Читать книгу Beauty And Her Boss - Jennifer Faye - Страница 12

CHAPTER FOUR

DIDN’T THIS MAN SLEEP?

It was almost lunchtime and Gaby hadn’t even scratched the surface of all the tasks her boss had left for her. It didn’t help that the phone rang constantly. Most calls were from reporters wanting to speak with Deacon. She had been left strict instructions to tell them “no comment” and hang up. With business associates, she was left with explaining that Deacon didn’t take phone calls. When she explained that they would have to deal with her, it didn’t go over well. Still, Gaby persisted. She had a job to do.

With a sigh, Gaby pressed Send on an email requesting the script for a film that Deacon was considering backing. But from what she could gather from prior correspondence and the files in the office, he had requested a lot of screenplays, but had yet to back one. She wanted to ask him how he decided which would be worth his money and which wouldn’t.

Gaby got up to place the mail in the allotted slot for Mr. Santoro. When she approached the mail slot, she noticed the connecting door was slightly ajar. She slipped the papers into the slot and then turned back to the door. It beckoned to her.

What would it hurt to go see what was on the other side?

She knew if Mr. Santoro caught her, he would not be happy. In fact, it could very well blow up their whole deal. But if she didn’t take a chance now, would she ever find out what he was hiding?

And to be fair, she was never told that she couldn’t enter the house—only that mail was to go in the slot and communication would be phone or email. She had a hard time believing that he was as bad off as Mrs. Kupps had let on. This place wasn’t exactly a dungeon by any means. He probably was just avoiding all the unanswered questions about the accident. And it was high time he stopped hiding from the truth and faced up to what had happened.

With a renewed determination, Gaby placed her hand on the doorknob and pulled the door open. It moved easily and soundlessly. There were no lights on in the hallway, but a window toward the back of the house let in some sunshine, lighting her way.

She didn’t know what she expected when she crossed the threshold—an enraged Deacon Santoro, or a dark, dank house?—but she found neither. The house was done up in mainly white walls and marble floors. What she did notice was all of the empty spaces on the walls. There were mounted lights as though to illuminate a work of art or a framed photo, but there was nothing below any of the lights, as though even the hangings had been removed. How odd. The oddity was beginning to become a theme where Mr. Santoro was concerned.

The first set of doors she came to had frosted-glass inserts. One door stood ajar. She peered inside, wondering if at last she’d come face-to-face with Deacon Santoro, the larger-than-life legend. But the room appeared to be empty—except for all of the books lining the bookshelves.

Her eyes widened as she took in what must be thousands of titles. She stepped farther into the room, finding the bookcases rose up at least two stories. Like a bee to honey, she was drawn to the remarkable library. There was a ladder that glided along a set of rails to reach the top shelves. And a spiral staircase for the second floor of shelves with yet another ladder. It was truly remarkable.

She didn’t know whether she had walked onto the set of My Fair Lady or the library of Beauty and the Beast. She’d never seen anything so magnificent. She moved to the closest bookshelf and found an entire row of leather-bound classics. It was then that she noticed the thick layer of dust and the sunshine illuminating a spiderweb in the corner. Who would neglect such a marvelous place?

Gaby ignored the dust and lifted a volume from the shelf. She opened the cover to find that it was a first edition—a signed first edition. It was probably priceless or at least worth more than she could ever pay.

And then she realized that if it was so valuable, she shouldn’t be holding it in her bare hands. When she reached out to return it to the shelf, she heard footsteps behind her. She paused, not sure what to do. She moved the book behind her back. The time had come to face Mr. Santoro and suddenly she was assailed with nerves. It probably wouldn’t help her case to be found hiding a collector’s item. Her hand trembled and she almost dropped the book, but with determination, she gently placed it back on the shelf.

She leveled her shoulders, preparing for a hostile confrontation, and turned. The man had just entered the library and caught sight of her at the same time she had spotted him. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, which struck her as odd considering it was warm outside. And then she realized he was the man she spotted the first day that she’d arrived. He was the mysterious man from the rose garden.

“Who—who are you?” She didn’t take her eyes off him.

His dark eyes narrowed. “I’m the one who should be asking questions here.”

The voice, it was familiar. Was it possible that this was Deacon Santoro? She peered closely at him, trying to make up her mind. She supposed that it could be him. But it was his hair that surprised her. It was a longer style, if you could call it a style. The dark strands brushed down over his collar and hung down in his face.

She’d never seen him wear his hair that long in any of the movies he’d played in and yes, she’d seen them all. At one point, she’d have been proud of that fact, but after the accident, she’d wondered what she’d ever seen in the man.

When her gaze returned to his face, she had to tilt her chin upward. He was tall, well north of six feet.

And by the downturn of his mouth, he was not happy to find her in here. Her heart picked up its pace. She should turn away, but she couldn’t. She needed to size up the man—all of him. She swallowed hard and jerked her gaze from his mouth. She really had to get a grip on herself. After all, he was the enemy, not some sexy movie star... Okay maybe he was that, too.

Ugh! This is getting complicated.

Her gaze took in the full, thick beard. It covered a large portion of his face. Between the beard and his longer hair, his face was hidden from view, for the most part. Except for his eyes. Those dark mysterious eyes stared directly at her, but they didn’t give away a thing.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was deep and vibrated with agitation.

“I was looking for you.” She refused to let on that his presence unnerved her. She clasped her hands together to keep from fidgeting. “I thought it was time we met.” She stepped forward and held out her hand. “Hello, Mr. Santoro.”

His eyebrows drew together and he frowned as he gazed at her hand, but he made no move to shake it. “I told you I don’t do face-to-face meetings. And you may call me Deacon.”

Gaby recalled what Mrs. Kupps had said about him preferring formality and was surprised he’d suggest she call him by his given name. Perhaps he wasn’t as stuck in his ways as she’d originally thought.

“And I don’t like to be kept isolated.” Ignoring the quiver of her stomach, Gaby withdrew her hand. “If I am going to work with a person, they need to have the decency to meet with me—to talk one-on-one with me.”

“You’ve seen me. Now go!”

She crossed her arms, refusing to budge. It was time someone called him out on his ridiculous behavior. “Does everyone jump when you growl?”

“I don’t growl.”

She arched a disbelieving eyebrow at him.

“I don’t.” He averted his gaze.

“You might want to be a little nicer to the people who work for you.” And then she decided that pushing him too far would not help her cause, and said, “I have a request that just came in today for you to make an appearance at the upcoming awards show to present an award—”

“No.”

“No? As in you don’t want to attend? Or no, as in you won’t be a presenter?”

“No, as in I’m not leaving this house. And no, I’m not presenting any awards. Have you looked at me? No one would want me in front of a camera.”

The fact that he’d dismissed the idea so quickly surprised her. For some reason, she thought he would enjoy being in the spotlight. Isn’t that what all movie stars craved?

Deciding it might be best to change the subject, she said, “You have an amazing library.”

At first, he didn’t say a word. She could feel his gaze following her as she made her way around the room, impressed that the books were placed in the Library of Congress classification system. Was it possible Mr. Santoro...erm, Deacon loved books as much as her?

“I see you have your books cataloged.” She turned back to him. “Do you also have a digital catalog?”

He nodded. “The computer that houses the database is over there.”

She followed the line of his finger to a small wooden desk next to the door she’d entered. “This place is amazing. I’ve never known anyone with such an elaborate private library.”

His dark eyebrows rose behind his shaggy hair. “You like books?”

“I love them. I’m a librarian and...” Realizing that she was about to reveal that she was an aspiring journalist would only make him more wary of her.

“And what?”

“I was going to say that I read every chance I get.” She turned back to him. “I take it you read, too.”

He shrugged. “I used to. These days my reading is all work-related.”

“That’s a shame, because books are the key to the imagination. You can travel the world between the pages of a book. Or visit another time period. Anything is possible in a book.”

“What is your favorite genre?”

“I have two—suspense and romance. And cozy mysteries. And some biographies.” She couldn’t help but laugh at herself. “I have a lot of favorites. It depends on my mood.” Perhaps this conversation was her chance to get past his gruff exterior. “How about you?”

“Mysteries and thrillers.” He turned toward the door but paused. Over his shoulder, he said, “You—you may make use of the library while you are here.” Then his voice dropped to the gravelly tone. “But do not wander anywhere else. The rest of the house is off-limits.”