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She kisses me. I’m too shocked to react at first. By the time I start to respond, she’s already pulling back.
One small smile, and she’s gone.
CHAPTERELEVEN
SCARLETT
As Audrey said, Paris is always a good idea. And ever since I became editor-in-chief ofHaute, trips to France’s capital city have become common.
This particular visit is one I’ve been dreading and anticipating. I’m here to approve final designs and fabrics forrouge. Once everything is in place, I’ll go public with the announcement. It’s a daunting prospect. I’m worried I’ll fail. Fashion is a hard industry to break into, no matter how much money you have. You can’t buy success. And if I fail, I’ll fail as ScarlettKensington.
Right now, I’m more focused on my companion for this trip than anything else. I wasn’t expecting for Crew to back me up with my dad in the Hamptons. I was expecting for him to stay in New York. Apparently, he meant it when he said he was coming with me.
Things have been tenuous between us since the Fourth. Not awkward, the way they were before we left for the Hamptons. It took me a few days to process everything that happened in the short span of time. Those same days were spent logging long hours finalizing the September issue ofHauteand preparing for this trip. And then he was waiting at the airport when I arrived for my flight, since Leah shares all my travel details with his secretary. I made the mature decision to pretend to sleep for the duration of the six-hour flight.
Crew hasn’t said much since we arrived. So far, we’ve checked in at the hotel, met with two of my fabric suppliers, and now we’re at the French Open. Jacqueline Perout is a friend from Harvard and heiress to Europe’s premier department store. Securing her interest inrougewill be paramount to its success, so turning down an invitation to watch a morning match from her box wasn’t really an option.
“Scarlett Ellsworth! How lovely to see you!” Richard Cavendish has come to stand beside me in the executive suite I’m watching the match from.
Richard is the vice president of a prominent French publication. Our paths inevitably cross at many of the social events I attend here. I believe he’s the only person who considers himself charming.
I take a sip of mimosa before answering. Just like with most of the men in my social circle, it’s less painful to converse with Richard slightly buzzed. “Nice to see you too, Richard.”
“Here on business?”
“Always,” I reply cooly, watching his gaze sweep up and down the white eyelet dress I’m wearing. It’s modest, with capped sleeves and falling to my calves, but Richard’s eyes are heated by the time they arrive at my signature red lips. His bottom lip curls as his gaze moves to the left hand holding the glass. And the large diamond resting on my ring finger.
“So the rumors are true. You got married.”
“Rumors? You don’t trust the hundreds of papers that reported on it?”
Richard’s eyes fill with annoyance. “I have more important things to do with my time than troll the society pages.”
The merging of the Ellsworth and Kensington families made it into plenty of respectable European papers, as Richard well knows. Kensington Consolidated and Ellsworth Enterprises both have international holdings.
I could have ignored my father’s wishes and married Richard. He wouldn’t have contributed as much to my net worth and I find him irksome and boring, but he would have been better for my sanity than Crew Kensington.
Because if Richard Cavendish had spent the last half an hour talking to a pretty blonde tennis player, I would feel relieved not to have to engage in a bothersome exchange of words with him. Crew choosing to do so has left me marinating in a mixture of rage and jealousy.
This is why you shouldn’t marry for love.
Not that I love Crew. I just find him mildly entertaining and annoyingly attractive. And after he made me come in seconds, I might have strong feelings toward his tongue.
“Your husband seems to be enjoying the match,” Richard comments, following my gaze.
I don’t reply. I turn back to watch the green ball get smashed over the net, and I wish I also had something to hit right now.
“Is Kensington here on business too?” Richard needles.
A possessive hand slides to the small of my back. Even before the scent of his expensive cologne reaches me, I know it’s Crew. A trail of heat lingers behind the pressure of his palm, and I suppress a shiver by taking yet another sip. At this rate, I’ll need a refill soon. Which would probably be a bad idea, since, as was just established, I’m here on business.
Not pleasure.
“Nope. All pleasure, Cavendish.” Crew’s deep voice rumbles from behind me. “At some point, you should sit back and enjoy the spoils, don’t you agree?”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Richard replies. I know his agreeable tone means he thinks the opposite. “But I find it disheartening you’re ready to sit back so soon. You wouldn’t want anyone to think you only got the job because of your father. Are you planning to live off your wife?”
I feel Crew’s hand flex against my spine, but his voice is smooth as butter when he replies. “I must have missed you becoming a self-made billionaire, Cavendish. Must be because the papers you own don’t really talk about you at all.”
