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ting her, but equally surprised that Scarlett brushes it off like nothing.
“Please excuse, Vee. She’s always at the press for spinning lies. Ever since I can remember, she’s fought hard for me.”
“That’s a good friend you have by your side,” I mention, then pause, confused. “You called her Vee? Is that some sort of nickname?”
Morgan stiffens, and Scarlett doesn’t change her carefree sing-song attitude. “It’s just a nickname. Her name is really Violet. Beautiful, isn’t it? I don’t know why you want people to call you by your middle name.”
Violet. I’ve heard that name before—Violet Winters.
The wine I’d just swallowed lodges in my throat, creating a gurgling sound. “Your sister?”
Scarlett looks from me to Morgan, surprised by my forward comment. “You didn’t tell him?”
“It wasn’t something he needed to know,” Morgan answers in a stiff tone.
What the fuck? Of course, I should’ve known that. All this time, she was hiding the fact she’s Scarlett’s sister? What else is she hiding? God, here I am pining for Scarlett, looking like a goddamn fool. No wonder Morgan’s defensive around me. She was—and still is—protecting her sister.
One of the ladies who had followed Scarlett in interrupts our conversation and requests Scarlett take a call, leaving Morgan and me alone. The second the patio door closes, my body turns like a possessed man, demanding answers.
“Why would you keep that a secret from me?” I grit, clenching my jaw to curb the growing anger inside me.
She brushes a speck of dust from her black dress, answering in an artic tone, “You didn’t ask.”
“I didn’t ask because it never occurred to me,” I almost yell.
“Well, it’s not a big deal. So, I’m her sister.”
I stand, frustrated. Again, running my hands through my hair like a crazed lunatic. “I don’t get you, Morgan.”
“Noah, you don’t need to get me. You don’t need to even think about me, okay?”
I move back to the table. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m not stupid, Noah. You have a personal interest in Scarlett. When you’re hot, you’re hot, right?”
Our eyes battle as if we’re playing some sick, twisted game, neither one of us backing down. Scarlett walks back in, apologizing for her absence. With lunch being served, our conversation is forced to the backburner. Yet, the whole time Scarlett speaks, my head is elsewhere trying to make sense of the argument that just occurred. Morgan seems unaffected, quietly listening to Scarlett speak, but maybe she isn’t. The food on her plate is barely touched, yet the glass of champagne is completely empty.
Throwing myself into work, I discuss with Scarlett how we expect to roll out the book launch and leverage her online platforms, a little bit about the party, and a few in-store signings which have been scheduled to precede the launch. She appears to be keen on what’s presented, throwing in a few of her own ideas.
“What do you think?” she asks Morgan. “Will my schedule allow for it?”
“We can rearrange a few things,” she says simply.
Esmerelda, the housekeeper, cleans up the table, which prompts Morgan to finish the meeting, citing she needs to be elsewhere. Scarlett stands. Giving her a quick hug and avoiding my eyes, Morgan says goodbye to me then leaves the area in a rush.
“I probably should be going, too,” I suggest with the hope of catching Morgan outside. “I’ve got a ton of work to do back at the office.”
“Here’s my direct number.” Scarlett hands me a piece of paper, placing it in my hand longingly. “Don’t be afraid to call. I may be busy, but I’ve always got time for a handsome man like yourself.”
I smile politely, shocked that I don’t stick around to see how much time she really has. With my goodbyes said, I bolt outside to where Morgan’s parked toward the side of the property. With the sun hiding behind the clouds, the side entrance is dark, covered in massive bushes that protect the property from the paparazzi.
I’ve learned my lesson, and this time, I don’t call her name. Instead, I reach for her arm, willing her to stop so we can talk.
“Noah, don’t,” she begs, trying to wriggle her arm away from my grip.
I turn her around to face me, both hands latching onto her arms. Refusing to make eye contact, her gaze fixates on the ground.
“What’s this, Morgan? All this lying. All these games,” I demand answers, furious and momentarily I’m beyond words. “I don’t do well with women treating me this way.”
