"Why are you telling us?" he asked.
Scarlet hated that she'd put that tone in his voice that said she'd failed him, had fallen short of his expectations. "Because I'm in love with him."
"You mean you have every intention of going public with this? Humiliating your sister?"
"Summer is fine with it. As for going public, I don't know for sure. I just wanted you to know, in case."
"Does he love you?" Gram asked.
"He hasn't said so."
"Are you looking for my blessing?" Granddad asked, as if dumbfounded. "You think I would-"
"Quit prowling," Maeve said, interrupting. "Sit yourself down. You're not helping."
"I should help this?" he queried righteously, but he sat anyway. "I should make her comfortable?"
"Yes, I do believe you should, dearie."
Scarlet was grateful to sit again. "I didn't have anything to do with their breakup."
"Of course you didn't," her grandmother said, patting her hand.
Scarlet grabbed it as an anchor. "I do want your blessing, Granddad. I don't know what will happen. Maybe all this would have been unnecessary. But I can't even begin to hope things can work out with John unless I know you accept it."
"Give my blessing, you mean."
She nodded.
"And if I won't?"
She met his gaze directly. "I won't see him anymore."
He sat back, his brows raised. "You would give him up?"
"I'm not the girl I was. I've grown up. I appreciate all you did for Summer and me after Mom and Dad died. I'm sorry it took so long for me to show you."
The room held no clock to tick during the long silence that followed, but the sound seemed to reverberate inside Scarlet's head, anyway, a time bomb determining her future-she hoped. John still had to have his say.
"You have our blessing," he said at last.
As if a nuclear blast hit her, she fell into her grandmother's waiting arms, wishing she could control the relief that spilled out in huge, gulping sobs, but finally just giving in to the overwhelming emotions. She felt her grandfather pat her back a few times.
"You'll make yourself sick," he said, obviously uncomfortable with Scarlet's tears when he was accustomed to arguments.
He stuck a handkerchief in her hand. She grabbed hold of his hand, too, then shifted from her grandmother's arms into his. "Thank you," she whispered shakily. "Thank you so much. I'll try to handle it in a way you can be proud of."
"I am proud, missy. I've always been proud. You've got a good bit of myself in you. It's why we butt heads. I expect you'll go far in the company, maybe even run it someday."
Scarlet used his handkerchief to dry her cheeks and blow her nose, stalling. She tried to smile. They had, after all, taken Summer's request for a leave of absence well. "About that … "
He raised his brows.
"No matter what happens with John, my plan is to stay on at Charisma until the end of the year-when Fin wins the contest," she added pointedly. "And then I'm going to try my hand at designing full-time."
"You couldn't have saved that bit of news for another time?"
"Might as well put everything on the table at one time. Deal with it and move on."
"That sounds suspiciously like a motto of your own," Maeve said to him.
He smiled, then shrugged.
"You'll be wanting to take the helicopter back right away, colleen."
"Yes, Gram. Thank you." She stood.
Patrick stood as well, and passed the jewelry box back to her. "I haven't been more proud of you than now, Scarlet. Wear it with pride. My pride. You've become your own person. It needs recognition. No more tears," he added in mock horror.
She laughed. Then she left to find the man she loved.
Sixteen
L ate that afternoon John closed his office door, shutting out the normal workplace noise, which seemed suddenly chaotic. He'd been sure he would hear from Scarlet as soon as Summer forgave her-or whatever they did to make things right again. He'd certainly expected their reconciliation by now. He didn't know what to make of Scarlet's silence.
He checked the time. She would still be at work, but just barely. He dialed her number, got her voice mail, waited for the beep. "It's John." Did he really have to identify himself? "Give me a call when you have a minute. Thanks."
If she didn't call back before he left the office he'd try her home phone, then her cell. He needed to know what was going on with her, wanted to tell her a few things, too.
His private line rang. He let it ring twice, his hand on the receiver. "John Harlan."
"Hi, it's me."
Scarlet. Message received. He dragged a hand down his face and relaxed into the chair.
"Thanks for calling." He held back from bombarding her with questions because he wanted to see her in person, to know for himself how she felt. He needed to talk her into meeting him somewhere. "Did you and Summer settle things?"
"Yes."
He waited, but she didn't add anything. "Well … good."
"John? We need to talk."
"I agree. That's why I called you."
"You-" A pause, then, "When?"
"Just now. Isn't that why you're calling?" he asked.
"No. I wanted to let you know I'm sending you an envelope by messenger. You can read what's inside and think it over and get back to me."
"Why don't we just meet?" he asked.
"Everything will be clear when you get the message."
At this point in their relationship she'd decided to play a game? Why wouldn't she just talk to him? "All right, Scarlet. I'll get back to you."
"One way or the other, please?"
He wasn't sure what she meant but figured it would work itself out. "Okay."
"See you later," she said, almost turning it into a question, but not waiting for an answer before she hung up.
He called the doorman in his apartment building to say he was expecting a delivery and to call him as soon as it arrived. Someone rapped sharply on his office door, then opened it without waiting to be invited.
"Got a minute, son? We need to talk."
John stood to greet his father, aware of how ominous those words sounded, echoing his own to Scarlet. It was not the best day in his life.
Scarlet shook out her hands to help calm her nerves then strode lightly across the sumptuous hotel suite to the door. She viewed the room from the entry. The small fortune she'd paid for one night in the two-room suite at the Ritz-Carlton was worth it. A table for two was already set by a window overlooking Central Park. She'd arranged for a memorable meal from the hotel's award-winning restaurant, Atelier, everything from beluga caviar, to bluefin-tuna-and-artichoke salad, to herb-crusted rack of lamb with spinach-and-ricotta gnocchi, to the decadent final touch-warm molten chocolate cake with caramel ice cream.
It was a meal meant for a celebration. She'd even met with the master sommelier to choose wines for each course.
Now all she needed was John.
She paced the room, caught a glimpse of her reflection in a window in her fitted black sheath, black-satin-and-rhinestone high heels and her mother's pearl-and-diamond necklace and matching earrings. She'd never worn them before, had saved them for a special occasion. She couldn't imagine an occasion more special.
The mantel clock struck six. Any moment now, he would arrive.
She was scared and anxious and exhilarated.
She wandered around the room, moved dinner plates half an inch then back again, straightened perfectly aligned silverware, picked up a wineglass, held it to the light then set it down again in precisely the same spot.
She walked some more, stopped at a window. A siren blared, an everyday sound that pierced the quiet hotel room then stopped nearby.
In the sudden silence the clock chimed the quarter hour.
She went into the bedroom to find her watch, double-checking that the clock was right. It was.
Six-thirty came. Anxiety played hide-and-seek in her head.
Six forty-five. Worry joined the game.
The phone rang. She almost came out of her skin. He was delayed, that was all, and calling to say so.
"Hello?" She heard herself, breathless and hopeful.
"Miss Elliott?"
Not John. "Yes."
"Were you ready for room service?"
"I need a little more time." She'd arranged to call them when she was ready but had told them it would probably be about 6:15 p.m. "I'll get back to you as soon as I can."
"Of course, ma'am. Good evening."
Scarlet blew out a breath. Where was John? She had left nothing to chance, had even called to alert him about the envelope. Yet now she was left staring at the hotel door, willing him to knock on it, but only silence echoed back.