Читать книгу Beauty And Her Boss - Jennifer Faye - Страница 9

CHAPTER ONE

Two days later...

WHAT EXACTLY HAD she agreed to?

Gabrielle Dupré’s heart beat faster as she turned into the gated drive of the Santoro estate. Her gaze shifted to the clock on the dash. The drive from Bakersfield had taken more than four hours. She definitely wouldn’t want to deal with that long commute each day. Thankfully Newton, an old friend from the neighborhood, had recently moved back to town and was renting a room from her father and had agreed to keep an eye on him while she worked here at the estate. Newton had changed since she’d last seen him, but he was happy to be there for her father, and they seemed to get on.

Deacon had offered her more money to work here than both of her jobs combined. It also included free room and board. Under different circumstances, she’d be excited about the opportunity. But with her father convinced that Mr. Santoro was the reason her aunt had died, being here felt uncomfortable to say the least.

She swallowed hard and reached out the driver’s side window, pressing a finger to a button on the intercom. She waited for someone to speak to her. However, without a word the gate swept open. She had to admit she was curious to see what awaited her on the other side of the wall. She’d done an internet search, but it hadn’t turned up any pictures of the estate.

Gabrielle eased her father’s vintage red convertible onto the overgrown grounds. It certainly wasn’t the grand estate that she’d been anticipating. Perhaps at one time this place might have been beautiful, but now it was woefully neglected. The grass appeared not to have been cut in ages. The bushes were overgrown and gangly. The flower gardens were overrun with weeds that were strangling out the few remaining flowers.

The internet sites said that Deacon Santoro had become a recluse since he’d been involved in the deadly accident. Apparently for once, the paparazzi hadn’t been totally wrong. There was definitely something amiss on this estate.

The Malibu beach house was a stunning piece of midcentury architecture. Gabrielle slowed the car to a stop to have a better look around. Feeling as though someone was staring at her, she glanced up at the massive white mansion. There was no one standing in any of the windows. But there was a window on the top floor where the sheers moved. Cold fingertips inched down her spine.

Stop it. You’re just being melodramatic. It’s not like this is a haunted mansion.

No matter what she told herself, she couldn’t shake her uneasiness. If it wasn’t for her father, she’d turn around and leave. But a deal was a deal.

When she’d handed in her immediate resignation at the library, they’d refused to accept it. The staff was small and they were all close, like a family. So, she was on sabbatical leave until her deal with Deacon was concluded. She was so grateful to have a job to return to. It was one less thing she had to worry about.

However, when she’d resigned at the tabloid, she’d made the mistake of letting Deacon Santoro’s name cross her lips. That spiked everyone’s interest. She’d been passed up the chain of management until she’d been sitting across from the managing editor. And when the whole sordid truth came tumbling out, the editor had assured her that she didn’t need to quit. In fact, they’d increased her pay.

The editor was putting Gaby on an assignment. The money was most welcome as her father’s mounting medical expense were beyond her means. She had been shocked until it became clear that they wanted her to feed them every bit of dirt she could dig up on Deacon Santoro. She’d initially refused. Finding out the truth about her aunt’s death was one thing. Digging up information about his private life just for sensational headlines was something else.

In the end, they’d all agreed that she would remain on the payroll and submit a daily report with information regarding the deadly accident. After all, if the legal system wouldn’t do anything about it, someone had to seek justice in whatever way possible. And so Gaby had come here not only to protect her father, but also to uncover the truth about the accident and to expose Deacon’s actions to the world.

At the time, the plan had seemed so easy. She’d play along as his assistant and befriend the man, which from the looks of the desolate place wouldn’t be hard. Then she’d get him to open up about the accident. She would prove that he was responsible for her aunt’s death. At last the world would know the truth, just like her father had wanted for so long. And then she could return to her life—a life that was temporarily on pause.

Gabrielle wheeled the car into a parking spot next to a late model gray sedan. She’d arrived early this morning as she’d wanted to make a good impression on Mr. Santoro. She didn’t want to give him any reason to go back on his agreement to drop the charges against her father, and that included keeping her connection with QTR magazine hush-hush.

She climbed out of the car and lifted her head to the blue sky. There was a gusty breeze. The forecasters said there was a storm brewing over the Pacific, although it hadn’t reached them yet. But there was an ominous tension in the air.

She turned to head inside, but she wasn’t sure where to go. There was yet another fence surrounding the building. There were numerous gates but no signs indicating where each led.

A movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Her gaze strayed across the outline of a figure in the distance.

“Excuse me,” Gabrielle called out as she rushed forward.

The man’s back was to her.

She called out again.

The man straightened from where he was bent over a rosebush. He was wearing jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt and a ball cap. He didn’t turn around. Did he hear her?

“Hey, could you tell me where to go?” Not about to continue screaming across the grounds, she started down to a set of stained concrete steps leading to the garden.

By the time she reached the bottom step, the man was gone. Perhaps he hadn’t heard her. He could still be around here somewhere. She started walking around in hopes of spotting him again. However, he was nowhere to be found. How was that possible? He was just here a second ago. She turned around in a circle. Where had he gone so quickly?

She sighed and was about to walk away when she paused to take in her surroundings. She stood on the edge of an expansive rose garden with a winding footpath. Unlike the rest of the overgrown yard, this section was neat and tidy. She found this shocking. What made this garden so special? It was just one more question that she had for Mr. Santoro.

Gaby headed back up the steps to the parking area. If worse came to worse, she would try all the gates and open all of the doors she encountered until she found where she belonged. You really would think Mr. Santoro would greet her or at the very least call her.

Time was getting away from her. If she didn’t hurry, she was going to start off this arrangement by being late. Talk about making a bad situation worse. She picked up her pace.

At the top of the steps, she glanced around. On both sides of the parking area were doors. There was the large main house and there were six garage doors with what appeared to be a guesthouse atop them. Would he have put the office in the guesthouse?

Her gaze moved back and forth between the two structures as she tried to make up her mind. Just as she decided to try the main house, a gate swung open. At last, Mr. Santoro had come to greet her.

She rushed toward the door, but she came to a halt when an older woman with white hair and a round, rosy face came hurrying out. The woman was muttering something under her breath and shaking her head, but Gaby wasn’t able to make out what she was saying.

When the woman’s gaze met hers, a smile softened the woman’s face. She had kind eyes and a warm smile. “Ah...hello, dearie. You must be Mr. Santoro’s new assistant.”

Gaby smiled back at the woman. “I am. My name’s Gaby Dupré.”

“Welcome Ms. Dupré. And you can call me Mrs. Kupps. Mr. Santoro, he likes formality.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Kupps.” Gaby held out her hand to the woman. “But please feel free to call me Gaby.”

The woman giggled and placed her hand in Gaby’s for a brief shake. “I’m pleased to meet you, too,” she whispered, “Gaby.”

“Will you be showing me what I need to do?”

The woman shook her head. “Not me, dearie. I wouldn’t have a clue. I’m the housekeeper and cook.”

Gaby was disappointed. Working with Mrs. Kupps would have certainly made her workday interesting. “Do you know who will be showing me what I need to do?”

“I assume that would be Mr. Santoro.”

“Oh, will he be out soon?”

The woman clucked her tongue. “Mr. Santoro does not get out much these days.”

“Not even on his own estate?”

The woman shook her head as a serious look came over her face. “He prefers to stay in his suite of rooms.”

This arrangement was getting stranger by the minute.

“But how will I be able to work with him?”

“He will phone you.”

And then Mrs. Kupps pointed out the way to the office. Gaby made it there with ease. Once inside, she glanced around the office, taking in the white walls and two desks that faced each other from across the room. They were both sparsely set up, but the one to her left looked a bit haphazard, as though the person had been in a rush to get out the door.

The room was adorned with beach decorations and a couple of prints of the ocean. It was pretty, but there was nothing of the man that owned this spacious estate. There were no movie posters, no snapshots of Mr. Santoro with costars and no awards. It was though he’d purposely removed himself from the room. But why?

Gaby moved to one of the desks and placed her purse as well as her pink-and-white tote on the desk chair. Her gaze scanned the desk as she searched for any instructions of what was expected of her or a number that she was supposed to call upon arrival.

Then the phone rang.

* * *

He should have never agreed to bring Gabrielle here.

The decision had been made in haste.

And it was a mistake.

Deacon paced back and forth in his private study. This woman with the honeyed voice was dangerous, as she was poised to be a distraction from the stark reality of his situation. She would make him think about all of the damage that had been done. If only he could remember the accident—remember if he was at fault.

He would need to be on constant guard around her. With her being the niece of the woman who had died in his arms, she would be out to finish what her father started—destroying him.

And then he’d almost been caught by Gabrielle while he was in the rose garden.

It was his oasis. His chance to feel like a normal person, not a man hunted and hounded for the truth—something he didn’t possess. How exactly had she missed the sign that explicitly said Do Not Enter?

Luckily he’d had enough time to make a clean escape. But as her sweet voice called out to him, he’d hesitated. An overwhelming urge came over him to capture a glimpse of the face that went with such a melodious voice.

In the shadows, he paused and turned back. He’d been awestruck. He didn’t know how long he’d stood there in the shadows watching her move about the garden searching for him. Her long hair had bounced around her slim shoulders. Her face—it was captivating. It wasn’t the type of beauty that was created with powder and makeup. No. Hers was a natural, undeniable beauty.

Her creamy complexion was flawless. He was too far away to catch the color of her eyes. He imagined they would be blue. His gaze strayed down past her pert nose and paused on her lush, rosy lips. Oh, she was definitely going to be a big distraction.

He jerked his meandering thoughts to an immediate halt. What was done, was done, as his mother would say. Now he had to deal with the consequences.

Deacon Santoro gripped the phone in his good hand and pressed the number for the office. He lifted the receiver to his ear. Two rings later, Gabrielle answered. The tone of her voice was a sweet blend of vanilla and caramel with a touch of honey.

He did not have time to get caught up in such nonsense.

Focus.

Deacon resumed pacing. “I see you decided to abide by our agreement.”

“I don’t see how I had any choice?”

“Everybody has choices—”

“Not in this case.”

“And you were able to find someone to check in on your father?” He didn’t know why he’d asked except that when he’d first made this proposal, Gabrielle had been quite hesitant to leave her father.

“I have a friend staying with him. Newton just moved back to the area and my father had a spare room. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“I take it you’ve since changed your mind about this Newton.”

Gabrielle hesitated. “Let’s just say I’ve gotten to know him better and he’s not the same as I remembered.”

“I see.” Deacon’s curiosity spiked, but he forced himself to drop the Newton subject. “At least you won’t have to worry about your father.”

Deacon was impressed by her allegiance to her father, but that wouldn’t be enough to sway him to concede. Her father had cost him more than just bad press, a mess in his yard and upset employees—her father had stirred up the paparazzi. Once again, there were news reports on television and the internet. His phone—with its private number—was now receiving calls from journalists wanting “the truth.”

The little sleep he did get was once again riddled with nightmares—fiery, jagged dreams. But when he woke up, the images blurred and the memories receded to the back of his mind. With each dream, he hoped he’d be able to latch on to the elusive truth of what happened on that deadly night. But try as he might, his memory had holes the size of craters and images blurred as if in a dense fog.

The doctors had warned him that the memories might never come back to him. That was not the answer he’d wanted to hear. He needed the truth—even if it meant he was responsible for taking another person’s life. Trying to live with the unknown was a torture that had him knotted up inside.

“If you would just tell me where to meet you, we can sit down and go over what is expected of me.” Gabrielle’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Of course it is.”

He could hear the confusion in her voice. She wasn’t the first assistant that had been uncomfortable with his distant style of management, but it was the way it had to be. He didn’t need anyone eyeing him with pity. He didn’t deserve anyone feeling sorry for him. It was best for him to keep to the shadows. The accident had left permanent scars on him both inside and out. His career as an actor was over. And he was now struggling to find a new position for himself in the background of Hollywood.

He cleared his throat. “All of your instructions are on your computer. The password is capital B-e-a-c-h.”

“Will you be stopping by the office later?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand—”

“We will conduct our business via the phone or preferably by email.”

“But what if I have papers for you to sign? Or mail. I’m assuming that I’ll be receiving your business correspondence.”

“You will. And if you check next to the interior door, there is a mail slot. Drop whatever correspondence needs my attention in there and I’ll get to it.”

“But that doesn’t seem very efficient. I don’t mind bringing it to you—”

“No!” His voice vibrated with emotion. He clenched his jaw and swallowed hard. He didn’t want to have to explain himself. After all, he was the boss. In a calmer voice, he said, “This is the arrangement. If you don’t like it, you are free to leave. Our deal will be null and void.”

“And my father?”

“He will face the judge and pay for the trouble he caused.”

“No. I can do this.” Her words were right, but her voice lacked conviction.

In all honesty, if she quit, he didn’t know what he’d do for help. The temp agencies had blacklisted him after he’d gone through a dozen temps in the past couple of months. But he’d make do, one way or the other. He always had in the past. “You’re sure?”

“I am.”

“Then I will let you review the document that I’ve emailed you. It should explain everything including the fact that I work late into the night, but I don’t expect you to. However, I will have work waiting for you each morning.” When sleep evaded him, he found it best to keep his mind busy. It kept the frustration and worries of the unknown at bay.

“Does anyone else work in the office?” she asked.

“No.”

She didn’t immediately respond.

He hadn’t considered that she wouldn’t like working alone. It had been one of his requirements through the temp agencies, but Gabrielle hadn’t given him time to get in to specifics when they’d spoken on the phone. Maybe this was his way out—even if the voice inside his head kept saying that he needed to watch out for her.

He cleared his throat. “If working alone is going to be a problem, we could end this now.”

The silence on her end continued. He really wished he could look into her eyes. For the first time, he found communicating via the phone frustrating.

“No. It won’t be a problem.” Her voice sounded confident. “But I have a stipulation of my own.”

“And that would be?”

“I need to speak with my father at least once a day—”

“That’s fine.”

“Would you reconsider letting me visit him? He will miss me.”

This separation was to punish her father—not her. He’d cost Deacon and now the man had to pay a price—even if it wasn’t dictated by a judge. Her father would learn not to take Gabrielle for granted.

“He should have thought of that before he allowed you to pay the price for his actions. Our arrangement will hold. You will stay here and work for three months.”

Deacon knew what it was like to be alone. Both of his parents had passed on and he had no siblings. Other than Mrs. Kupps, the housekeeper, he was alone in this big rambling estate—except now Gabrielle was here. And somehow her mere presence seemed to make this place a little more appealing and less like a prison.

“My father didn’t make me do anything. I volunteered.” Her indignation came through loud and clear.

“Now that everything is settled, I’ll let you get to work.” Deacon disconnected the call.

Something told him this was going to be a very, very long three months. But it definitely wouldn’t be boring.