The Socialite's Secret. Carol Marinelli
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over to their table with a drink and told her how amazing her performance that night had been. ‘I’ll just stay for one more,’ Anya said.
Scarlet moved over to give the young man room to sit next to her mother but then she stood up.
She saw the exit door and started to walk towards it.
Scarlet wanted fresh air.
More than that she wanted to run.
‘Hey, Scarlet …’ A hand was on her arm and she turned to the face of one of her mother’s bodyguards. ‘I’ll send Troy outside with you.’
She didn’t want Troy.
Scarlet didn’t want anyone, she just wanted one day, one moment to be allowed out in the world alone.
She didn’t want to be here in this club.
And then she looked up and saw a man who looked as if he didn’t want to be there either.
He was taller than most and, unlike others, he was wearing a suit. His hair was dark and as he raked a hand through it, it remained a touch messy. He was smart yet dishevelled, present but unimpressed, and there was something about him that had Scarlet intrigued.
‘We’re all leaving now,’ Troy suddenly informed her. ‘Your mother’s ready to go.’
‘I’m going to stay on.’
It was a rare request.
An almost unheard-of request, in fact, and one that did not go down too well.
‘I don’t need your drama now, Scarlet,’ Anya hissed. ‘I’ve been working all night and my head feels as if it’s about to explode …’
‘Vince will sort that out,’ Scarlet said.
It ended the conversation.
Scarlet had known that it would.
Anya could stay and argue for ten minutes with her daughter or head back to Vince.
How Scarlet loathed that man!
And so, as her mother left the building, Scarlet remained.
Not alone, of course. Three bodyguards were still present, but for now at least she was minus Mom.
Luke, even before they had arrived in the club, had had enough.
It was his younger brother’s twenty-first birthday and Luke really didn’t want to be here, but up until now he’d had no real choice.
He’d bought dinner and had done the cursory pub crawl and had decided that he’d buy the first round here, stay for a little while and then disappear.
It wasn’t a regular nightclub. Marcus’s friend knew someone and had got the boisterous group into some very trendy, exclusive basement club.
At twenty-eight years of age, Luke felt old.
He’d always been more sensible than most, more responsible than most, and this place tested that to the limit. Everyone was off their heads and the noise just ate at him.
Still, it was his brother’s birthday so Luke had gone along with things till now. He had been down from Oxford anyway, in London for an interview, and at lunchtime he had checked into a hotel.
His interview had been scheduled for four, which should have given him plenty of time to meet his brother and friend at seven. Except the interview had gone really well. So well that not only had he been extensively shown through the department, his potential new boss had asked him to wait back so he could meet a colleague who was in Theatre. Of course Luke had agreed. This was a senior registrar’s position with a junior consultancy at the end of it at the London Royal after all.
There hadn’t been time to get back to the hotel to change so he had arrived half an hour late to meet his brother and had felt on the back foot ever since. Especially here. Everyone was dressed in far less than a suit and drinking bright cocktails and were high, if not on life, just high.
‘Nice to be single again?’ Marcus asked, as Luke bought the drinks.
‘Actually, yes,’ Luke said, though it was wasted here, he thought privately.
Marcus and his friends hit the dance floor, which actually consisted of most of the place, and Luke took a mouthful of his drink and leant against the bar. He thought about the day he’d just had.
He wanted the job.
And that might prove to be a problem.
It hadn’t been a difficult break up.
A painless procedure might be the best description.
Luke and Angie had been going out for a couple of years and had been about to move in together. Angie worked at the Royal and had told him about the upcoming role. But within a week of Luke applying, their relationship had finally come undone.
There just wasn’t the passion that should be there for a couple who were about to move in together. Added to that was Luke’s refusal to, as Angie had annoying called it, share.
Only she hadn’t been talking about the last chocolate in the box!
‘I know they’re in there,’ Angie would insist.
‘What?’
‘Feelings.’ Angie’s response had been exasperated. ‘Emotions.’
‘We don’t all have to ride the roller-coaster, Angie. Just because I don’t …’ Luke had bitten his tongue rather than admit that yes, there were hurts there. Angie would have far preferred that he rise to the bait but Luke had consistently refused to. ‘I guess I’m not messed up enough for a psychiatrist to date,’ Luke had offered.
Luke was straight down the line and dealt with whatever life threw in his path without fuss. He saw no need for prolonged discussions as to how the past had shaped today. He had no wish to come home from a long and difficult shift and to share how it felt to lose a four-year-old or whatever agony the day had brought.
How he felt was his concern, he’d regularly told Angie. Amicably they had agreed that opposites did not attract and had quietly broken up.
There was one thing, though, that Luke needed to do if he was going to take the role at the Royal—and Luke was quite sure that it was his. He needed to be sure, very sure that Angie would be okay having her ex working at the same hospital.
Luke took out his phone and saw that there was a text from Angie, asking how the interview had gone, but it had been sent three hours ago.
It was far too late to return it now.
They were exes after all.
‘Well?’
A soft voice, very close to his ear, pulled Luke out of vague introspection and he caught the heady scent of summer in the midst of winter as he turned to the sight of a young woman.
She had long, black, curly hair and huge navy eyes. Her face was incredibly pale but those large navy eyes were alert and smiling. Her lips were full and she wore dark red lipstick and not much else, just a tiny, tight, red dress.
‘Well, what?’ Luke asked in answer.
‘Aren’t you going to buy me a drink?’
‘No.’ Luke shook his head and tried to gauge her age. He was usually good at it but with her it was an impossible ask. Her skin was smoother than any he had seen and yet her eyes were wise. ‘Are you even old enough to be drinking?’ Luke checked.
‘Of course I am.’ Scarlet frowned at the odd question. Everyone knew how old she was. A fortnight ago she had turned twenty-three and it had been a massive affair—Anya had bought her onto the stage in Paris and had sung ‘Happy Birthday’ to her.
‘I’m Lucy,’ Scarlet said, just to test his reaction and to make sure that this man really didn’t know who she was.
‘I’m