Читать книгу Secret Agenda - Rochelle Alers, Rochelle Alers - Страница 10

“Don't believe him, Blair!” Vivienne screamed at the television. “Todd Manning lied to you before and he'll do it again,” she said, continuing her rant.

A basket filled with clothes she'd taken out of the dryer and folded sat at her feet. It'd been more than a decade since she'd watched her soap operas. All My Children and One Life to Live, as well as life in Pine Valley and Landview had seemingly stood still. The principal characters hadn't aged, while their children were now adults with children of their own.

In a way, her life had paralleled a soap opera. She'd known the moment she saw Sean Gregory that she would one day become his wife. Perhaps it was because Sean was her brother's college roommate, or maybe it was because everyone claimed they were so well suited to each other.

They became engaged a week following his law school graduation and married a year before he threw his hat into the political ring, winning the seat his father had vacated in the previous election when he retired due to failing health. The elder Gregory lived long enough to witness his son being sworn in as a member of Congress before succumbing to a rare blood disorder. Elizabeth Deavers Gregory, who'd buried her husband and then her son, was now a recluse.

Although she and Sean had talked about starting a family, their timing was always off. And whenever Congress was in recess and Sean returned to Stamford it wasn't to spend time with his wife. Congressman Gregory's social calendar was filled with golf outings, yacht and lawn parties, backyard cookouts, and lunch and dinner meetings with constituents whom he could count on to back his reelection bid.

The chiming of Vivienne's cell phone interrupted her thoughts, and she reached down between the cushions of the sofa to answer it. “Hello.”

“I'd like to speak to Vivienne Neal.”

“This is she.”

“Ms. Neal, this is Caitlin Novak, and I'm calling to inform you that we would like to welcome you to ColeDiz International as our newest employee.”

Vivienne felt her stomach muscles contract. “Are you saying I'm hired?”

“That's exactly what I'm saying, Ms. Neal.”

“But…but you told me you had to check my references.”

“We will, but it's just that Mr. Cole-Thomas needs an assistant this coming weekend.”

Vivienne went completely still. “This weekend?” she repeated. “Are you talking about the day after tomorrow?”

“Yes, Ms. Neal. And, because we are dealing with such a short time frame, I suggest you pack whatever you'll need as quickly as possible. Mr. Cole-Thomas wants you ready to begin working Friday evening.”

She wanted to tell the personnel director that Mr. Cole-Thomas was fortunate because she only had to pack her clothes and personal items, but didn't. Her winter clothes, along with her furniture, were in a Connecticut warehouse.

“You'll receive a packet from a messenger service later this afternoon. He's been instructed to wait while you sign several documents we'll need to complete your employment process. I'm also including the name and number of a moving company that will transport your possessions to Mr. Cole-Thomas's house.”

Vivienne tried processing all that'd happened that morning. She'd been interviewed by a man who unsettled her more than she'd wanted to admit, hired four hours later and was expected to move in with him before the start of the weekend.

“Please let Mr. Cole-Thomas know that I'll move in tomorrow.”

There came a pause before Caitlin said, “I'm sorry, Ms. Neal, but that may prove to be a problem.”

There was something in the personnel director's voice that sounded ominous. “What kind of a problem?”

“Mr. Cole-Thomas expects you to move in today. If you require assistance packing, then I'll have someone come over and help you. Don't worry about moving supplies…”

“Kindly tell Mr. Cole-Thomas that it's impossible for me to move in today, even with assistance,” Vivienne said, interrupting the woman.

There was no way she was going to jump just because her so-called new boss asked her. After all, as an employee she did have rights. He'd probably fired her two predecessors because they weren't willing to give in to his unreasonable demands.

There was another pause on the other end of the line. “I'll let Mr. Cole-Thomas know that you won't be available until tomorrow.”

Vivienne managed a tight smile although Caitlin couldn't see her. “Thank you.”

She ended the call, fuming inwardly. The nerve of him! He wasn't a boss, but a tyrant. If, and she meant if, they were to have an association of any duration, then he would come to know that Vivienne Neal didn't frighten easily, nor had she ever been one to play fetch.

Within minutes her cell phone rang again; she recognized the number on the display. “I guess you've heard,” she said without her usual greeting.

“I can't believe he hired you so quickly,” Alicia said, her voice rising in excitement.

“He wants me to move in today,” she informed her friend.

“What's the problem, Viv? You only have to pack your clothes and books. I can run you over to his house when I get off.”

“That won't be necessary. He's arranged to have someone move my things.”

“Then what's the holdup? Don't you want this job?”

“Yes, I want it.”

“Then, act like you want it, Viv. You and I both know that returning to work is what you need to deal with your depression.”

Vivienne wanted to tell Alicia that she wasn't depressed, but angry. She'd allowed herself to become her mother—a trophy wife. She only visited D.C. when Sean was invited to state dinners or White House gatherings and when he needed her on his arm. In essence she'd become arm candy. She'd always been amused by the curious stares directed at her whenever Congressman Gregory introduced her as his wife. After a while she wondered if the men knew something she didn't. Did Sean have a mistress tucked away in D.C.? Had he fathered a secret love child—a child that should've been theirs?

“I am not depressed, Alicia.”

“Then, what are you? You tell me you're ready to go back to work and I've managed to hook you up with the perfect position. I know you don't need the money. However, I do need the commission.”

“Why didn't you tell me you needed money?” Vivienne asked her friend.

“I'm not broke, Viv. It's just that I don't want to use my personal funds to subsidize my business. The commission I'll get from ColeDiz will cover my office expenses for three months.”

She knew Alicia rented desk space in a posh Palm Beach office building. She claimed her clients were more amenable to her fees with an exclusive address. One thing she did know about Alicia Cooney was that she was terrified of being poor again. Instead of looking to marry well the second time, she'd decided to go into business for herself. Her staffing agency was small, but her elite clients afforded her a comfortable lifestyle, and Vivienne didn't want to do anything to jeopardize her friend's commission, so she decided to compromise.

“Call Caitlin Novak and tell her that I'll be ready to begin working tonight.”

Why, she mused when she ended the call, did it sound as if she'd made herself available for a rendezvous?

As promised, Diego sent two men over to pick up eight cartons containing her clothes, books and other personal items. Three hours later Vivienne came face-to-face with Diego Cole-Thomas for the second time that day. The man who stood in the foyer of his oceanfront Palm Beach condo looked nothing like the one who'd interviewed her earlier that morning. A white guayabera shirt had replaced his custom-made one. Jeans had replaced his Italian suit and a pair of sandals replaced his custom wing tips. She didn't know why, but a dressed-down Diego didn't appear as intimidating. But, that was not to say he would be any less difficult to deal with.

Stepping back, Diego extended a hand to the woman who stared up at him with narrowed eyes. He wondered what was going on behind her suspicious gaze. They were strangers, but he hoped that within a matter of days she would come to understand what he expected from her.

His new personal assistant looked nothing like the woman he'd interviewed that morning. She'd let down her hair and secured it in a ponytail that swept her shoulder blades. Diego was hard-pressed not to laugh out loud, something he rarely did. He'd hit the mother lode. Sean Gregory's widow was stunning. She was going to make an incredible hostess.

“Good evening, Vivienne. Please come in.”

She shook his hand. “Good evening, Mr. Cole-Thomas.”

Diego's eyebrows lifted slightly before a frown settled between his eyes. “All of my employees call me Diego, and I'd prefer you do the same.”

Vivienne wanted to ask him how many of his employees lived with him, but held her tongue. If she hoped to get along with her boss, then she had to temper her sarcasm. She forced a smile even though she didn't quite feel like it at that moment.

“Okay, Diego.” His eyebrows lifted again at the same time as the corners of his mouth inched up in amusement. “What's so funny?”

Diego's smile disappeared as quickly as it'd appeared. “Nothing,” he snapped quickly. “It's not often that I hear my name pronounced with a Spanish accent.”

“It is Spanish for James, isn't it?”

He nodded. “It is.” He released her hand. “Have you had dinner?”

It was Vivienne's turn to nod. “Yes, I have.”

“If that's the case, then let me show you to your bedroom, and then we'll sit down and talk about what I need from you.”

It was over quickly. The moment in which he'd almost smiled vanished, replaced with an expressionless, businesslike tone. How, Vivienne wondered, was she going to live under the same roof as her boss, yet maintain an impersonal relationship? It wasn't going to be easy—not when she had been hired to be his personal assistant and that meant getting to know him personally.

She followed him down a wide carpeted hallway with twenty-foot ceilings, recessed lights, pale walls and floors, quickening her stride to keep up with his longer legs. They passed rooms without walls and others with yawning spaces that gave the condo a sense of openness and the illusion that it was even more spacious than it actually was. A curving staircase led to a second story.

Diego lived in a secluded enclave with private roads, twenty-four-hour security and awe-inspiring views of the Atlantic Ocean. When she'd driven up to the gatehouse, she couldn't believe that she would spend the next six months waking up to the sound of pounding surf. The recently built condominium units began at seven figures, appropriate for the three-to five-thousand square feet of living spaces.

Vivienne wanted to linger a bit and examine the pieces of glass art and several large colorful paintings, but she would have time for that later. After all, she was expected to live in the duplex for the next six months. Her offer letter outlined a six-month position, renewable at the discretion of both parties. She'd also signed a nondisclosure agreement that she would be subject to litigation if she disclosed confidential information vital to ColeDiz International Ltd.

Diego stopped at the foot of the staircase. “Our bedroom suites are upstairs. My suite is on the left and yours is on the right. We share a balcony that faces the water. There's also another balcony outside the kitchen and dining area that overlooks the ocean.”

Vivienne stared at his broad back. “Are there any bedrooms on the first floor?”

Shifting slightly, Diego gave her a long, penetrating stare. It was the first time he'd noted any hesitation from his new personal assistant. “There's a den that can be easily converted into a guest suite when needed. Why?”

“Wouldn't it be better if…” Her words trailed off as he leaned closer and she inhaled the subtle scent of his cologne. Suddenly she felt as if he were too close to permit her to draw a normal breath. It had been a very long time since a man had overwhelmed her by occupying the same space. And, that man she'd married.

However, that would never happen with Diego Cole-Thomas. He was her boss, and she'd made herself a promise when she'd first entered the job market that office romances were a definite no-no. Several of the women at the investment firm where she'd worked had become involved with their bosses or coworkers, and most of the liaisons ended badly for them. Either they requested transfers or were reassigned to other positions. In most cases, the men were married and had no intention of leaving their wives and children.

“Say what you need to say, Vivienne,” Diego said, taunting softly. “After all, you had no problem telling me that I had on mismatched socks.”

Pinpricks of heat stung her cheeks. “Don't tell me you're going to be difficult because I had the nerve to remind the CEO of his wardrobe malfunction.”

“Difficult?” he repeated softly. “You really think I'm difficult?”

Vivienne lifted a shoulder under a loose-fitting yellow blouse she'd paired with black cropped pants. “If you're not, then why would you bring it up? You hired me to be your assistant—no, your personal assistant. And that means it's my job to make your life as stress-free as possible. If I have to check your socks every day, then so be it. I want you to keep in mind that I'm here to work, not play. I only asked about a bedroom on the first floor because I believe it would be more appropriate if we maintain some distance when it comes to our sleeping arrangements.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Diego angled his head and stared at Vivienne as if she'd taken leave of her senses. “Do you actually believe I'd try to compromise or take advantage of a female employee?”

“Did I say that?” she shot back defensively.

“You didn't have to, Vivienne. You implied—”

“Don't try and put words in my mouth, Diego. I don't have a problem saying what's on my mind, so let's get that straight right here, right now.”

Diego went completely still. Underneath the cool exterior of the woman with the haunting tawny-brown eyes was a quick temper and an even sharper tongue. “This will be the first and last time I'll permit you to talk to me in that tone.” Though spoken quietly, his words were as sharp and cutting as a razor.

“What tone do you want me to take with you, boss man?” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Diego couldn't believe Vivienne. It was apparent she either didn't need or want the position. But, he wasn't about to make it easy for her. “Are you trying to get fired?”

“No,” she countered, after a pregnant pause.

He leaned closer. “Then, what's with the attitude?”

“I didn't know I had one.”

“Well, you do,” Diego said.

Pressing her palms together, Vivienne bowed her head as if he were royalty. “Por favor perdone mi impertinencia, Señor Cole-Thomas.”

Diego didn't know whether to fire Vivienne Neal on the spot. His broad shoulders shook as he bit back laughter. If Vivienne was genuinely sorry for mouthing off at him, then he was the elusive Loch Ness Monster.

“Humility doesn't quite suit you, Ms. Neal.”

Vivienne wrinkled her nose, winking at the man who unsettled her, unsettled her more than she wanted to be. And, that was further exacerbated because she would've preferred her bedroom on the first floor rather than the second.

“I'm glad you noticed.”

Diego wanted to tell Vivienne that that wasn't the only thing he'd noticed about her. She claimed a refreshing natural beauty that hadn't come from a plastic surgeon's scalpel or a professional makeup artist. He estimated her to be around five-five or five-six, but it was her slimness that made her appear taller. If his interest in her was less of a professional nature, then he would've preferred her carrying at least ten to fifteen more pounds. Most of the women he dated usually wore a double-digit dress size, while many of the men in his family preferred tall, very slim women.

He sobered. “Now, are you ready to see what's upstairs?”

“You're not going to fire me?” Vivienne asked, answering his question with one of her own.

The seconds ticked off as they stared at each other. It was Diego who broke the silence. “No!” He turned and made his way up the staircase. “And if it'll make you feel safer at night I'll lock my bedroom door,” he said over his shoulder. “Or better yet, lock yours.”

She grunted as she followed him up the curving carpeted stairs. She didn't want to get fired but wanted to see how far she could push Diego, because Vivienne Kay Neal had no intention of becoming a doormat for the powerful CEO with the intimidating reputation.

“That won't be necessary,” she said to his back, “because I don't do bosses.”

Diego lifted his eyebrows as he glanced over his shoulder. “At least we're in agreement about two things. I don't do employees.”

“What's the other thing?”

“Your qualifications. You're exactly what I've been looking for.” He waited at the top of the stairs for Vivienne, who was oblivious to the significance of his statement.

They walked down a hallway wide enough for them to walk two abreast. Recessed lights reflected off the pale-veined marble floor that was only a shade lighter than the walls, which were covered with a fabric that resembled finely woven linen.

Diego stopped at the end of the hall where oceanfront windows and doors separated massive carved mahogany double doors that led to the bedroom suites. Resting his hands on the heavy brass doorknobs, he pulled them open to reveal a suite with a living room, dining area, sitting room and a bedroom with a king-size bed upholstered in cream-colored suede.

Vivienne walked into her suite as if in a trance. Diego had called it a bedroom suite, but it was more like an apartment. Her eight boxes, labeled with their contents, were lost in the enormous walk-in closet with enough shelves for Imelda Marcos's shoe collection and all of Cher and Elton John's flamboyant concert costumes.

“You like shoes,” Diego said softly behind her back.

She nodded. Half the boxes were labeled “Shoes,” while the others contained slacks, blouses, dresses, books and another with miscellaneous items. “Whenever I see a pair I like, I just have to have them.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Diego angled his head. He wanted to tell Vivienne that she was going to have to increase her wardrobe because his social agenda was as active as his business calendar. “Do you like shopping?”

Spinning around on the toes of her ballet-type shoes, Vivienne gave him a look mirroring puzzlement. “Shopping for what?”

“Clothes.”

“I've been known to melt the numbers on several of my credit cards with a marathon shopping spree. Why?”

A mysterious smile softened Diego's firm mouth. He'd found himself smiling more with Vivienne than he had in a very long time. The task of trying to balance his business dealings with his personal life had taken a toll on his sense of humor, something he'd been accused of lacking entirely.

“I'll tell you after I lay out my itinerary for the next few weeks,” he said cryptically.

“Which itinerary, Diego?”

“I only have one itinerary.”

With wide eyes, she said, “You mix business with personal?”

He inclined his head. “Most of the time they overlap.”

It was Vivienne's turn to cross her arms under her breasts, bringing Diego's gaze to linger there. She lowered her arms and sat on a leather-padded bench. “Do you expect me to accompany you to your meetings?”

He lifted his shoulders in a gesture that reminded her of her favorite Italian actor Giancarlo Giannini. Diego was tall and powerfully built, yet claimed a grace that was totally incongruent with a man his size. To say he was elegant was an understatement. He had the most beautiful hands and feet of any man she'd seen. His hands were slender with long, delicate fingers. There were no ragged cuticles or uneven nails, which attested to his being well-groomed.

“I'm going to require you being present at a few, only because I'd like to get another perspective on the proceedings. I'm starting a new venture and I'm going to need your input and feedback. And remember, everything we discuss is bound by the confidentiality statement you signed.”

Vivienne curbed the urge to roll her eyes at him. “I understand,” she said instead. Although she wanted to stay and examine the space where she would sleep, she also wanted to know her responsibilities.

Diego extended his hand, smiling when she placed her hand on his as he eased her gently to her feet. “You can check out the house later,” he said, reading her mind, “but what I want to discuss with you is a priority.”

Tilting her chin, she stared up at him staring back at her. There was an emotion lurking behind the raven-black eyes that caused a shiver to race along her spine. “What do you need me to do?”

“I don't need you to do anything except to accompany me to a wedding Saturday evening.”

A moment of apprehension rushed through Vivienne as she mentally replayed his statement. “You want me to be your date?” The last word was a whisper.

Nothing on Diego moved, not even his eyes. “For lack of a better word—yes, I want you to be my date.”

Her gaze dropped to his chin. Apprehension gnawed at her confidence as she tried to slow down the runaway beating of her heart. Diego Cole-Thomas hadn't hired her to keep his life in order, but to become a live-in call girl sans the sex.

“If I were a man, would you've asked me to be your date?”

He flashed a sensual smile. “No. I would've asked another woman.”

“If that's the case, then why don't you ask her?”

Diego increased his hold on Vivienne's hand before he tucked it into the bend of his elbow. “I'm trying to uncomplicate my life, Vivienne, not add to the craziness.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “So, you're using me to run interference with an old girlfriend?”

There came a beat. “There are no old girlfriends in my past, Vivienne.”

“If they're not old girlfriends, then what were they?”

“Acquaintances.”

“So, you're a love-'em-and-leave-'em kind of guy?” she whispered under her breath.

When Diego didn't respond to her taunt, Vivienne knew it wasn't because he couldn't, but because he'd chosen not to. She'd spent less than fifteen minutes with her new boss and she already knew that Diego Cole-Thomas was a very private person. If he lived alone it wasn't because he couldn't get a woman to live with him.

He was alone by choice.