My Front Page Scandal. Carrie AlexanderЧитать онлайн книгу.
go and confess to Mom or Dad, even before they found out?” Joey smirked. “’Fess up, Brookie.”
“It’s nothing.” Brooke resisted gnawing on a knuckle. Sure, meeting Boston’s most infamous bad boy and running around the city without panties was a great big nothing. “Work stuff.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Brooke shifted, avoiding her sister’s sharp gaze as she reached for her drink.
Joey knew. She always knew. She was a whip-smart trial lawyer, even if she still lived at their grandparents’ beck and call in the converted carriage house out back.
“Luncheon is served,” their grandmother announced. She waited for them to join her, then linked their arms and proceeded to the dining room. She’d been slightly more demonstrative since their mother’s death. Kinder and gentler, too, although of course that didn’t mean that standards had lapsed.
The Admiral was already seated at the head of the table. He was in his late eighties, grown more sickly and fragile since the loss of his son and daughter-in-law. While he’d retained his military posture, he relied on a cane to get around, or sometimes a wheelchair. Frequently a nurse was in attendance.
Joey and Brooke greeted him in turn, dropping pecks on a high forehead that still bore a fringe of silver hair.
Brooke took her place midway down the lengthy mahogany table, with Joey across from her. “How are you, Grandfather?”
He huffed. “As well as can be expected.”
A maid served plates of broiled fish and steamed vegetables. “Yummy,” Joey said, tongue in cheek. “Pass the rolls.”
Evelyn gave her a look. “And how have you girls been? We don’t hear from you nearly often enough. Please catch us up on your busy lives.”
Subtle as a paper cut, Brooke thought. That was her grandmother’s way.
“Same old.” Joey nodded across the table with a flick of her short blond hair. “But Brooke’s in trouble at work.”
That caught the Admiral’s attention. His head swung around. “Old Worthy giving you a hard time?”
“Not at all. He’s in my corner.” Brooke had begun to wonder if she’d uncovered a dirty old man, considering how Mr. Worthington had practically salivated over her provocative sketches for the Valentine’s windows. He hadn’t approved the concept. Instead, he’d taken the plans with him, for further “study.”
Her grandmother cleared her throat with a ladylike cough. “Do you need a champion, Brooke?”
“Well, not exactly.” Brooke tried not to squirm. Winfields practiced proper table etiquette at all times. “I have been pushing the envelope a bit with my window displays.”
“Yes.” Evelyn’s lips puckered. “I saw the September windows.” She swiftly moved on. Winfields did not discuss unpleasant subjects during meals. They’d yet to openly acknowledge the revelation about their daughter-in-law Daisy’s other daughter. “And how is Katie? Do either of you know?”
“Keeping busy with Liam,” Joey said.
Brooke concentrated on spearing a slippery carrot. Liam James, Katie’s new lover, was still a slightly sore subject, although he and Brooke had stopped seeing each other before he’d started going out with Katie. Brooke believed that Liam had seen her only as a suitable choice for an ambitious, upwardly mobile executive. He’d been more interested in his work than her. By all accounts, Katie had ensnared his attention more fully.
Brooke couldn’t help feeling as if she’d been outshined… again.
She tuned in to the conversation as her grandmother remarked, “Perhaps we’ll finally get a great-grandchild.”
Joey chuckled. “Let’s hold a wedding first.”
Evelyn’s expression said that a Winfield would do it no other way. Smoothly, she switched subjects. “Brooke, dear, I hear that you’ve been asked to donate a painting to the Ladies’ League art auction. I do hope you’ll follow through, after turning down the opportunity to chair the clothing drive.”
“Certainly.” Why not? She’d wrap up one of her inoffensive still-life paintings and the ladies would think it charming.
“Excellent.”
Brooke nodded. Earning her grandparents’ approval had lost its vital importance since her mother’s death. Yet she continued to comply with her training, like a human version of Pavlov’s dog.
“The event should go over well. They have acquired the services of a celebrity auctioneer. A baseball player.”
Brooke perked up. “Oh? Do you know who?”
“I don’t recall the name.”
“Not David Carerra,” She blurted. Surely not.
“Him?” The Admiral snorted.
“Carerra’s back in town,” Joey said. “I read it in this morning’s paper. He’s already causing trouble.”
Evelyn shook her head with disapproval. “Then I’m certain it wasn’t him. The Ladies’ League has impeccable standards.”
Joey’s mention of the papers had given Brooke a small shock, but she couldn’t contain her curiosity. “I don’t really understand why Da—Carerra went from hero to goat all of a sudden. What did he do that was so terrible?”
“Let down the team,” the Admiral barked. “Unforgivable.”
“He quit, Brooke.” Even Joey scowled. “That might not have been so bad if it hadn’t come at such a lousy time, but he was the only one on the team who was playing any good. The Sox never recovered. And those damn Yankees—” she said the name of the hated rivals with all the scorn she could muster “—won the pennant.”
“Yes, but doesn’t anyone remember how Carerra won the World Series? That should keep him in the fans’ good graces no matter what happened the past season.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Over time, he’ll probably be forgiven for quitting, but not yet.”
For some reason, Brooke found herself riled up inside, ready to leap to David’s defense, but she managed to tamp it down and only added in a mild tone, “He might have had his reasons for that.”
Joey looked at her curiously.
Fortunately, Evelyn had had enough of baseball and she channeled the conversation toward another topic before Brooke could give her true feelings away. They finished lunch soon after, and the sisters excused themselves to return to work. On the way out, Joey asked Brooke if she wanted to run back to the carriage house for a real drink. She declined, knowing Joey and her skill at cross-examination; she’d worm the entire story of the previous evening out of Brooke in no time.
She wanted to cherish her secret, almost scandalous adventure for a while longer.
Brooke got into her car and pulled out her cell phone to check for messages. Nothing from David, even though he’d asked for her number before firing up the motorcycle and driving away with only a casual goodbye flick of his visor. Despite a hollow sense of disappointment, she told herself that she hadn’t expected him to contact her. But she knew the truth—a brief encounter with him wasn’t going to be enough.
She needed to make some sort of shocking change to her life, whether or not David called. A lasting change. So what if she’d resolved that before? This time she was following through. If David had done nothing else for her, at least he had lit a spark that continued to burn.
ALMOST SIX O’CLOCK. Brooke switched off the hard-rock radio station she’d been listening to on the radio and surveyed the mess she’d made of her desk and drafting table. Balled-up papers, scattered colored pencils and art markers, the refuse of a mid-afternoon snack, a lopsided stack