Cause For Scandal (Dynasties: The Elliotts #3)(2)
Author: Anna DePalo

The guard merely quirked a brow.

Turning on her heel, she marched away with her head held high. At school, Ms. Donaldson would have been proud.

All right, she thought, so she wasn’t going to get to interview Zeke in his dressing room. She knew he had to leave the Garden sometime, though, and when he did, she’d be waiting for him. She hadn’t spent close to three hours getting shoved and poked by his fans for nothing. She needed this interview.

An hour later, however, she felt as if she’d been huddling in the chilly, damp March night forever, and she started to ask herself how much she needed this interview. She was tired, hungry and wanted to go home.

She started fishing around in her purse for a breath mint—anything edible, frankly—until a commotion caused her to look up and notice that Zeke had emerged.

Unfortunately, he was surrounded by handlers and security personnel. Despite that, she ran forward, knowing she had only a few moments before he ducked into the limousine that had pulled up. “Zeke! Mr. Woodlow!”

Just then, the space around Zeke became frenetic. Paparazzi flashbulbs went off, and some girls started screaming and jumping up and down.

Her forward progress came to a halt as she collided with a brick wall—or, more precisely, she realized as she looked up, the blue-clad form of one of New York’s finest. She took an involuntary step back as the police officer—one of several near the limo, she now noticed—blocked her way.

“Step back,” he ordered.

Looking over the officer’s shoulder, she noticed Zeke duck into the car, and her shoulders slumped.

Four hours, twenty-seven minutes and twenty-plus songs. And now, finally, defeat.

She felt like wailing in frustration. As if on cue, a raindrop hit her cheek, then another. She looked up, grimaced and then made a beeline for the taxi stand on Seventh Avenue. Once it started raining in earnest, she knew there wouldn’t be an empty cab in sight.

Twenty-five minutes later, she reached the Upper West Side townhouse owned by her grandparents and used by them as a secondary residence.

When she got to the top floor, where she and Scarlet had living quarters, her sister padded out of her room to greet her. “Well, how’d it go?” asked Scarlet, who was dressed in red silk pajamas.

Taking in her sister’s sleepwear, she thought again that she and Scarlet couldn’t be more different, despite being identical twins. Scarlet was known as flamboyant and wild and crazy, while she was thought of as sensible and methodical.

“Horribly,” she responded, plopping down on the couch and unzipping her boots. She wiggled her toes in relief. “I don’t know what ever made me think I could land this interview with Zeke. I couldn’t even get near him! The guy has better security than the pope and the president combined.”

She summarized the events of the evening for Scarlet, then shrugged. “It was a crazy plan to begin with, but now I need another career-making scheme. Any ideas?”

“That’s it?” Scarlet asked disbelievingly. “Just like that—” she snapped her fingers “—you’re giving up on Zeke?”

“Not just like that,” she said, snapping her fingers right back. “Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said?”

“Isn’t there one more concert scheduled for tomorrow night? You’ve still got a shot at getting the interview.”

“Scar, hello?” She was used to administering a dose of reality to counter her sister’s exuberance. “There isn’t going to be an interview.”

Scarlet rested her hands on her hips. “Well, not with you dressed like that there isn’t.”

She looked down at her clothes. “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?”

“You’re dressed like a nun.” Gesturing with one hand, Scarlet added, “You’re practically covered from head to toe.”

“It’s cold outside,” she said defensively. “Besides, are you seriously suggesting I’d get anywhere by showing some cle**age?”

“Well, it can’t hurt.”

“Right, and I suppose it would help if I borrowed a few things from your closet,” she said dryly.

Her sister’s eyes lit up. “Now there’s an idea.”

Scarlet’s love of fashion was well known. She often sketched designs and sometimes made her own clothes, and Summer admired her for it, though her own taste in clothes was more sedate.

“Forget it.”

“It’s perfect! Why didn’t I think of it before?”

“What?”

“The way to get past Zeke Woodlow’s security. Dress up as a rock groupie. They’re always allowing attractive women backstage.”

“Why?”

Scarlet sighed in exasperation. “Summer, sometimes I swear you were born with the mindset of a fifty-year-old. Why do you think? Sometimes it’s sex, sometimes it’s fawning attention and sometimes it’s just positive publicity, because the women will later gush to reporters about talking to a rock star.”

“Oh, please! You want me to dress like an airhead? I’m looking to inspire respect as a reporter, not lust as a bimbette.”

Scarlet spun on her heel. “Come on! Tomorrow night you’re going to be dressed to seduce. The serious part can come after you get your stiletto in the door. You’re going to a rock concert, not doing an interview at the United Nations.”

Summer sighed, but she got up and trudged after her twin. She could easily imagine what Scarlet had in mind—and that was the problem.

As one stiletto-heeled foot hit the pavement, Summer steeled herself for what lay ahead. She looked up at the Garden as she emerged from the cab and chanted Scarlet’s advice from earlier.

Release your inner goddess…. Release your inner goddess.…

She kept up the chant as she walked toward the entrance to the Garden.

At five o’clock, she’d left her desk at work and taken the elevator at EPH’s headquarters down to Charisma’s offices, where her sister was employed. Scarlet had helped her dress in the clothes that they’d pulled from the closet last night, then had applied her makeup and styled her hair.

Summer didn’t have to wonder how she looked. She’d stared at her image in the full-length mirror at Charisma’s offices long enough.

Dramatic. Sexy. In short, a different person. Her lips twisted wryly. A different person who happened to look a lot like Scarlet herself. Not surprisingly, of course, since she was dressed in Scarlet’s clothes, and Scarlet—whether by design or subconsciously—appeared to think that sexy meant a lot like the look she herself wore when hitting the town hard.