Susan Crosby - The Elliotts - Secret Affairs

Because she wanted to avoid the discussion herself, she said, “Works for me. Good night, John.”

“Sweet dreams, Scarlet.”

The way he said the words turned her to mush. She knew he had to be disappointed in her decision, yet he’d said his own good-night with tenderness in his voice, not impatience or irritation. Personally, she would’ve been irritated if he’d come to the same determination that she had.

She liked that she kept learning something new about him.

After a minute she glanced at the clock. She could change her mind right now—grab a cab and surprise him. He was at home and alone. He would satisfy her deprived needs ….

Instead she took a warm bath and went to bed, in search of those elusive sweet dreams.

John printed the results of his evening at the computer, stacked the papers and put them in his briefcase. He started to pour himself a Glenfiddich, hesitated then went ahead and splashed some in a glass. The smooth, pricey scotch could’ve easily reminded him of the day Summer broke their engagement, but instead he chose to associate it with his first night with Scarlet.

He carried the glass with him to look out his window. It had started to rain sometime in the past hour. He turned off all the lights and stood, sipping and watching and remembering. The way she’d watched him undress. Her red bra and thong. The incredible sounds she made, flattering and arousing. Then the way she rushed away, leaving her coat behind. He’d sat on his bed, holding it to his nose, breathing in her scent for a long time after she was gone.

He hadn’t expected to ever see her again, at least not like that. He’d been wrong.

And somehow he’d gotten himself into a position where they would spend hours together on Saturday without hope of ending up in bed. Maybe never sleep together again.

He really wondered whether he’d fried a whole lot of brain cells since he’d first slept with her. He knew he was infatuated, because she was rarely out of his mind. Even now he’d gone hard just thinking about her, a condition he hadn’t experienced with this much uncontrolled regularity since he was a teenager.

It couldn’t be more than lust. He refused to have his heart broken by another Elliott woman. Or even have his life turned upside down.

But he wanted her ….

To hell with it. He set his empty glass on the bar, grabbed his coat and keys and went out the door. He could sneak out of her house long before anyone was up to see him, convince her not to give up the sexual relationship.

But when the elevator doors opened he stared at the empty car until the doors closed. He returned to his apartment. His huge, quiet apartment. And went to bed alone.

Une Nuit buzzed no matter what night of the week, but this was Friday, and the crowd was different on Friday. Younger, even hipper, if that was possible. A visual sea of beautiful people dressed in New York’s color of choice—black—enjoying the daring French/Asian fusion cuisine that was always being written up in the media, thus keeping the very trendy restaurant the place tobe.

With Jessie in tow, Scarlet wove through the bar crowd at the front of the restaurant, looking for her cousin Bryan. While he might join them at dinner briefly, he generally wandered around the rest of the time, a hands-on owner.

She’d almost reached the maître d’s podium when she came across Stash Martin, a wickedly handsome Frenchman in his early thirties. As manager of Une Nuit, he was as much a fixture as Bryan.

“Scarlet, welcome,” he said. They exchanged kisses on both cheeks.

“Crazy,” she said, grinning, looking around.

“But quite typical. If you are looking for Bryan, he is not here. He is out of town. Again.”

“Where does he go?” she asked rhetorically then introduced Stash to Jessie, who was wide-eyed at the scene. Bryan had always been an adventurer, even as he seemed to love his restaurant. He came and went a lot, but his business thrived because he had a staff he could count on.

“You would like a table, eh?” Stash asked.

“Any family members here?”

“Not a one. The Elliott table is free.”

“What do you think?” Scarlet asked Jessie. “Table or the bar? How hungry are you?”

“Not very. The bar is fine.”

“Wait here a moment,” Stash said, then he approached the maître d’.

Scarlet had talked Jessie into borrowing an outfit from the closet of designer clothing at the magazine, but she hadn’t been able to talk Jessie into letting her hair loose from the braid she always wore. The black leather pants and turtleneck did give her a different look, a fashionable one. Even Scarlet, usually a standout because of the colorful outfits she often wore, was wearing black—a miniskirt, boots and belted leather jacket. Her hair was pulled up into an untidy knot. She considered the look as just another aspect of her personality.

Stash returned then pointed to a couple sitting at the very center of the long, black lacquered bar. “Stand behind them. They’ll be called in to dinner as soon as you make your way over there.”

Scarlet flashed him a smile. “You’re the best.”

He lifted Scarlet’s hand to kiss, and she fluttered her lashes playfully.

“When are you going to sleep with me and get me out of your system, ma chérie?” he asked, as he always did.

“Soon,” she answered, as she always did.

A few minutes later she and Jessie were seated at the bar, waiting for their drinks.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Jessie said in awe. “It’s like a movie. Red and black and sexy. And I love the copper-topped tables.”

“Maybe we’ll order something to eat later, so that you can taste how incredible their food is.” She smiled at the bartender when he placed an apple martini in front of her, then lifted her glass to Jessie. “To adventures in the big city.”

“I wish I could afford more of them. Someday. When I have a paying job. Every penny of my savings is budgeted. Thanks so much for this treat.”

“Keep performing well at Charisma, and you could be offered a paying job at the end of your internship.” She sipped her drink then looked around, making eye contact with a man at the end of the bar, who toasted her. She smiled but looked away, then realized she shouldn’t put up roadblocks, since Jessie might be interested. She decided to give him another chance, but Jessie’s words stopped her.

“There’s that man from the ad agency, John Harlan.”

Surprise pelted Scarlet from all sides. “Where?”

“At a table behind you, in the corner.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to turn around. If he was with a woman, she didn’t want to know.

“He’s looking right at you. I think he knows I’m telling you he’s there,” Jessie said in an emphatic whisper.

“Hmm.” She took a long sip of her drink. He was courteous and would probably approach them at some point, especially since he and Jessie had taken note of each other. Scarlet would wait for him to initiate contact. Until then she could ignore the possibilities of whom he was with.

Maybe that blonde from the country club dance. She never had asked who that was.

“Is it true he was engaged to your sister?” Jessie asked.

Scarlet sighed. “They were engaged on Valentine’s Day, but Summer called it off a couple of weeks later, just about the time you were hired.”

“It must be weird for him, seeing you. Working with you, her identical twin.”

Tell me about it. She’d wondered at the beginning if she was only a substitute for her sister, a way to get Summer out of his mind, but she didn’t think that was true now. They had their own relationship. And while it was fun at times, she was always aware of the impending and necessary conclusion. They couldn’t even just date and see where things might go. Even if Summer—and their grandfather—could somehow accept it, because of Scarlet’s reputation, many people might assume that Scarlet had interfered somehow, even before Zeke Woodlow had appeared on the scene. It wasn’t worth the grief.