being rejected.
She came across Holly Golightly’s long black dress from the opening scene of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, pulled it off the rack and held it against herself. Perfect. Holly’s mixture of innocence and street savvy had always struck a chord in Scarlett. Many days she felt that way. Tough on the outside because acting was a rough business to be in. Fragile as dandelion fluff on the inside. Some weeks she’d go for a dozen auditions and not have a single callback. It had been hard on her, a change from the days when she’d basked in the studio’s love and appreciation.
Running Fontaine Richesse had brought her defenses and her longing into balance. She’d gained confidence in her abilities and no longer faced daily rejection. Dropping her guard had taken a while, but eventually she’d stopped expecting to hear what she was doing wrong. She’d begun to thrive.
Scarlett put on the iconic black dress, zipped it up and fastened on a collar of pearls. She regarded her reflection in the mirror. This costume was a head turner. With the sixties-style wig, black gloves and long cigarette holder, she bore an uncanny resemblance to Audrey Hepburn. And becoming Holly Golightly gave her a much-needed break from her current worries.
It’s what she loved about acting. Becoming another person was like taking a vacation without going anywhere. For twelve or fourteen hours at a time she was transported to a simple house in the suburbs where her parents laughed at misunderstandings about fixing dinner and her siblings got into trouble at school. Simple complications that resolved themselves in twenty-two minutes. Where lessons were learned and everyone hugged and smiled in the end.
The pleasure such memories gave Scarlett reaffirmed that she was an actress at heart. It was something that would always come between her and Logan. He preferred everything straightforward and realistic. She was pretty sure he wasn’t the sort of man who wanted his woman to dress up like a naughty schoolgirl, a cheerleader or even Princess Leia. Which was too bad because she had a copy of Leia’s slave girl costume tucked away in her closet.
As she tugged on the elbow-high black gloves, she heard a knock on her door. Her heart jumped into her throat as she raced across the living room. More cautious after her attack, she checked the peephole and saw Logan standing in the hall. They hadn’t spoken all day. She’d been both hoping and dreading that he’d call. She was terrified to tell him about her decision. Although he’d encouraged her to take the part, it was such an about-face from his earlier stance on her career, she didn’t understand his motives.
Breath uneven, she threw open the door, uncertain about what to expect. His tight mouth and fierce gaze stopped her forward momentum. A muscle jumped in his jaw as he stepped into her suite, compelling her to shift to one side or be trampled.
“Hello, Logan.”
He strode past her without responding and began pacing in the middle of the room.
“Don’t go.”
His brusque tone matched the tension vibrating off him. She was used to his demanding ways, actually enjoyed surrendering to his desires. Not that she would ever admit it. Ninety-nine percent of the time she preferred being in complete control. It was a throwback to her days in Hollywood when she’d had very little power. But she had learned she could trust Logan and it was nice to hand over the reins once in a while.
“Sure. It won’t matter if I don’t make an appearance in the casino tonight.” Her body tightened with hunger as she moved toward him. “What did you have in mind?”