by Jan Moran
“Of course I know what a nondisclosure agreement is.” She folded her arms. “So, what are you doing with them?”
“No, no, no, mi chica linda,” he said, a smile curving his full lips. “Are you testing me? You know I can’t discuss it.”
Scarlett’s natural curiosity was raised. “Say I’m your counsel.”
“But you’re not.”
“You have counsel already?”
He grinned. “Maybe I do.” He pulled into the driveway of her mother’s building. “Here you are.”
“But we didn’t have a chance to catch up.”
“Scarlett, I don’t know what you want from me sometimes.” He shook his head.
“Johnny, we’re friends.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He reached across her and opened her door. “Then maybe I’ll see you around,” he said, staring straight ahead.
So cold, Scarlett thought. Well, two can play at this game. “Maybe, maybe not. Adiós, Johnny.” She got out and slammed the door to his car.
She watched as he pulled away, not even glancing back at her in his mirror.
When Scarlett entered her mother’s cozy apartment, her mother was in the living room, knitting. Her mother was traditional, and she hadn’t worked since Scarlett and her brother Franco were born. She’d spent her life as a wife and mother, and she expected to continue as a busy grandmother. Unfortunately, Scarlett’s older brother had enlisted in the army, gone to Afghanistan, and returned in a casket. And Scarlett wasn’t married.
Scarlett missed Franco. He was always in her dreams. Johnny had been his best friend, too. Maybe that’s why she remained so close to Johnny. It was a way of keeping Franco’s memory alive.
From the scent of saffron and garlic, Scarlett could tell paella was simmering on the stove. Her mother was a fastidious housekeeper and an excellent cook. She had all the domestic skills that Scarlett hadn’t acquired.
Everyone adored Isabel Sandoval, too. She donated her time to the church, looking after babies in the nursery during Sunday services. Scarlett wished her father had been more responsible. A woman as kind as her mother really deserved someone better. Now it was up to Scarlett to look after her mother and make sure she had a comfortable retirement.
Isabel looked up. “I didn’t expect you so soon. Did you see Johnny?”
“I saw him.”
Isabel put her knitting down. “And?”
Scarlett swirled around, ready to argue. She stopped herself, remembering her respect for her mother. “He didn’t have long to talk.”
“So he didn’t tell you about Carla?”
“Carla Ramirez?” She and Carla had been friends in high school, but Carla had always been competitive. In sports, fashion, and boyfriends. Carla proved to be an exhausting friend, and after Scarlett moved to New York, they hadn’t spoken again. Carla had married a wealthy film director and recently divorced, but that’s all Scarlett knew.
Her mother lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “I hear things, I don’t know if they’re true. Maybe you should call Carla sometime.”
“I don’t have time for this,” Scarlett said. Maude, Carla…she couldn’t keep up with Johnny’s women. He had plenty of female admirers at the Polo Lounge.
“No, Escarlata, you never do.” Isabel resumed her knitting.
Scarlett held her tongue. Whenever her mother used her Spanish name instead of her American nickname, she knew she was in trouble. “What are you making?”
Isabel patted the soft yarn. “Baby blanket.”
“Who’s having a baby now?”
“No one in particular, but I like to keep ahead. Seems like everyone is having children.” She scrutinized Scarlett over her reading glasses. “Well, nearly everyone.”
Scarlett ignored her remark. “I’m making coffee, would you like some?” Without waiting for an answer, she went into the kitchen.
She poured ground coffee into the coffee maker and filled the carafe with water. What’s Johnny doing with Carla? Are they dating? He’d always been the popular one in school, while she’d been the brainy, bookish one. Other children had made fun of her, had teased her about her blond hair, her parents’ European mannerisms, and their different Spanish pronunciations. She was called stuck up and worse, which only made her more withdrawn.
It was Johnny who had come to her rescue. He was the popular school heartthrob, the boy every girl wanted. Even then, he saw something different in her. He was awed at her intelligence, and her ability to read several levels above their grade. She read lessons to him, and helped him with his reading and writing, while he taught her local Spanish slang.
She sighed as she recalled their childhood past. Johnny wasn’t diagnosed with dyslexia until high school. Until then, he had called himself stupid, but Scarlett had always known he wasn’t. In fact, he was one of the most astute people she knew, even though he didn’t have a college education.
Scarlett punched a button to turn on the coffeemaker. She leaned against the tile counter, waiting for the coffee to brew.
Johnny could play any instrument he picked up. His specialty was the guitar, and when he heard that she loved Spanish guitar, he studied with a master, exchanging lengthy English language conversation—American slang included—for his lessons. He’d taught Franco, too, and together they played at quinceañera parties in high school.
She loved listening to Johnny strum old Mexican love ballads, but she hadn’t heard him play in a long time. In fact, the last time was a decade ago, the night before she’d moved to the east coast for school after earning a scholarship based on her superior academic performance.
They had always been a mismatch, but that’s why they were such good friends. They could be honest with each other, since there was no sexual tension. Well, not much, she admitted to herself. Not on his part, anyway. She wasn’t his type, and she knew it.
The coffee gurgled to completion. She poured two cups and went to join her mother.
Isabel patted a spot beside her on the sofa. “Sit here by me.”
Scarlett placed the coffee onto two fine needlepoint coasters she was sure her mother had made. Each had a miniature bouquet of roses, her mother’s favorite flower.
Scarlett sat down, took a sip of coffee, and looked at her mother. “So, tell me about Carla,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Isabel smiled and picked up her knitting. “I thought you’d never ask. Now that she’s received a good divorce settlement, it seems she’s decided on Johnny as her next husband. And you know how she traps them.”
“How?”
“The old-fashioned way.” Isabel held up the baby blanket she was working on.
Scarlett didn’t understand. “But she didn’t have a baby.”
Isabel sighed patiently. “She had a miscarriage. Her husband was relieved and filed for divorce.”
“Then how did she get such a large divorce settlement?”
“Some people say she had something on him.” Isabel put her knitting down. “Carla plays to win. Johnny better watch out.”
Scarlett scoffed at the idea, but inside she was appalled. The nerve of that woman. Johnny would never fall for her, would he?
6
SCARLETT BEGAN HER day at the office much like any other Monday at Marsh & Gold, but the atmosphere seemed electrically charged. Something was different, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
Lucan was too busy to talk about the deal with Fleur and High Gloss. In fact, Scarlett couldn’t get past his executive assistant, who made it clear he would not be available today.
David appeared at her office. “Hi, Scarlett, do you have time to start on that new licensing agreement for Grier Pharmaceuticals?” He gave her a sheepish grin.
This had been her assignment, and their roles should have been reversed. But Lucan changed that at the last meeting, the day after their return from London.
“Sure, I’ll get right on it.” She kept her voice level. David hadn’t had anything to do with Lucan’s d
ecision.
“Sorry to hear about the deal with Fleur. She was always out of control.”
“She sure hit the wall this time.”
David agreed and hurried away. His discomfort was almost palpable.
Instead of having lunch brought in, as Scarlett usually did, she decided to walk to a restaurant in Century City for a change of scenery.
She swung onto a stool in the restaurant and ordered a sparkling water with lime and a Cobb salad. While she was waiting, the television above the bar caught her attention.
It was tuned to CNBC, a popular business channel that reported on the stock market.
“Hello, I’m Caroline Wilson, and with us today is Los Angeles-based Greta Hicks of Fashion News Daily. Greta, the talk on the west coast today is about the demise of the deal between Fleur of London and High Gloss Cosmetics. What are your thoughts on the dramatic drop of High Gloss stock?”
Scarlett jerked her head up and spilled water from her glass. “What the—”
“Well, Caroline, it’s the largest one-day stock price drop in a cosmetic stock. Funds are clearly flowing from High Gloss to other stocks in that sector. For example, we’ve seen an enormous jump in the stock price of newcomer Color Color, Inc., a competing color cosmetics firm, also based on the west coast.”
“And why is that, Greta?”
Scarlett signaled the bartender. “Please turn that up, I need to hear this.” She fumbled for her phone and tapped the video record button.
“Fleur of London backed out of a deal with High Gloss last Thursday and subsequently created a new company, which inked a deal with Color Color over the weekend.”
“I imagine the people who shorted High Gloss must be in high cotton today.”
Greta laughed. “That’s right, Caroline.”
“Now, a short time ago we reached out to Olga Kaminsky, CEO of High Gloss, but she declined comment. However, we have a brief clip from Fleur of London we received this weekend, and we’ll play that for you now.”
Scarlett was aghast. The temerity of that woman.
Fleur’s perfect face flanked with her purple hair snapped onto the screen. “On Thursday, High Gloss refused to consider my artistic vision as previously agreed, and for that reason, I felt it was impossible to move forward with our agreement. I think my fans will be happier with my true unfiltered creations from Color Color.” Fleur ended the video with a smile so wide Scarlett wanted to slap it off her face.
Slap it off her face.
Scarlett blinked.
The program cut to a commercial and Scarlett shut off the video on her phone. She rewound it and played it again, squinting to make out details.
Scarlett threw some money on the counter for the salad, even though she didn’t get it. “Can’t wait, I’ve got to go,” she said, racing out the door. She started back to her office, dodging through the lunch crowd.
“Scarlett, wait up.”
She whirled around. It was Lucan and two of the other law firm partners. “We’d like to see you tomorrow morning.”
“Hello, gentleman.” Gaining her composure, she stopped and nodded to the other partners. “I just heard about High Gloss on the news.”
Lucan raised a dark eyebrow. “We knew about that last week, didn’t we?”
“No, I mean, yes, but High Gloss stock experienced a sharp decline today.”
“Based on that unfortunate news, it would.” Lucan spoke calmly.
Scarlett pressed on. “Do you know who Color Color is?”
“Just what we’ve heard on the news.”
One of the partners glared at her. “We don’t approve of clients going rogue. It’s embarrassing for the firm.”
“And costly,” the other partner added with a frown. His expression conveyed extreme displeasure.
Scarlett was shocked. “I assure you, I did everything in my power to represent Fleur.”
“Lucan filled us in.” The partner paused. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”
The new partnership announcement. Scarlett caught her breath.
Lucan and the partner walked on, leaving Scarlett standing on the sidewalk in utter amazement. Something was very, very wrong. Too much was happening at once. She pulled out her phone and made a call to an investigator she knew and arranged to meet him later.
She returned to the office and asked her assistant to bring up a sandwich. After eating, she closed her door and focused on completing a draft of the licensing agreement for David to review.
The hours flew by, and by the time she left the office, it was dark outside. She hurried downstairs to the parking garage.
Scarlett was parked at the far edge of the concrete structure on the lower floor. The sound of her heels echoed off the walls. She had her key ready and pressed the sensor to unlock her doors.
In a flash, an arm swung around her head and a gloved hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her scream.
Adrenaline surging, she instinctively ground a heel into the top of the man’s shoe, arched enough to drive her palm into the base of his nose and her elbow into his windpipe, and then kneed him in the groin as he was going down. He let out a yelp and spewed something in Russian.
Her heart pounding, she leapt into her car and squealed out in reverse. As she drove past, she saw a gun clatter onto the ground. “Dios mio,” she cried, pressing the accelerator.
She wheeled out of the garage where she could get phone reception and dialed 911 for the police. Knowing her assailant had a gun, she thought against going home. What if he knew where she lived?
She pressed a number on her favorites. “Hello, Johnny? I need help.”
“Hey chica, time for you to get up.”
Scarlett stretched. For a moment she didn’t remember where she was.
Johnny jiggled her arm, and the memory of the previous evening rushed back. He’d let her sleep in his bed last night, while he slept on the couch. “Wake up, I’ve got coffee for you.”
She opened her eyes. There was Johnny, standing over her with a cup of coffee. He’d already showered, and a towel hung around his lean hips. His bare, bronzed chest was well-defined.
“Hmm, just a minute.” The view was too nice to rush. She blinked lazily.
“You told me to wake you by 5:30. Come on, I’ll take you to your place so you can shower. I’ll guard the place while you get ready for work.”
“Not like that you won’t.” She grinned and took the coffee. He’d made it exactly the way she liked it. Light, no sugar.
“Why not? Ancient Olympians didn’t even wear this much.” Johnny winked and disappeared into the bathroom.
When he emerged, he had on black jeans and a black T-shirt that hugged his muscular shoulders. His thick hair was still damp. He tossed his robe onto the bed. “I hung up your clothes last night. They’re in the closet.” He shut the bedroom door behind him.
Johnny lived in a classic 1930s residential apartment built over a quadruple garage on a large estate north of Sunset Boulevard, just minutes from the hotel.
Scarlett stayed in bed for a little longer, enjoying the masculine scent that clung to his bed linens. Finally, she swung out of bed and looked around.
His apartment was surprisingly tidy. In the closet, his clothes were arranged by color and style. Framed photos of Johnny with famous clients sat on his bureau. “To Johnny,” they read, with glowing inscriptions. One drawer was partly ajar. Looking inside before she closed it, she spied his collection of bow-ties in a rainbow of colors.
Her eyes fell on the bookcase in the corner. She looked closer. The titles surprised her. Business, restaurant management, accounting, and business law books were neatly organized. She flipped one open. Johnny had highlighted passages and made notes on some pages. She put the book back.
After she splashed water on her face, she dressed in the clothes she’d worn the day before and opened the bedroom door.
“Ready,” she said.
“Here, I’ll take your cup.” He rinsed it out and put their mu
gs into the dishwasher.
Scarlett leaned on the kitchen counter. “I’m sorry I insulted you at the Farmer’s Market. I’m afraid my teasing got out of hand.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Surely you didn’t believe that story in the tabloids.”
“No, of course not. I know you and Maude Magillicutty aren’t having an affair.” Scarlett fell quiet, biting her lip while she recalled the events with the paparazzi.
Johnny pulled her close to him and tapped her on the nose. “You’re never dull. But I like your passion, chica.”
Scarlett wrapped her arms around him. “Thanks for letting me stay here last night.” Feeling slightly embarrassed at his closeness, but not understanding why, she pulled away. Something had changed between them. Or maybe it was just her.
Johnny cocked his head. “You’re welcome anytime.”
They clomped down an exterior wooden staircase to his car. “How’d you find this place?” she asked. The enormous French Normandy house on the grounds was vacant and undergoing an extensive remodel, but the bougainvillea and lilies were still in bloom, and the fruit trees still bore lemons, oranges, and grapefruit.
“One of my customers offered it to me about a year ago, rent free. It used to be the chauffeur’s quarters. They’re remodeling the house, and they like to have someone living on the grounds to keep an eye on things, open the gate in the morning, that sort of thing. Sure saves on rent.”
“And you have fresh fruit. How long is the remodeling going to take?”
“Probably another year, at least. It’s a sizeable job.” He opened the car door for her and she slid in.
Johnny started the car. As they drove through the gates, he glanced at her. “Tell me again what happened last night. Slowly, this time.”
Scarlett sighed. She’d told the police everything she recalled. “He came out of nowhere. I think he must have been hiding by the front of the car. I didn’t notice until he attacked me. That’s it.”
“But you got away pretty quickly. That was impressive.”
“I took a self-defense class when I moved to New York. Never needed it there, though.”