Cause For Scandal (Dynasties: The Elliotts #3)(15)
Author: Anna DePalo

“So what’s the truth?” Marty asked with his typical bluntness.

Zeke raked his fingers through his hair. “The truth is that she was a reporter after an interview with me.” He was not going to provide the intimate details about what had happened last night.

“I take it that you didn’t give her the interview.”

“That’s right—”

Marty looked relieved.

“—but I’ve agreed to do an interview with her this week.”

“What?” Mart stood up straighter. “I thought we’d been over this. All interview requests get vetted by me and the publicist. We want to make sure you’re appearing in the right markets—”

“She works for The Buzz.”

“—and that the reporter knows the ground rules beforehand about what topics are off-limits—”

“Give me a break, Marty. This is going to be a short interview, not an in-depth profile for Rolling Stone.”

“It’s not like you to cave in so easily to a request for an interview,” Marty said, frowning.

Zeke shrugged. “This is going to sound nuts, but whenever I’m near her, I start hearing the song that’s been playing in my head for the last few months and that I haven’t been able to write. The only other thing that’s been able to call it forth is a photograph that I have hanging back in the mansion in Los Angeles.”

“She’s your muse?” Marty asked, looking floored.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Zeke watched his manager’s face settle into unhappy lines. “Look, Zeke, I know you’re into this songwriting stuff, but you’re the hottest thing on the music scene right now. There are plenty of people who would love to be in your shoes, but they don’t have your voice and they sure as hell don’t have your sex appeal. Why mess with a good thing?”

They’d had this discussion half a dozen times. “Fame’s fleeting, Mart.”

“So? You can concentrate on the songwriting career later. For now, do yourself a favor and focus on putting out CDs and on touring to keep your name out there.”

“I’m still mulling over that offer to write for a Broadway show.”

Marty rolled his eyes. “Next thing you’ll be telling me that you’re getting serious about this Elliott chick. Remember, you’ve got an image as a heartthrob to maintain.”

Zeke laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Marty, man, you’re a damn pain in the rear.”

Six

E merging from the car, Summer looked up at The Tides and squared her shoulders. She felt as if she were twelve years old again and going in for a lecture from Gram and Granddad that was sure to end with her getting grounded.

Still, The Tides was home, and whenever she was stressed, she particularly welcomed its warm embrace. Probably not many people would think of the nearly 8,000-square-foot century-old mansion made of rusty sandstone as warm and inviting, but it was to her.

She breathed in the brisk sea air. Located in the Hamptons—an exclusive vacation community several hours east of New York City—the five-acre Elliott estate sat on a bluff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.

Ever since her parents had died in a plane crash when she and Scarlet were only ten, she and her sister had been raised by Gram and Granddad at The Tides. Even now, she and Scarlet spent most weekends there.

Except, this morning Scarlet had begged off going out to The Tides, mumbling that she had things to do in the city. And when she’d tried to ask her sister where she’d gone last night—because Scarlet hadn’t been home when Summer herself had finally gotten back to the townhouse after staying on at the bar with some coworkers after her sister’s departure—Scarlet had clammed up.

She hoped Scarlet wasn’t mad at her for breaking up with John in the way that she had. Her sister had seemed understanding enough yesterday, but this morning she’d been cool, abrupt and aloof, refusing to say where she’d been or with whom. They’d never kept secrets from each other in the past, so Scarlet’s behavior had hurt.

Summer waved to Benjamin Trent, her grandparents’ long-time groundskeeper, then climbed the steps to the front door.

Home. She put down her bag and tossed her jacket onto a nearby chair, looking around the house as she did so and taking in for the thousandth time the understated and elegant decor that was a testament to Gram’s fine taste.

Footsteps sounded on the marble floor and a few seconds later, Gram emerged from the living room at the back of the house.

“Summer! What a lovely surprise!” Gram said, her voice colored by an Irish accent. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming this weekend, with the wedding planning and all.”

Wedding. She was reminded again of the conversation that lay ahead. Nevertheless, she smiled, then kissed her grandmother on the cheek. “Hello, Gram.”

Her grandmother had been a nineteen-year-old seamstress in Ireland when Patrick Elliott had swept her off her feet. Now, though she was seventy-five, one could still detect some freckles on her pale skin and some auburn in the white hair that she always wore in an updo. Despite her somewhat frail health, she radiated warmth and cheer.

When Summer pulled back, she noticed Gram’s eyes went to the door, then back to her.

“You’re just in time for lunch. Scarlet hasn’t joined you?”

“No, she said she had things to do in the city this weekend.” She linked her arm with Gram’s, and they started toward the breakfast room at the back of the house. “We’ll have a lovely lunch anyway, won’t we?”

“With you here, of course!”

She’d always felt protective toward Gram. Not only had Gram lost her son Stephen and his wife—Summer’s parents—in a plane crash, but she’d also lost her seven-year-old daughter Anna to cancer. Adding to the strain, Granddad hadn’t always been on the best of terms with his and Gram’s surviving adult children.

When they got to the breakfast room, Olive—Benjamin’s wife and the housekeeper at The Tides—greeted them warmly, and Gram asked her to set another place at the table.

Noticing that only three places were to be set, Summer asked, “Aren’t Aunt Karen and Uncle Michael here?”

“Michael had to get back to the office yesterday to deal with pressing business and won’t be back till this evening,” Gram responded as they took their seats. “And Karen is resting.” Gram’s face clouded. “She’s too tired to come down and will take her meal in her room later on.”