"Shall I read the card?" Jessie asked, green eyes sparkling behind trendy glasses as she snagged the tiny envelope and held it over Scarlet's head.
"I write your performance reviews."
Jessie laughed and handed Scarlet the card. "I don't suppose you're going to read it out loud."
"Good guess."
Alone, Scarlet held the envelope to her lips for several seconds before opening it. Inside was a phone number. No flowery sentiment. No invitation to dinner. Just a phone number.
She smiled, slowly. Score one for John.
She picked up the phone and dialed.
"John Harlan."
She heard expectation in his voice, maybe because he was trying to cover it. "Nice move."
"Who's calling?"
She grinned. "Let me start over." She hung up and redialed. After he answered, she said, "The flowers are exquisite. Thank you."
"So you remember me?"
She slipped into the role. "Of course. We met at the Charisma open house over the holidays."
"You were wearing a green dress the color of your eyes," he said.
Her breath caught, even though they were talking about an imaginary occasion. He made it sound real, as if he'd seen and admired her in that dress. "You were wearing a suit and tie," she countered.
"Lucky guess. I hope you're wondering why I sent the flowers."
"I'm curious, yes."
"I'd like to get to know you. Would you have dinner with me? Maybe a week from Saturday?"
"I'd love to."
"May I pick you up, say, at eight o'clock?"
"That would be perfect."
"I'll call you during the week to reconfirm."
"Okay."
He said goodbye and hung up, and she was left wondering if he meant they wouldn't talk to each other or see each other until he picked her up. Was that how far the role-playing would go? Or would they have a separate life, continuing what they'd started?
For now she would let him lead the relationship. She would go to The Tides for the weekend to visit Gram and Granddad, as planned; attend the Spring Fling at the country club; and make herself unavailable to John, letting absence do its work.
Which was crazy, since nothing long-term could come of this relationship, anyway. But for the month that Summer would be out of town, Scarlet would indulge herself with the man who should be most forbidden to her and make herself a memory.
Five
S ince the tragic day when Scarlet and Summer were orphaned, Scarlet had never spent an entire weekend at The Tides without her sister. It was strange now to be in her own bedroom and know that Summer wasn't just a few feet away in hers, or sharing a room as they got ready for a special occasion. The tomblike quiet was eerie.
Scarlet took a final look in the mirror and gave herself the okay sign, something Summer would've done. Once upon a time, Gram would have come in to share in the fun, too, but her arthritis prevented her from climbing the stairs easily anymore. She and Granddad had moved downstairs. Why they hadn't installed an elevator was a mystery to Scarlet.
Her heels tapped softly as she descended the long marble staircase to the first floor. She looked forward to the evening, even though she was dateless. She would know many of the guests, however, and would surely be asked to dance.
She was glad she hadn't told John where she was going. He might have decided to show up, and she wasn't sure she could pretend not to notice him.
Scarlet headed toward the back of the house to the living room, beyond which was her grandparents' suite. As Scarlet neared, her grandmother came out her bedroom door, carrying herself with the grace of a queen, a far cry from the seamstress she'd been when Patrick had first met her in Ireland and swept her off her feet, bringing her to his home in America. Her face barely showed age or tragedy, even at seventy-five and having suffered the loss of several children through miscarriage or death.
"Aren't you enchanting, colleen," she said as Scarlet hugged her. "And dressed to stop lungs from pulling in air, I'm thinking. Your own creation?"
"Brand-new." Scarlet did a quick pirouette, showing off the snug violet-and-fuchsia sheath with the flounce that would swirl just above her knees when she danced. Three-inch heels brought her to six feet in height. She loved the additional height, which gave her a sense of power. "You're looking beautiful yourself, Gram."
Maeve wore a simple lavender beaded gown on her petite frame. Her makeup was applied deftly, a few freckles visible on her gorgeous Irish skin. She'd worn her white-and-auburn hair in an elegant updo for as long as Scarlet could remember, and it was no different now. As usual, too, a gold locket hung around her neck, rumored to hold a picture of her daughter Anna, her secondborn, who had died of cancer when she was seven. Scarlet wondered if the locket also contained a picture of her thirdborn, Stephen, Scarlet and Summer's father.
"Looking to turn a few heads, are you?" Patrick Elliott boomed from behind them.
In her heels Scarlet met her grandfather eye to eye, yet another reason she liked wearing them.
At seventy-seven Patrick was still a sight to behold. His fit body, thick gray hair and blue eyes continued to draw glances from women thirty years younger. "I'm hoping to, yes," Scarlet said.
"I was talking to your grandmother, missy." He tempered the comment with a slight smile at Scarlet, which turned tender when he looked at his wife and kissed her cheek. "You look lovely, cushla macree."
Pulse of my heart. Scarlet had heard him call her grandmother that forever, had always found it hard to believe that this adoring husband was the same dictator who'd raised her and Summer. And as a businessman, he was ruthless-even, or more accurately especially, with his children, who ran four of his various enterprises.
"Are you taking your own car?" Patrick asked Scarlet. "I'm sure you'll want to stay longer than your grandmother and I."
"I'll ride with you. If I'm not ready to come home when you are, I'll get someone to drop me off."
"We'll send Frederick back for you," Gram said.
"Thanks, but it won't be necessary." Scarlet recognized she was being stubborn out of habit. Her grandparents' driver would be happy to make a second trip to pick her up. Still, she found it hard to alter the long-established adversarial relationship with her grandfather. "I'll make my own way."
"Make sure your escort hasn't been drinking." He put his hand under Maeve's arm as they moved toward the door.
Scarlet brought up the rear, irritated that her grandfather assumed a man would bring her home. "I'll make him take a Breathalyzer."
Maeve chuckled, which stopped Patrick from countering with something equally sarcastic. "So alike, you two," Maeve said.
"Alike? Us?" Scarlet wasn't as stunned as she pretended.
"Yes, colleen. But enough of this. It's a night to celebrate the arrival of spring. New beginnings. Let's have no more battles of wit, no matter how clever the words."
"Fine by me," Scarlet said.
Patrick said nothing, which was answer enough. He would do whatever Maeve asked of him.
Scarlet stopped short of heaving a sigh. She and Granddad had butted heads forever, with Gram and Summer interceding when possible. Her grandfather had never liked any of her boyfriends, even during her first tender explorations into the dating world, and so she had begun to bring home guys she was sure he would despise-men without much motivation or ambition, men whose main interest in life was having fun, not working. Nothing turned off Patrick Elliott more than a man without a solid work ethic, especially since he had built his own empire from nothing.
Scarlet was tired of the game, though, and tired of being at odds with her grandfather, especially now. He must be feeling less invincible these days or else he wouldn't have given his children the challenge that the next CEO of Elliott Publication Holdings would be the person who produced for their magazine the biggest individual financial success by year's end. His surprise announcement at a New Year's party that he would be retiring, and the game he'd begun by pitting the Elliott children against each other, had turned all their lives upside down-a typical Patrick Elliott move.
During the twenty-minute limo ride to the country club, the conversation turned to safe topics, setting a new, peaceful tone for the evening. The club ballroom was decorated for the Spring Fling as it always was, with spring-flower arrangements and tiny white lights everywhere, nothing overly original or creative. A sumptuous buffet would be laid out, bars set up in convenient places, with dancing to come later, a twenty-piece band providing music. Scarlet loved its predictability.