The Forbidden Twin(18)

"Why didn't you call my cell?"

"I did. It's turned off."

"Oh. Sorry." Probably not turned off but a dead battery, Scarlet  decided. "Well, I had a late breakfast, but I'll be happy to keep you  company. Did you see Granddad yesterday? He called me up to his office."

"I got the same order, but I had a message sent to him that I'd already left."

"I should've thought of that," Scarlet said, unlocking her apartment  door. "I'm trying to figure out who's talking to him about me."

"What do you mean?"

"He said he'd been hearing good things about me. Called me creative and competent. How does he know that?"

Fin frowned. "I haven't talked to him about you."

"You think we have a mole? Someone who reports to him about the goings-on at Charisma?"

"Maybe."

Scarlet started to press the message button on her answering machine,  then decided against it. Later, maybe. In private. She'd learned her  lesson there. "Who could it be? And why is it necessary? Granddad has  access to all financial information. Since he's only worried about  fiscal profit to declare the winner of this contest, why would he need  someone reporting behind the scenes?"

"A very good question." Fin paced the living room.

"I'm going to change. Make yourself at home." Scarlet hurried. She  changed into jeans, a T-shirt and a leather jacket, then pulled her hair  into a ponytail, added a little mascara and lipstick and was done. She  could smell John's soap on her skin, and her body ached comfortably. One  area where the man had above average creativity-and flexibility-was in  bed. The aftereffects lingered.

"Do you want to go to Une Nuit?" Scarlet asked Fin as they left the house.

"I don't want to go to any family-run operation."

Scarlet smiled. "Hot dog and soda in the park?"

"Sure. Why not?"

A few hours later Scarlet dragged herself home. They'd listed every  employee, trying to come up with the name of the snitch. She wished she  hadn't said anything to Fin, who didn't need something else to obsess  about.

Scarlet made a promise to herself that she would never let her job  consume her life as Fin had-easy for Scarlet to say, she supposed, at  this point. Maybe when things ended with John, she would dive into her  work, too, and not come up for air for a long time.

She hit the message button as she passed by the answering machine,  listened from her bedroom to a message from Summer saying she would call  Scarlet's cell, four hang-ups, then one from her grandfather.

"Your grandmother and I are coming to the city for the week. She thought I needed to warn you, for some reason."

Scarlet could almost see him rolling his eyes.

"So, here's your warning, missy. We'll be arriving around four. Plan on dinner with us."

Another command performance. Scarlet looked at her watch. Almost four. She needed to call John, let him know … .

Why? How would it matter to him?

You just want to talk to him.

Right. And wrong. She had a legitimate reason. They needed to coordinate  schedules and see when she could help him with his wardrobe. And she'd  expected to spend the night with him at least once. Now they needed a  new plan. She couldn't stay away overnight with her grandparents there.

With that rationale in her head she picked up her phone. His number was still on the speed dial.

She hesitated. Why hadn't Summer removed his number? Would a  psychiatrist say she was keeping her options open in case things didn't  work out with Zeke? Even though she and Zeke were engaged, she'd been  engaged before, to John, and that hadn't worked. Maybe Summer was having  a life crisis-

Scarlet shook her head. Summer was different with Zeke. Openly happy.  Relaxed. Excited. All the things she hadn't been with John, or even  before John. Nothing was going to change there, even if Summer changed  her mind. And John wouldn't want her back, anyway. Would he? No. Of  course not.                       
       
           



       

She dialed his number, got his machine, but didn't leave a message. She didn't know his cell number.

The intercom buzzed from downstairs. Her grandparents had arrived.

Time to put on a happy face.





Ten


A few days later John stood by while Scarlet pulled item after item from  his closet to make room for his just-delivered new clothes and  shoes-although he suspected her reason had more to do with removing the  temptation of his ever wearing his old stuff again. His new tux and five  suits wouldn't be ready for a couple of weeks, but everything else  they'd bought could be put away-shirts, ties, jeans, leather jacket,  T-shirts, boots, shoes, other casual clothing.

His credit card statement now seemed in line with the national debt, but  he had to admit he liked the new look, not flashy but up-to-date.

Not that he hadn't argued with her, starting with her wanting him to use  a friend she'd gone to design school with instead of the tailor he'd  used all his life, his father's tailor. Somehow-he still wasn't exactly  sure how-she'd convinced him to give her guy a try, then decisions were  made all around him for a while before he asserted himself with veto  privileges and started offering his own opinions. He was happy with the  end result, particularly after he finished trying on clothes, when  Scarlet locked the dressing room door and they made love, their need to  be quiet somehow intensifying everything-scents, sights, the silken feel  of her skin, the force of his orgasm.

Or maybe it was the four walls of mirrors that had done that, especially  as she'd stripped for him, and he'd had a view of her everywhere he  looked, and from every angle.

He went hard at the memory.

"When do you have to be back at work?" he asked her now, coming up  behind her in the closet, his hands on her hips, keeping her rear snugly  against him.

"Same as usual. One-thirty."

It was the third time this week they'd met at his apartment at noon, and  it was only Thursday. They'd also had two meetings at her office about  product placements, plus that evening at the tailor's before she had to  go home to have dinner with her grandparents. She had to attend the  symphony with them tonight, then they were returning to The Tides  tomorrow, just in time for the weekend.

Tick tock. His time with Scarlet was slipping away.

They didn't talk about the inevitable end anymore, apparently deciding  separately not to bring it up. Sometime soon they would have to, though.  Only twelve days until Summer's return.

He'd had lunch delivered before he and Scarlet arrived-corned-beef  sandwiches and coleslaw. They sat at his kitchen counter to eat.

Scarlet held a dill pickle aloft. "Make sure you bag your old clothes  and leave them with your doorman tomorrow. They'll be picked up around  ten o'clock."

He was grateful he didn't have his new suits yet so he didn't have to donate his old ones. They were good suits, with life left.

"And when your new suits are ready, you'll give your old ones away," she added, using her pickle as a pointer.

"Who appointed you queen of my closet?"

She grinned. "Trust me. Once you've worn the new suits and gotten a  hundred compliments in five days, you won't miss the old ones a bit."

"If you say so." He had no intention of getting rid of them, but she  didn't have to know that. He was taking back a few of the things she'd  tossed onto his closet floor today, too.

"Do you have plans for the weekend?" he asked. They rarely planned  ahead, usually not even a day, as if they were afraid to. Afraid that  they would plan then something would prevent it, which would be worse  than not making plans at all.

"I have to make an appearance at JoJo Dawson's party Friday night," she said, "which starts at eight. How about you?"

"I have to be seen at Shari Alexander's opening at the Liz Barnard Gallery."

She frowned. "I didn't get an invitation to that."

"Maybe because at the last opening, you stole Liz's boyfriend."

She met his gaze directly then studied her sandwich for a few seconds as  she held it near her face. "I didn't know he was hers. He sure didn't  act like he belonged to anyone. Not to mention he's twenty years younger  than she is. Anyway, I wasn't doing anything but flirting a little,  after he made moves on me. Besides, he was too fussy."

"Fussy?"

"And full of himself."

He wasn't sure what she meant, except they weren't compliments. "I take it I'm not fussy."

She almost snorted. "Hardly."                       
       
           



       

He wanted her to explain what she meant, but left it alone. They only  had a few minutes left before they had to return to their offices. "Want  to get together after our respective appearances tomorrow night?"