SCARLETT: Soul Sisters - Book Two (The Soul Sisters 2) Page 3

  “I wondered if I might have a moment of your time, Miss Justice.”

  “Please, call me Charlotte. And yes, of course.” I look to Lou and Quincy. “If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen.”

  “I’ll be right outside if you need me, Miss Justice.” Quincy gestures to the door.

  “Thank you.”

  Lou looks a little put out at being asked to leave, so I give him a nudge. “Lou, I’ll speak to you later. We’ll discuss the contract then.”

  “Nice meeting you, Grantham,” he finally says.

  Lane Grantham just smiles and lifts his chin in acknowledgement. “Crawford.”

  Lou turns to me with a penetrating stare. “Don’t forget you have rehearsals with the band tomorrow at eight a.m. sharp.”

  “Ah, yes,” Grantham says. “That’ll be in our Retro Lounge. We’ve done an excellent job, I think, on the sound buffering. I hope it’s up to your standards, Miss Justice.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine.” I turn to my manager. “Goodnight, Lou.”

  He grunts. “Don’t be late.”

  After they exit, I gesture toward the small bar. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Allow me.” He moves to it and puts ice in a glass. “What would you like?”

  “I’ll have what you’re having,” I say, watching him fill the glass with bourbon. I sit back on the pretty white sofa, tucking one leg under me and crossing the other one over, bouncing my pretty Jimmy Choo shoe, it’s rhinestones sparkling in the lamplight. Outside the floor to ceiling windows, the lights of the Las Vegas Strip glitter as night falls.

  Lane Grantham carries my drink to me and holds it out.

  I take it. “Thank you.”

  He clinks his glass to mine. “Cheers.”

  I smile and take a sip as he sits next to me, throwing an arm over the back of the sofa.

  “I was wondering if you’d do me the honor of having dinner with me in my suite tonight.”

  I’m taken aback by his offer, excitement charging through me, but then I remember I’m playing the part of my sister, a woman who probably has men lining up to date her, so I play it cool. I take a sip of my drink and smile. “I’m not sure that’s wise. I wouldn’t want to give the wrong impression.”

  “And what impression is that?”

  “That I’m available.”

  “Ah. So you’re in a relationship, then?”

  “No. It’s not that.”

  He cocks his head, the corner of his incredibly sexy mouth pulling up. “Then is this just you playing hard to get?”

  I chuckle. “I’m not playing hard to get; I’m impossible to get, believe me. Don’t waste your time.

  “Well, it is my time. Guess I’ll do what I want with it, if you don’t mind.”

  I arch a brow. “I’m not that girl, you know.”

  “And what girl is that?”

  “The kind that is super impressed by money and all its trappings.”

  He sips his own drink. “Really? Those Jimmy Choo’s say otherwise.”

  I look down at my foot, admiring the gorgeous shoe. “I like pretty shoes. Sue me.”

  He grins. “And I like fast cars, good bourbon, and women in pretty shoes. See, we’re made for each other.”

  “Hardly.”

  His eyes move over me. “You are not what I expected.”

  “And what did you expect?”

  “Someone easier to impress, I suppose.”

  “Oh, I’m impressed. You’re a very attractive man, obviously successful, and the British accent is to die for.”

  “The accent does work on most of you American women. I’m feeling there’s a but in there somewhere.”

  “But I really won’t be in town long. I just don’t see the point in starting up anything.”

  “Starting up anything? My, how you yanks talk. I was just offering dinner,” he says with a killer grin.

  “Oh, and here I thought you were offering much more.”

  He laughs, almost embarrassed.

  “Have I made you blush, Mr. Grantham?”

  “Not at all. And please, call me Lane.”

  “Lane.”

  “Say that again.”

  “What? Your name?”

  “Yes. It sounds nice when you say it.”

  “Must be my crass American accent.”

  He laughs again. “Hardly. More the melodic soft quality of your voice.”

  “Have you heard me sing, Lane?”

  “I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

  “Really? And yet you booked me as your premiere act.”

  “That would be my sister. I believe she saw you in London.”

  “Is that home? London.”

  “Have dinner with me, and I’ll tell you all about myself.”

  “You Brits are persistent.”

  “And you Yanks are stubborn.”

  I chuckle. “True, that.”

  He sips his drink and stares out the window, putting aside pressuring me for a moment to take in the lights of the Strip. “It really is a garish amount of flashing lights and neon, isn’t it?”

  “Definitely. The desert and mountains outside of town hold the real beauty around here.”

  That draws his eyes to me. “You sound like you know it.”

  “I do.”

  “Perhaps you’ll show it to me. I must admit I haven’t gotten outside the Strip since I’ve been here working toward opening the hotel.”

  “Perhaps I will.”

  “So, you’ll have dinner with me tonight then? We could discuss this tour of the mountains and desert further.”

  Try as I may, I can’t resist him. “I suppose since I do have to eat, it might as well be with an attractive dinner companion.”

  His grin gets bigger, and he clinks his glass to mine. “To attractive dinner companions then.”

  He downs his drink and stands. “Penthouse suite.” He glances at his watch. “Say in an hour?”

  I stand to walk him to the door. “Perfect. Shall I dress up?”

  “Please do. Though you’re beautiful just as you are.”

  “Nice meeting you, Lane.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, Charlotte.”

  After he leaves, I close the door, put my back to it, and practically melt down the smooth wood. I’m giddy inside, and I dash to the bedroom to see what amazing dress I can find in my sister’s wardrobe.

  Garments line a large closet, and I quickly flip through them. She doesn’t have any evening gowns, but I find a short cocktail dress that I think will work perfectly.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lane—

  I check my watch. She’s ten minutes late. I hate tardiness, but since I only gave her an hour, I’ll let it slide.

  The bell to the penthouse rings, and I go to answer it, adjusting the cuffs under my suit. Swinging open the door, I take in my date’s stunning beauty, my eyes sweeping over her from her white-blonde hair pulled sleekly back in a twist, over the cocktail length dress of shimmering gold, to the matching gold strappy high heels.

  “Aren’t you lovely,” I murmur, stepping back. “Well worth the wait.”

  “Did I keep you waiting?”

  “Barely any time at all.”

  As she passes me, I see the back to the high-necked, capped sleeve sheath reveals her bare skin from shoulder to waist with just a beaded ribbon crisscrossing.

  I gesture toward the main living area, and we move to it. There’s an intimate table set with a white cloth and fine china. Candles burn in the center, sparkling off the crystal wine glasses. I lift the bottle I’d just opened.

  “May I pour you a glass?”

  “Please.”

  “It’s a 2018 California Pinot Grigio. It was an ideal year for growing pinot grigio grapes. These fellows are crafty winemakers. Their vineyard is situated in a fair, mild climate atop drained limestone soil in the San Benito AVA, nestled between the Gabilan Mountain range and the Diablo Mountains, which allows for just the right conditions to make a wine that’s an aromatic feast for the nose.” I realize I’m prattling on and pour hers.

  “You know a lot about wine.”

  “I’ve been thinking of purchasing a vineyard there. I’m scouting for just the right property. There’s a lot to consider. The soil, the amount of available acreage, the accessibility of a water supply… I’m sorry. Am I boring you already?”

  “Not at all.”

  I pass her the glass, and she takes a sip.

  “Umm. Very good.”

  I smile, pleased she likes it. “Good.”

  She strolls to the wall of glass, taking in the view of the strip. “It never gets old, does it?”

  “What?”

  “That view.”

  “Well, sometimes I prefer it in the early morning when I can see the mountains in the distance.” I turn on her. “The ones you promised to show me.”

  She grins over the rim of her glass. “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “Splendid. How was your rehearsal? I heard you were locked away for hours.”

  “Good. We worked up a new song.”

  “I’m sorry I missed it. I wanted to pop in and hear you sing, but business got in the way.”

  She shrugs. “I’ll be around. You’ll get another chance.”

  “One can hope. Did I tell you how beautiful you are?”

  “You did.”

  “It bears repeating.”

  “Thank you. You look very handsome yourself. And how did you spend the day?”

  I roll my eyes. “It would bore you to tears. Apparently the hospitality industry has a union here in the States, and they’re thinking of striking.”

  “When?”

  “Hopefully not until your concerts are over. I’d hate for our grand opening month to be affected.”

  “I see.”

  “Labor disputes are nothing new to me. I, and my father before me, have dealt with them for years. Just tedious and exhausting.”

  “I see. Do they want more money?”

  “It’s more about the benefits. Health Insurance is at the top of the list.”

  “Yes, that’s very important.”

  “And bloody expensive.” I chuckle. “Let’s not talk about the working class tonight. Please sit. You must be starved. I am.”

  I pull out her chair, and she sits. I can’t pull my eyes from her smooth skin. I want to trail my fingers along her spine and watch her straighten her back at the touch.

  “I’ve had the chef at the restaurant here in the hotel make us filet mignon and sea scallops. I hope you approve.” I pull off the silver cover.

  “It looks delicious and smells wonderful.”

  I take the seat across from her.

  We eat quietly for a while, and I can’t help admiring her beauty as I sip my wine. “You absolutely glow in the candlelight.”

  She smiles at my words. “Thank you. I suppose everyone does, don’t they?”

  “Not like you. I think it’s the color of your hair.”

  She looks out the window. “Do you bring dates here often?”

  “No. Not at all. Of late, I’ve been far too busy for it.”

  “Are you a workaholic then?”

  “I suppose so. I like to stay busy. I abhor idleness. I’ve always got to be doing something, even if it’s some interest I’ve taken up. I don’t like to do anything I’m not passionate about. Are you the same way?”

  She lifts her shoulders. “I don’t have many passions except music.”

  “I see. And when you’re not singing, what do you like to do?”

  “In my industry there’s not much off time. They’ve always got me on the go. The European tour was a whirlwind, but I hardly got to see any of it.”

  “Really? How tragic.”

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  “Did you see much of London?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “I’d love to show it to you sometime.”

  “Would you?”

  “Yes. Very much.”

  She blushes and picks up her wine glass. “How do you find America?”

  “There are parts of it I enjoy very much.”

  “Like the wine country?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the rest?”

  I gesture with my glass. “It’s different here, the Strip as you call it. I find it a bit garish and brash.”

  “And yet you chose it for your premiere hotel.”

  “I did. I suppose you find that a bit mad.”

  “I do.”

  “I did my research. Hotels do very well here. There’s an extreme amount of tourism, what with conventions and all the people who fly in for stags and hens. There are an amazing amount, you know.”

  “Stags and hens?” She looks at me questioningly.

  I wave a hand. “Sorry. I believe you call them Bachelor and Bachelorette parties here in the States.”

  “Oh. I see. Yes, it is quite the destination for those.”

  “Not to mention the sporting events, like the Connor McGregor fights and such.”

  She nods.

  “The lower classes seem to enjoy those types of things.”

  “The lower classes?”

  The tone in her voice is my first warning that lets me know I’ve set my foot in it. I dip my head. “Yes.”

  Her brow lifts. My second warning.

  “Ah, yes. Classes. I understand the classes are very important in Britain. Whether you’re an aristocrat or a working man or such.”

  “They are, I suppose.”

  “I think that being so concerned about such things can sometimes come across as snobby. Not only in regards to one's attitude or mindset, but more about mannerism and demeanor.”

  “Really? And what comes off as snobby to you?”

  She shrugs. “Snobs are very entitled, passive-aggressive people. Instead of saying, ‘pardon me’ to get by you, they will wait for minutes on end in silence until you to acknowledge their presence and allow them to pass. They are rarely cordial. Greeting one of them might get you a half-smile or more likely a grimace in return, if you're lucky. The condescension in their tone of voice is usually readily apparent, and they seem to never miss an opportunity for sarcastic responses to honest questions.”

  “I see. And you found a lot of that in London, did you?”

  “Some, yes. But I think it exists here as well, just not to the same extent. Wealthy people can be very mean. You know, if you don't have the ‘right’ clothes, the ‘right’ friends, or the ‘right’ whatever else. There are too many other obstacles to navigate in life to waste time trying to please someone who's that obsessed with petty crap. No, thank you. I'd rather hang out with people who care more about who I am on the inside rather than what kind of a car I drive or if I shop on Rodeo drive.”

  “So your opinion on the British is all based on this?

  “I’m just saying, I associate snobbery with elitism, which often goes hand in hand with a sense of entitlement or superiority based on economic wealth or class. It might also be based on thinking you’re more intelligent, enlightened, or cultured than others. It’s a rotten way to live.”

  “You think that’s an accurate depiction of me?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to. Your meaning was quite clear. I have a slightly different take.” I sit back and lift my chin. “For me, those who’ve had money for generations are more likely to be down to earth, unpretentious, and courteous to everyone, no matter what their station in life is. Such people have no need to impress anyone or to prove anything. It’s those who have come to money such as yourself who need to rub your nose in their good fortune all the time. I think that snobbery comes out of insecurity and lack of good manners.”

  “I don’t rub anyone’s nose in my good fortune! Are you calling me a snob?” She presses her hand to her breastbone rather dramatically.

  “If the cap fits.” I can’t help the small dig and the grin that goes with it.

  She looks confused. “What?”

  “Sorry. I believe you Yanks say if the shoe fits.”

  “So I’m a snob and I have no manners?”

  “Do you think you’re a snob?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Perhaps you’re self-conscious about your modest background and have become a snob in order to escape who you really are.” I can’t help needling her. It’s fun to watch the outrage on her face, and I chuckle.”

  “You find this funny?”

  I quit laughing. “I see you don’t. So then, let’s be through with this topic.”

  “What I’m through with is dinner with you, you rude Brit.” She slams her glass down, comes to her feet, and throws her linen napkin on her plate.

  “Come now. Don’t be like that. It was just a bit of teasing.”

  Her heels click on the travertine floor as she heads for the door, then slams out of the penthouse.

  I don’t chase her down.

  Frustrated, I toss my own napkin on my plate and slump back. Taking a sip of wine, I hold it up and study the fine crystal. “Well, that went well. At least she didn’t throw her glass in your face, you dunce.”

  I pull out my phone and call my sister.

  Her voice is aggravated when she comes on the line. “What are you ringing me for? You’re suppose to be on a date.”

  “I think the deal is off.”

  “What? Already? But it’s not even nine-thirty. Don’t tell me you’ve already mucked it up.”

  “Quite. We didn’t even make it to dessert.”

  “What did you bloody say?”

  “Right. Of course it was I, is that it?”

  “Of course it was you. She’s perfectly lovely.”

  “Hmm. Yes. She is lovely, even in her righteous anger. You should have seen her. She was magnificent.”

  “Well, then fix it.”

  “Fix it? How?”

  “Bloody apologize. Send her flowers, a gift, tell her you’re a bumbling idiot and beg for another chance.”

  “Bumbling idiot? I’m nothing of the sort. She takes offense much too quickly. It was just a bit of harmless ribbing.”

  “Americans don’t like our dry humor, brother.”

  “Mmm. I’m finding that’s true.

  “You’ve got until Saturday to fix this. I’ve already arranged your next date. Don’t muck it up again.”