Ann Major - A Scandal So Sweet

“So, you intend to spoil me hopelessly?”

“Absolutely.”

“Lucky me.”

“No. Lucky me,” he said as he kissed her.

Something was different about Zach, and Summer wasn’t sure what it was.

Their first three-day weekend together in New York was not as intimate as their previous weekends in Bonne Terre. But that was to be expected under the circumstances. He had business affairs to attend to and she the theater. Only at night could they make time to be together.

If his purpose in coming to the city had been to impress her with his grand lifestyle, he succeeded. His gilded suite was spectacular. Limos followed by the paparazzi whisked them to fabulous dinners and nightclubs where he knew people, some of them beautiful women.

“Zach has a thing for blondes,” Roberto, one of his top executives, whispered in her ear while Zach conversed with a beautiful woman during a business dinner.

“Good thing I’m a blonde, then,” she quipped.

For the first time since their reunion, Zach hadn’t shared details about his current project. She wondered exactly what he’d done all day while she’d rehearsed. When they were alone later, she grilled him.

“Where were you all afternoon? What business exactly do you have to do here?”

“I’m tweaking an important project.”

“Tweaking?”

“I’ll explain everything when it’s all in order.”

“Does this project concern me?”

“I said I’ll explain later.”

“You’re not bored with me and chasing another woman already? Another blonde?”

“Good Lord, no! Whatever gave you that idea?”

She refrained from throwing Roberto to the wolves for one ill-advised remark. “Oh…nothing. Forget I asked.”

“There’s no other woman for me, and there never will be.”

“You’re a billionaire. You could have anybody.”

“Strange as this may sound, that’s not true. Believe me, I have had plenty of time to discover that there’s no substitute for the real thing. You’re the real thing.”

Something twisted near her heart. “Oh. Am I? Tell me more…”

But that was all she could get out of him other than a quick kiss on the tip of her nose.

He was hiding something. Just as she was.

* * *

The next weekend as Zach stood in a glamorous penthouse that had seventeen gloriously imagined rooms with high ceilings and tall windows, he thought of Summer’s cozy apartment. Was the penthouse too much? Would she like it? Women could be very particular about their homes. Maybe he should show it to her before he bought it, but he was too impatient.

She could call the marble and gold vulgar and rip it out if she didn’t like it, he decided. She was too creative not to find a way to make it hers. The location was too stupendous to pass on, and he needed a place like this to impress the business people he dealt with.

All week Zach had been in a fever to ask her to marry him. Every time they’d talked, the question had been at the forefront of his mind. The pressure to wait until he had the ring selected and the penthouse bought and his new offices acquired and a contractor to remodel Thibodeaux House was making him feel explosive.

She’d looked so haunted when she’d tried to talk to him about the past. Was he rushing into this because he knew he should wait?

What if she said no?

Zach opened a glass door and walked out onto the terrace. The air was cool and crisp. Central Park was ablaze with riotous fall colors forty stories beneath him.

“I told you the penthouse was fabulous and the view lovely,” the Realtor gushed behind him. “Now do you believe me?”

“I had to make sure,” Zach said. “It’s a deal, then.” He turned and shook the woman’s perfectly manicured hand. “Send me a contract.”

She grinned brilliantly. “I like you so much.”

“Roberto Gomez will be handling this for me.”

“Yes. I’ve already had several emails from him. Charming man. It’s been a pleasure…”

Zach nodded, turned on his heel and strode toward the elevator. He had a long day ahead of him and no time to waste.

He’d arrived in Manhattan a day early this weekend to approve his future office space in Lower Manhattan and the penthouse that his most trusted people had selected. Summer didn’t expect him until tomorrow.

He was staying at the Pierre. She’d liked the suite there so much last weekend, he’d rented it again.

In the elevator, he slipped his hand into his pocket and touched the small, black-velvet box.

Tomorrow, at the Pierre, when they were alone, he would offer her a glass of champagne, get down on his knee and hand it to her.

When he got off at the bottom floor, his excitement about the gorgeous penthouse and his new offices and the ring was so great he wanted to share his news with her. Why wait until tomorrow to propose when he felt so sure this afternoon?

Why not go to the theater and propose to her now? He knew she was in rehearsals and that they hadn’t been going well. He knew he shouldn’t bother her. Still, he wanted to see her. He wanted to hold her. Most of all he felt an urgent need to propose to her. He was afraid if he waited, somehow he’d lose her again.

He pulled out his phone and studied his calendar. Calling Roberto, he told him to cancel the rest of his meetings.

Then he stepped into his limo and ordered his driver to take him to her theater.

Bad idea, he thought. But he couldn’t stop himself.

* * *

Summer raced to her dressing room during a break in rehearsals to return her agent’s calls, of which there were three. She hoped the call wouldn’t take long because she wanted so badly to call Zach.

Carl answered on the first ring. “You’re an angel for getting back to me so fast.”

“What is it?”

“Hugh Jones is in town. Just for the day. The PR people from the studio want to set up a short interview for the two of you.”

“When? Where? I’m really busy.”

“They had a hard time talking Jones into it as well, but they’ve got him to agree. So-say in an hour. In your dressing room.”

“Impossible. Things for the show aren’t going well, and some of the production’s big investors are here giving Paolo a hard time. He’s pretty insane.”

“The studio has already talked to Paolo. He’s fine with it.”

“What?”

“The interview won’t take more than fifteen minutes. There was so much buzz about your scenes with Jones that…”

She shut her eyes. That buzz, as Carl termed it, had nearly destroyed her relationship with Zach. Except for the fact that she hadn’t found a way to tell him about the baby, things were going so well for them right now. She didn’t want to stir up another round of press interest, and Hugh was a hot button she didn’t want punched until Zach truly trusted her and their relationship was on less fragile ground. Until she’d told him about the baby…

“The movie isn’t coming out for months. I don’t see why I have to do an interview with Hugh this afternoon.”

“Well, the PR department makes those calls, not us. Their team thinks it’s essential to keep up the momentum.”

Translation: they wanted hordes of paparazzi questioning the true nature of her relationship with Jones and continuing to chase her and take pictures of her with Zach. The PR department wanted her face and name out there, so she’d be a draw. They didn’t care that by linking her to Jones, they drove Zach crazy. To them, this was just another juicy story.

She had to protect her relationship with Zach at all costs.

“Sorry!” she said and ended the call. But no sooner had she hung up than Sam rang her.

“You signed a contract agreeing to do promotion. Paolo’s okay with it, so what’s your problem?” Sam read her the clause in her contract. It didn’t take a genius to understand his thinly veiled threat. They could sue her if she didn’t do as they commanded.

Feeling queasy and a bit shaky, which had been happening a lot lately, especially in the mornings, she hung up and called Zach’s cell.

But his phone went to voice mail. She didn’t want to leave this kind of news in a message. When she called him repeatedly, and he still didn’t answer, she began to feel sick with worry. She had to tell him about this interview before the paparazzi caught up with him and peppered him with questions he was not prepared to answer.

* * *

On the way to the theater Zach’s limo got caught in traffic beside a flower stall, so Zach whipped out and bought two dozen roses from the elderly flower seller. The perfect buds were so bright in the sunlight they blazed like flames, but they burned no brighter than the towering emotion in his heart.

Inside the limo, their scent was so overpowering he set them aside. When the driver braked, Zach leaned forward, staring at the sea of vehicles surrounding them, cursing vividly when a truck cut in front of them.

Damn it. He sat back against soft leather and forced himself to try to relax. But he couldn’t. He was out of control, which he hated. He was impatient to see Summer, to take her in his arms and beg her to love him. To ask her to make a life with him.

He could walk iron without breaking a sweat. So what was so terrifying about baring his soul and asking the woman he loved to marry him?

When his cell phone rang, Zach answered it automatically.

“You bastard!”

“Hello, Thurman.”

Zach hadn’t heard the other man’s voice in years. Funny, that he recognized the cold, dead tone instantly.

“You think you’re so smart, that you know everything, but you don’t. You’re a gambler. I’d bet money Summer hasn’t told you what she did in New Orleans…”

The hair at the back his nape rose. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Why don’t you ask Summer?”

Thurman laughed nastily and hung up.

* * *

When Zach jumped out of the limo at the theater with a conflicted heart, a dozen reporters leaped toward him, hammering him about Summer as their flashes blinded him.

His expression turned to stone as he stormed past them into the auditorium, slamming the door on their idiotic clamor.

Zach was remembering how vulnerable Summer had looked every time she’d tried to talk to him about the past. What hadn’t she told him? What did Thurman know that Zach didn’t?

He knew exactly where Summer’s dressing room was since she’d given him a personal tour last weekend, so he wasted no time on his way through the crowded corridors. Backstage was like a maze, but he didn’t stop, not even when actors, who were milling about, tried to greet him.

He wondered why everyone was on break. Maybe this meant Summer would be free to talk to him. He wouldn’t have to wait.

When he found the door with her name on it, it was closed. He banged on it impatiently.

What he wanted was beautiful golden Summer with her long-lashed eyes to open the door and blush charmingly when she saw him. He wanted to take her in his arms and then set a time for a private talk. This time he would listen to whatever she had to tell him. Then he would tell her how much he loved her and ask her to be his wife.

What he got was Hugh Jones and a photographer.

The reporter didn’t miss a beat when he saw the chance for a shot of the two men together.

When the flash went off twice, Zach turned on his heel. No way could he face the press when he felt so conflicted privately. Then Summer was behind him, her voice nervous and high-pitched.

Instead of smiling, her blue eyes were wide with panic and guilt. “Zach, what are you doing here?”

Logically, he knew he shouldn’t have interrupted her on such short notice, but he wasn’t feeling logical.

“Making a damn fool of myself. Again.”

“Zach, no… Wait! Listen!”

She’d gone pale, and her hand shook as it tugged at his sleeve. He felt sorry for her, so he let her pull him into the dressing room beside hers and listened impatiently as she whispered to the young actress inside it. “Can we please talk here for a few minutes?”

“Sure. Anytime.” Moving like a dancer, the girl, who was thin as a rail, got up languidly, picked up the magazine she’d been flipping through and left in a swirl of silken yellow skirts as she winked at Zach.

“We were just doing an interview for Dangerous Man. That’s all. My agent called me less than an hour ago or I would have told you… I had to do it. Because I signed a contract saying I would. I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.”

“I understand. I was on the phone.” With Thurman, he thought, frowning.

“No, you don’t understand. I can see that. You look furious…”

“I said I believe you’re doing an interview, and I do. But before the press is through with this story, nobody else will. I can’t help wondering if this will always be the way we have to live-with the press playing up your nonexistent relationships with other men and making me look the fool.”