He’d lost sight of Scarlett and Magnus. But the image of that bastard’s hand resting on the small of her back was seared into his memory like a cattle brand. All the happiness he’d felt earlier about the launch being such a success seeped out of him now like air from a slow-punctured tire. This should have been his moment. His and Scarlett’s together, a joint triumph. But now this fucker from Seattle had shown up and ruined it.
It had been a long time since Jake could remember hating someone so much.
Two hours later, snuggled up in a booth at Jerry’s late-night deli, sharing a plate of fries and a bucket-size glass of lemonade, Scarlett and Magnus had eyes only for each other.
“So,” said Magnus, sprinkling a french fry with salt and feeding it lovingly to Scarlett, like a mother bird, “let me tell you about Carole.”
“You don’t have to,” said Scarlett, thinking how odd it was that even his fingers were beautiful. “I’m sorry I lost it with you before. I just…I couldn’t understand why you never said anything when we met. I felt like such an idiot when my mother told me the next day.”
“Don’t apologize,” said Magnus. “You were right. I should have told you. That night was so magical, I suppose I just didn’t want to fuck it up. There’s never a right time to bring up the wife in the attic, is there? But I should have said something. It was wrong of me.”
Their waitress, a harassed-looking woman who must have been sixty if she were a day, plonked two glasses of red wine down in front of them with all the finesse of a baby elephant, then shuffled back to the kitchen without a word.
“Where do they find these people?” said Magnus.
Scarlett giggled and took a sip of her wine. “Eeugh,” she grimaced. “Paint stripper. So you and…Carole?”
“Carole.”
“You’re still not divorced?”
He took a deep breath. “We’re not, no. But don’t read anything into that. I realize it sounds strange, but the truth is we simply never got around to it. Neither one of us has been serious enough with a new partner to think about marrying again. And until that happens, there didn’t seem much point in going through all the legal hoopla, dividing assets and all that.”
“Are you still friendly?” asked Scarlett. “I mean, what happened? How long were you together? Why did it end?”
“Whoa, whoa, easy with the Spanish Inquisition,” said Magnus. “Yes, we’re friendly. She still lives in our old house. I moved into an apartment on the other side of town. Why did it end?” he shrugged. “Who knows what makes two people grow apart? I mean, there was no big fight, no infidelity or anything like that. We’d been together since college; maybe we married too young, I don’t know. Anyway, the time came to think about kids and we were both hesitant. I think that’s when we started to realize that maybe we weren’t right for one another, long term. She’s a great girl. But it’s over, very, very over. It has been for years. I don’t talk about having a wife because I don’t think of her as that anymore, and neither does she.”
Scarlett scanned his face, looking for traces of dishonesty, of a story only partially told. But if he was lying, he was good at it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, reaching across the table and taking her hand in his. “Maybe part of the reason I didn’t tell you was because I wasn’t planning on seeing you again.”
“Thanks a lot!” said Scarlett, reaching for another fry. God, they were good.
“But I couldn’t get you out of my mind, not for a day, sometimes barely for an hour. I kept wondering where you were, what you were up to, picturing you in Scotland mostly, in that fucking awful dress.” Scarlett laughed. “Then I remembered the name of your charity, so I checked out the website one day. I couldn’t believe it when I read your blog, about your store burning down. After everything you told me that night about Brogan O’Donnell and all the intimidation.”
“I know,” said Scarlett with a shiver. “They actually torched the place that evening—while we were talking, probably.”
“And then I read that you’d moved out here, that there was a lot of buzz about your new store.”
“You’ve been my online stalker, in other words,” she teased him.
“Kind of,” he admitted. “In fact, who am I kidding? Yes, totally. It got to the point when I knew I had to see you, I just didn’t know when or how. And then a little bird told me about the Flawless party.”
“And here you are,” she beamed. “It’s tragic, isn’t it? I can’t stop smiling. Nancy’s always giving me these books on dating, and they all say one should play hard to get. But I’m crap at it, aren’t I?”
“You’re not the greatest,” he laughed. “I thought Nancy was great, by the way. What a firecracker!”
“She’s been such a good friend to me,” said Scarlett. “If it weren’t for her, I don’t think I could have stuck it out in LA. The business is taking off so fast, but you wouldn’t believe how stressful it’s been, getting to this point.”
“Oh, I think I would,” said Magnus, shaking the last dregs of ketchup from the bottle. “Your partner seems like a total nightmare. How can you stand him?”
“Jake’s all right,” said Scarlett, surprised to hear herself defending him. “I mean, he was totally out of line tonight, with you,” she added hurriedly. “But I have to give him credit where it’s due. He’s worked like a dog to get Flawless off the ground. Officially, he’s only supposed to be my supplier.”
“You make him sound like a drug dealer,” said Magnus, adding, “Then again, he dresses like one, so why not?”
“He does a bit,” grinned Scarlett. “But you know, he found us the space, negotiated the rent, hired Perry, my manager, who’s an absolute gem. Most of the people there tonight were Jake’s clients. He’s definitely gone the extra mile.”
“He likes you,” said Magnus, matter-of-factly.
Scarlett laughed loudly. “I can assure you he does not!” she said. “Jake and I do nothing but fight. He has the moral awareness of an amoeba, if that. We disagree on just about everything: politics, business, religion.”
“That’s just foreplay,” said Magnus. “You saw how hostile he was to me.” He pronounced the word “hostel,” one of Scarlett and Jake’s few shared pet peeves about the American accent. “That was pure caveman jealousy.”
“I don’t think so. It’s more likely to be because he’s used to being the best-looking man in every room and getting all the attention,” said Scarlett, running a desirous hand along the stubbly ridge of Magnus’s jaw.
“Do you think he’s attractive?” Magnus asked, as casually as he could.
Scarlett frowned, trying to be fair.
“Well, he’s definitely not ugly,” she replied at last, taking another gulp of the barely drinkable merlot. “Oh, come on,” she teased, seeing Magnus’s face cloud over. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of him?”
“Of Neanderthal Man? I don’t think so,” he scoffed. “I’m just surprised you chose to go into business with someone so uneducated. I mean, he’s kind of a jerk.”
“He can be,” admitted Scarlett. “Put it this way: I won’t be sorry when he leaves for Africa next week. I think we both need a break from each other.”
Magnus’s expression brightened.
Africa, eh? Well, that was one piece of good news. Best place for a monkey like Jake Meyer.
“How long’s he gone?”
“Only a couple of weeks,” said Scarlett. “It’s a relationship-building trip more than anything. He’ll have to go back in the autumn for longer, to take delivery of the diamonds.”
She lightly touched on Solomon Stones’ past murky record in the area of blood diamonds and the handshake agreement she and Jake had come to that no unethical stones would ever be used at Flawless.
“I’ve been giving him reading on the Sierra Leone civil war and some of the other conflicts in the region,” said Scarlett earnestly.
“Are you sure he can read?” muttered Magnus.
�
��But he’s not remotely interested. That’s the sad part. He’s only doing the reading on sufferance, because he promised me he would.”
“Yes, well, not everyone’s as good-hearted as you, my angel.” Pushing the plate aside, Magnus took her head in both his hands and kissed her, properly, for the first time that evening. Whatever doubts he’d had about rekindling their “fling” disappeared in that moment as he felt her hungry, warm lips part for him and her cashmere-soft breasts pressing needily.
“How far is it to your place?” he whispered hoarsely, feeling his desire growing like a tidal wave as he dropped a wad of notes onto the table.
“Ten minutes’ drive,” breathed Scarlett. “Let’s get out of here.”
The bumpy track leading up to the cottage was so dark they kept losing their footing, ricocheting off one another like two drunks as they stumbled up to the garden and in through the unlocked front door. (Magnus had taken one look at Nancy’s so-called “drive” and decided to leave his rental car on the road below.)
The instant Scarlett stepped inside she was knocked flying by a thoroughly overexcited Boxford, at once ecstatic to see her and reproachful that he’d been abandoned up at the house for so long.
“Back off, buddy,” said Magnus, watching the deranged spaniel pin Scarlett to the ground and cover her face with slobbery licks. “That’s my job.”
Boxford looked up briefly and growled.
“Boxie!” said Scarlett, shocked. “That’s odd. He’s normally so friendly.” Kicking off her high heels, she struggled back on to her feet. “He’s supposed to protect me and Nance from unwanted intruders, but he’s a bit shit at it.”
“Really? And what about wanted intruders?” Scooping her up into his arms, Magnus carried her into the living room, laying her down gently on the worn white sofa.
“He sometimes protects us from those too,” said Scarlett, her pupils dilating with longing as she lay back and Magnus climbed on top of her, bringing his solidly handsome face within an inch of hers. “You know, we might be better off in the bedroom, so we can lock the door.”
“Sorry.” Slipping his hand around the back of her neck, he unzipped her green dress before lowering his mouth to her bare breasts. “I can’t wait that long.”
Scarlett didn’t think she could wait, either. The weight and warmth of his body on hers, the heady scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and smoke from the party, and the ecstatic, glorious feeling of his hot, wet tongue on her nipples was more than she could bear. Having convinced herself she would never sleep with him again, and probably not even see him for years, the unexpectedness of his touch made it all the more magical.
“Fuck, I want you. I want you so badly,” he moaned, pulling at the dress until she’d wriggled out of it completely and letting his hands slip beneath the silk fabric of her panties. “I’ve tried to get you out of my head, but I can’t.”
“Nor me,” whispered Scarlett, surprised by her own boldness as she unzipped his trousers and wrapped her fingers around his rock-solid erection. For a split second she was struck by the incongruous thought that his dick was exactly like him: straight, solid, and predictable. She wondered if that meant Jake’s cock was bent and slippery, then realized how wildly inappropriate it was for her to be thinking about Jake’s penis at a time like this—or indeed at any time—and let go of Magnus with a start.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, trying not to sound irritated. Now was really not a good time for her to be having second thoughts.
“Nothing. It’s nothing,” said Scarlett. “Something just popped into my head, that’s all.”
“Yeah well, something else is about to pop here,” panted Magnus, pulling off her underwear and slipping a hand beneath her bottom so she could spread her legs more easily. “I honestly can’t hold it much longer.”
Smiling, Scarlett guided him inside her, clenching tightly with her muscles as he thrust once, twice, and then came, his fingers gripping her breasts so hard she could feel the red welts appearing on her skin.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, halfheartedly.
“That’s OK.” Whatever slight annoyance Scarlett felt at not having had a chance to come herself was more than made up for by her delight in his desire. Knowing that she could make such a measured, cautious man lose control like that was quite a power kick.
“Sorry, buddy.” Magnus grinned as Boxford came back in from the garden, teeth bared. “You missed your chance to savage me. The deed is done.”
He stood up and stretched. Scarlett tried not to think how faintly ridiculous he looked, still in his shirt and tie but with his pants slipping down and his now limp dick swinging like a stubby rope between his thighs. Was it weird to prefer one’s lover clothed to half naked?
Boxford eyed Magnus skeptically as he bolted into the bathroom, turning his shaggy head toward Scarlett, as if to say, “Who is this clown?” But he limited his disapproval to a single, short bark, and didn’t make a fuss when, after a quick pee, Magnus sat back down on the sofa beside her.
Wide awake, her mind and pulse racing from the excitement of the launch and the sex and seeing Magnus again, Scarlett longed to talk. After enduring Jake’s bored indifference day after day, it would be a real release to be able to unload her frustrations about Trade Fair, and the fact that they were getting precisely nowhere helping Brogan’s Siberian miners, to someone who shared her passion and her social conscience. She was also dying to hear more about this mysterious Carole—the wife in the attic, as he put it.
But Magnus clearly wasn’t feeling chatty. The second his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light, snoring with all the unsexy abandon of a foghorn. Tonight’s performance had been a far cry from his patient, selfless lovemaking in Scotland, she thought wistfully and not without a little disappointment. Still, he’d told her at the deli that he’d be staying the whole weekend. Hopefully tomorrow she could reconnect with his romantic side and delve deeper into his past.
CHAPTER TWELVE
AS IT TURNED out, one tomorrow followed the next, and she never did get around to questioning Magnus further. Instead they toppled inevitably into exactly the sort of long-distance, intercity relationship they’d once agreed could never work, but which soon felt normal for both of them. Before she knew it, Scarlett was roasting in her first LA summer, working every hour that God sent, either in the store or in her tiny workroom up at Nancy’s cottage on Vado. Vado Drive was loaded with charm but lacking in modern amenities such as air-conditioning, and the six-by-nine-foot cubbyhole Scarlett used as her office brought new meaning to the word “sweatshop.” The same holiday months that felt so endless for LA’s frazzled soccer moms, struggling to keep their fractious kids amused until September, or for their stressed-out studio exec husbands, fighting to keep their jobs and their tempers throughout blockbuster season, passed in a blink at Flawless. Most nights Scarlett collapsed into bed too tired even to think about missing Magnus, toiling away at his law firm in breezy Seattle. Autumn—“fall” as they called it here—was supposed to be quieter, and she hoped she’d spend more time with him then. But by the time October rolled around, she still seemed to be running around like a headless chicken. Business was booming.
“My God. Look at them all,” said Magnus. “They’re like locusts. They’re actually swarming.”
He’d flown into town tonight for the first time since June to support Scarlett at a joint PR event she was hosting with Jimmy Choo at the Chateau Marmont. Surrounded by shoe-crazed women oohing and aahing over each limited-edition stiletto, he looked distinctly out of his depth.
The hotel’s famous garden had been transformed into a shoe fetishists’ wonderland for the evening, courtesy of a set design company run by a friend of Nancy’s. Three-foot-high red spotted mushrooms had been installed between moss-covered rocks on either side of a fake stream—how on earth did they create these things?—with artfully placed Jimmy Choo shoes “hidden” beneath them. On top of the mushrooms sat beautifully carved and hand-painted
wooden elves and fairies, draped in Flawless jewelry.
“I know,” said Scarlett excitedly. In bright-orange skinny jeans, with blue-and-white-striped maillot jersey slipping sexily from one shoulder, she looked very LA this evening—as did Boxford, whom she’d brought along in a ridiculous tartan doggie coat with “FLAWLESS” woven into the back in diamante lettering (a present from Perry). He was merrily raising his leg against one of the mushrooms while no one was looking. “Isn’t it great?”
After the success of their opening-night party—Jake’s street brawl with Magnus had helped ensure them valuable column inches in the tabloids—Flawless had rapidly become a Mecca for hip, young Hollywood. Before long Scarlett and Perry knew most of the paparazzi by their first names and never tried to stop them from loitering outside the store, hoping for a shot of Lindsay or Paris, the way most of their competitors did. As Jake rightly pointed out, paps provided free publicity for Flawless, and their “targets” certainly didn’t seem to be bothered by press intrusion, whatever they might claim in interviews. One of the snappers, John, had even invited Scarlett to his kid’s fifth birthday party. She’d have gone too, if she hadn’t been working up in Hollywood that day, shooting models for her latest Trade Fair campaign, a Russian-themed extravaganza complete with fur, fake snow, and her now-trademark nude models posing as corpses in diamond-encrusted coffins. It was gruesome, but it worked. As the business gained momentum and her designs started flying off the shelves, Scarlett finally found she had more time to devote to Trade Fair. Andy and Gregori, her friends from Yakutia, were thrilled at the direction of her new campaign, the first to focus exclusively on Siberia and the appalling conditions there.
“If you can get those pictures in any of the big US magazines, O’Donnell’ll have to sit up and take notice,” said Andy excitedly when she sent him the proofs. “This is just the shot in the arm we need, and the kick up the backside he needs, the heartless git.”
Fund-raising was also a breeze in LA. A good 50 percent of Flawless’s customers were professional “charity wives,” and those not already snapped up by Laurie David for her anti-SUV campaign or committed to the ubiquitous Make-A-Wish Foundation were more than happy to get involved with Trade Fair.
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