"You look like an exotic bloom," Gram said as they waved and nodded to friends and acquaintances. "Your talent for design is staggering."
"I learned from the best." Scarlet put an arm around her grandmother, remembering fondly the hours and hours they'd spent sewing.
"That's a fine compliment, indeed, but I never had the vision, just the practical skill. I always expected you'd go into that field instead of the magazine, especially with your degree in design." Her sideways glance probed.
"I've got time. And the magazine's a useful place to learn more," Scarlet said evasively, wondering if Granddad had overheard. He didn't indicate outwardly that he had; in fact, he seemed focused on something across the room. She followed his gaze, spying the couple she'd most wanted to avoid.
She leaned closer to her grandmother. "Bill and Greta Harlan are here. Have you seen them since Summer called off the engagement?"
"I called Greta. As you know, we weren't great friends before John and Summer decided to marry. If you're wondering whether everyone will be civil, the answer is yes. Especially here. Now then, be off and enjoy yourself."
"I'll join you for supper later."
"You're not to feel obligated. Have fun, colleen. I don't think you're having enough fun these days."
"I miss Summer."
"And you're a mite envious, perhaps?"
"Not at all." Scarlet waited for lightning to strike her at the lie, but the world stayed normal. She did envy that Summer could be public with her relationship-and with a man she could count on and keep, whereas Scarlet was setting herself up for heartbreak, one she could never talk about or get sympathy for when it ended. But she wasn't jealous of her sister's happiness.
Scarlet wandered around the festive room, stopping to talk, admiring baby pictures thrust in her face from old friends settling down. She'd attended a record number of weddings in the past few years.
Gram was right. She wasn't having enough fun. Maybe it was because Summer wasn't there, and she was Scarlet's best friend. Maybe because Scarlet lived in Manhattan most of the time, and the country club now seemed too laid-back and … rigid, even though that seemed contradictory. Rules, rules, rules. She'd grown up with them, ignored them, gotten into trouble when she did. There were fewer rules in the city, more action, more options.
After dinner the dancing began. She watched her grandparents take the floor for the first slow dance, their steps perfectly matched after so many years of dancing together. Scarlet smiled as she watched them-until she spotted John walking onto the dance floor.
The lightning she'd expected before struck her, although for entirely different reasons. Everything inside her came feverishly to life. He was the best-looking man in the room. And she'd made love with him. And he'd wanted her, bad.
Okay, so she was glad he'd shown up. Admitting she had a problem was half the battle, she thought, being honest with herself. Then she saw a petite blonde step into his arms. Who was she? They waltzed together like long-time partners, their steps perfectly attuned, his hand resting at the small of her back, his gaze on her. He said something and the blonde laughed. Scarlet hated her.
The music went upbeat, and her grandparents left the dance floor, but John and his partner didn't. Scarlet tapped her toe. Was he trying to make her jealous?
"Hey, Scarlet."
She focused on the man who'd approached invisibly through her green haze. "Mitch, hi. Long time."
Mitchell Devereaux was as handsome as he was shallow, which was a lot.
"Yeah. Wanna dance?"
She certainly didn't want to sit on the sidelines, watching. She would ignore John and have fun, as Gram had ordered.
Scarlet didn't leave the dance floor after that, changing partners with each new song, dancing her heart out and keeping a casual eye on John, who also didn't sit out a dance until the music slowed again, although he finally changed partners. Over her own dancing partner's shoulder she watched John stroll away, get a drink from the bar then prop a shoulder against a pillar and scan the dance floor, stopping on her, catching her looking at him.
He lifted his glass slightly, his gaze intense. She could hardly believe she knew what he looked like naked, what his skin felt like, tasted like. How he kissed as if he were being sent to war, and how he made love as if she were the only woman on earth.
The song ended. She made an excuse to leave the dance floor and headed toward him, pulled by a force stronger than her own willpower. Discreetly she pointed to a side door. He pushed away from the pillar and headed there. She followed at a distance, but as she passed through the door she saw her grandfather, apparently already on the patio, approach him.
Almost caught, Scarlet darted behind a pillar topped by a plant large enough to hide her.
"I never expected it from you, John," Patrick said.
"Expected what?"
"Retaliation."
"It's business, Patrick. Nothing more."
Scarlet wished she could see them, analyze their body language. All she could do was listen. Granddad's voice cut through the darkness, sharp and lethal. John seemed unaffected.
"Gills and Marsh have bought ad space in Charisma since the magazine debuted," Patrick said. "Crystal Crème soda has been with The Buzz for five years."
"A lot of my clients have decided to experiment with other forms of advertising, to see what gets them the most bang for their buck. Product placement in movies and on television guarantees a bigger, wider audience, not only in initial viewing but in DVDs and reruns."
"With the target demographics?"
"We're choosing each situation carefully."
The sound of crickets filled a long silence.
"You must be angry with my granddaughter," Patrick finally said.
"I'm over it."
"I don't think you are."
Scarlet leaned closer, as her grandfather's voice had gone low and cool.
"What makes you say that?" John asked.
"The way you were watching Scarlet a few minutes ago … . That wasn't the expression of someone who was 'over it.'"
"You're wrong. But even if I hadn't stopped caring about Summer, I wouldn't take it out on my clients-or Scarlet. Or you."
Another silence ensued. John didn't take the bait. Scarlet was grateful her grandfather hadn't realized John's expression was one of lust, not anger.
"Don't know what got into that girl," Patrick said at last. "She always had such a good head on her shoulders. Now she's run off with that … that singer. Left her job."
Exasperation coated the words. John still said nothing.
"I'm going to keep a close eye on all your accounts, John. Might have to do a little wooing of my own."
Scarlet smiled at the word and figured John had, too.
"They pay me for sound advice," John said.
"We'll see how sound it is."
"It's a new day in advertising, Patrick. Time for changes."
"Maybe." He took a couple of steps then stopped.
Scarlet had to duck a little.
"I should've called you and apologized," Patrick said. "Thought about it. Just didn't do it."
"No need to, but thanks. It was between Summer and me."
"So it was. Good night."
"Good night, sir."
Scarlet eased farther around the pillar so her grandfather wouldn't see her as he passed by.
"You can come out," John said after a few seconds. "He's inside."
She moseyed over. "That was close."
"I'm surprised you risked being seen with me in the first place, Scarlet."
"That wouldn't be a scandal, just a reason for people to talk a little. Are you enjoying yourself?"
"Not particularly."
"You could've asked me to dance, you know."
He straightened. "You had a partner for every dance. I shouldn't cut in, should I?"
"Maybe."
His gaze intensified. "Consider this tonight's Woo U lesson. Yes or no?"
"Each situation has to be judged individually."
"I judged. I chose not to."
"Okay." Because he was right and there was nothing more to say, she changed the subject, twining her fingers so that she wouldn't touch him, though she really wanted to. "Was it strictly business, John? What my grandfather asked you about?"
"Yes."
"You would've done the same thing, switched the business, if you and Summer were still engaged?"
He hesitated no longer than a breath, and his gaze never wavered. "Yes."
She wondered if he'd paused because he had to justify his answer to himself first.
"Wanna blow this joint?" he asked, surprising her.
"More than I can tell you. But impossible, as you know, at least together. I'd better go." She started to turn.