Cause For Scandal (Dynasties: The Elliotts #3)(17)
Author: Anna DePalo

She yanked her mind away from her wayward thoughts. She was here to do the interview that he’d promised her and nothing else.

She knew from reading the newspapers that Zeke’s publicist had issued a denial that the two of them—or, rather, he and Scarlet—were more than friends. With any luck, the whole story would soon fade away. It would, she promised herself, as long as she managed to get her interview and get out of here.

When she’d returned to work yesterday morning, after having spent the weekend torturing herself about her recent behavior, Zeke had called to schedule an interview for Tuesday afternoon.

Of course, she’d agonized over what to wear. She wanted to look professional but not prudish. She’d tossed aside her twin sets and an angora sweater, and had finally settled on a fitted silk Chinese-style jacket over black pants and half boots.

She really needed to go shopping. If not for the Chinese-style jacket that Scarlet had tossed at her at a designer sample sale, she didn’t know if she’d ever have found something appropriate to wear.

“Have a seat,” he said, breaking into her thoughts and making her jump. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“J-just some water. Thank you.”

He smiled as he headed to the kitchenette.

Was it her imagination or was his grin tinged with wickedness? Was he remembering that the first time they’d met she’d drunk more than just water? Maybe he thought she was trying to avoid past mistakes.

When he returned, he handed her a glass of water and took a seat in a chair perpendicular to the couch that she was sitting on.

She took a sip. It was almost a relief to be away from EPH and, instead, here interviewing Zeke. She hadn’t heard from John since Friday, and she supposed he was traveling again. Scarlet was still distant, and her family’s reaction to her broken engagement had ranged from shock to dismay.

“Don’t you have a photographer with you?” Zeke asked, breaking into her thoughts.

“I’m taking the photos.” With her free hand, she raised the case holding her camera.

He gave her a quizzical look. “You’re the photographer?”

She shrugged self-consciously. “I’ve taken classes. It’s a hobby.” She put her glass down on an end table.

He gazed at her intently, and she shifted. What was he thinking?

“You look different,” he said, his voice—that incredible voice—as smooth as honey and as deep and rich as chocolate.

Concentrate, Summer, she scolded herself. “Mmm, really?”

“Yeah, at the concert you were rocker girl, and at work on Friday you had a white-gloves-and-pearls retro look. Today, though, you look exotic.” He cocked his head. “I’m still trying to figure out which of you is the real Summer Elliott.”

Maybe she was, too. “Maybe all of them are.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think you’re still trying to figure out who you are.”

“I thought I was the one doing the interviewing,” she said lightly.

His lips twitched. “Isn’t an interview just a two-way conversation? Besides, the more I get to know you, the more I find you intriguing.”

“Thank you—I guess.”

“For instance,” he went on as if he hadn’t heard her, “do you ever wear your engagement ring?”

She thought about lying, but decided it was best to come clean. He’d probably find out the truth soon enough from the newspapers anyway. “I broke off the engagement.”

She saw a flare of heat in those amazing blue eyes of his before he banked it. “You told him.”

“I told him,” she confirmed, then added defensively, “You’re not the reason that we broke up, if that’s what you’re thinking. You just made me realize John and I would be making a mistake by getting married. I broke up with him before I told him what had happened between us on Thursday night.”

“What did happen on Thursday night, Summer?” Zeke asked, his voice deep and smoky.

“I—I still don’t know.”

“It was incredible. We were incredible.”

“Stop it. You promised—”

“What did I promise?”

She remained silent.

“I don’t remember promising anything. I remember saying I wanted to see you again.”

“For an interview,” she clarified. He was twisting around the conversation that they’d had. “Your manager and publicist called yesterday after you did, and they peppered me with questions about the timing and substance of this interview.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

She looked around. “Where are they, by the way? I had the impression they wanted to be here.”

His eyelids dropped, concealing his expression. “They both had things to do.”

She thought that was odd, but decided not to remark on it. Instead, she brought out the tape recorder that she’d carried along with her. He was making her nervous, and the only way to avoid any more dangerous conversation was to get down to business. “Well, let’s get on with the interview, don’t you think?” she asked briskly. “I don’t want to waste your time.”

The look that he gave her was an invitation to sin. “You’re not wasting my time.”

A shiver chased down her spine. She cleared her throat and switched on the tape recorder. “What’s your biggest challenge as a musical artist?”

He laughed. “Diving right in, aren’t you?”

She raised an eyebrow.

He sighed. “Okay. The biggest challenge is to avoid repeating myself. I think that’s what every artist worries about. I want my music to stay fresh and vital and to still be commercially successful.”

To Summer’s surprise, the interview unfolded easily after that, the conversation flowing smoothly. He talked about the success of his latest CD and his involment with Musicians for a Cure.

Eventually, she decided to move the interview to a different topic. “There haven’t been any stories about you and drugs, or getting arrested, or brawling—”

“Sorry to disappoint,” he quipped.

“But,” she went on, “you’ve been described in the press as ‘surly’ and ‘a bad boy.’ How do you think you’ve come by your reputation?”

“Simple. I usually refuse to give interviews.”

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “You’ve got different legs of an international tour for the rest of the year. What’s up next?”