- -
- 100%
- +
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.
Chapter 3
Vivienne sat on a chocolate-brown leather love seat in a room with a wall of pocket doors. They were open to take in the cooling breeze coming off the ocean.
She stared at Diego who sat in a matching club chair. This time, when he crossed his legs he hadn't had to concern himself with mismatched socks. Resting his elbow on the arm of the chair, he anchored his thumb under his chin and placed a forefinger along the side of his face.
She glanced around the room rather than focus on Diego staring at her as if he were a predator contemplating an attack. At that moment she was his prey, having signed an agreement to give him the next six months of her life and not to disclose any information about ColeDiz International Ltd.
Instinct told her that working closely with Diego wasn't going to be an easy task, yet she welcomed the challenge. It would help her to maintain her fluency in Spanish, sharpen her business skills and fill a six-month employment gap on her résumé. She wouldn't have resigned her position with the investment firm if Sean was still alive. But his death had become fodder for the tabloids, and it wasn't until he was buried with all of the reverence bestowed upon an elected official that her life resumed a semblance of normalcy.
“This room will become your office,” Diego said in a voice so quiet that Vivienne had to strain to hear him over the hypnotic sound of the crashing waves. “It can also double as a bedroom. The sofa converts to a queen-size bed.” His eyebrows lifted slightly when she glanced at the leather sofa that completed the seating grouping. “The alcove has a small utility kitchen with a mini fridge stocked with snacks and beverages. There's also a half bath on the other side of that door.” He pointed to a door at the opposite end of the room.
“The telephone has three extensions,” he continued. “The first one is the house phone and the second a direct line to my executive assistant, Lourdes Wallace.”
“And the third?” Vivienne asked when he hesitated.
“It's my direct line. All you have to do is press the button and the call will go to my private line at the office. If I don't pick up after four rings, then the call will be forwarded to my BlackBerry. I'll order a BlackBerry for you, so we'll be in sync.”
“If the house phone rings, how do you want me to answer it?”
“Cole-Thomas residence, Ms. Neal speaking, will suffice.”
Vivienne nodded, mentally filing away the information. “How are you going to explain me to your family when they call and I answer your telephone?”
Diego glared at her under lowered lids. “I don't explain myself to anyone—and that includes my family.”
“Well,” she said sotto voce.
“A cleaning service comes on Mondays and Thursdays.” He wagged a finger at her. “And that translates into you not lifting a finger to do any cleaning. I'm going to give you a remote device for your car that will allow you to come and go without being stopped by security.”
Vivienne smiled. “It's probably easier to get into Fort Knox than trying to get into this place.” She'd been stopped along the private road leading to the multimillion dollar condominiums by an armed uniformed guard a quarter of a mile from the gatehouse. He'd called in her name on his walkie-talkie, and it was only after she'd been cleared that she was allowed to continue.
“The residents pay through the nose for security.”
“Hiding behind armed guards and electronic gates is hardly what I call living, Diego.”
“It is to those who value their privacy.”
“And, are you one of those who value your privacy?”
“More than anything,” he confirmed. “That's one of the reasons why I hired you, Vivienne. You were married to a politician, so you know about discretion. Secondly, you're a recent widow and if we're seen together at a social event, then it lets both of us off the hook when I explain that our liaison is strictly business-related.
“Did you ever meet Sean?”
“Not personally. I was introduced to him at an NAACP fund-raiser in D.C. a couple of years ago.”
“Why were you in Washington?”
“I'm on the board of the local Florida chapter.”
“Is that the only board you're on?” Vivienne asked.
Diego exhaled an audible sigh. “No. At the present time I'm an active member on five boards, either as a consultant or a fund-raiser. I've earned quite a reputation by convincing many of my wealthier friends and family members to dig deep for a good cause.”
“Convince or intimidate?”
He waved a hand. “I use whatever works, Vivienne. You'll have a computer, so how you set up my schedule is your decision. Just make certain you send an update to Lourdes every day, and she'll do the same to avoid scheduling conflicts.”
“Other than Saturday's wedding, what else is pending?”
“The wife of a college friend is throwing him a surprise birthday party on Sunday. What he doesn't know is that it'll be aboard a yacht that will be a birthday gift from his in-laws.”
“You're kidding me?”
Smiling, Diego shook his head. “No, I'm not. His in-laws are in the oil business.”
“Apparently he doesn't have to concern himself with how much it'll cost to gas up that baby.”
“Do I detect a hint of cynicism?”
“Damn skippy, Diego,” she countered, glowering at him. “While most people have to decide whether to fill up their gas tanks to go to work, or cut back on food for their children some guy gets a yacht for his birthday because his outlaw in-laws reap untold oil profits.”
Vivienne's rant surprised Diego, especially since he knew she'd grown up in a privileged family. It'd taken Jacob Jones two hours to give him the information he'd requested on Vivienne Neal, and the information that had come through his BlackBerry was not what he'd expected. His friend had uncovered documents that Vivienne Kay Gregory, née Neal, was suing her husband Sean Bailey Gregory for divorce, citing abandonment and alienation of affection as grounds for the dissolution of their four-year marriage.
Jake had also reported that Vivienne's father had amassed a small fortune as a litigator specializing in civil rights cases. Her brother Vaughn, who'd attended Stanford Law with Gregory, lived on the West Coast with his wife and two school-age daughters. After graduating from an elite New England finishing school, Vivienne went on to Sarah Lawrence where she'd earned a degree in romance languages.
She'd taken a year off to live in Europe and upon her return she enrolled in a graduate program as an MBA student. Her grades and her father's reputation were crucial factors when she was hired by a major investment firm for their international banking division. A check on her financial and criminal background yielded nothing. She'd never been cited for a parking violation or bounced a check. Jake ended his report by concluding that Vivienne Neal was so clean, she literally squeaked.
Diego wanted to tell Vivienne that she could stop with the verbal beat down, because ColeDiz was into agriculture, but swallowed the words since he was certain it would only instigate another volley from her. Despite her sharp tongue, he respected her fierceness, her spunk. The last thing he needed was another assistant who was a crybaby. She'd asked whether he was going to fire her, but that wasn't going to happen unless she breached her contract.
What he didn't want to acknowledge was that his personal assistant was beyond his expectations. Whether in a tailored suit or casually dressed, with or without makeup, Vivienne Neal was confident, regal and claimed a strength that did nothing to compromise her femininity.
Pressing his palms together, he stared at her over his fingers. “May we please change the subject?” he asked.
Vivienne's head came up when she registered a deceptive calmness in Diego's voice that hadn't been evident before. “Sí, Diego, por favor continue.”
“I'd like us to take our evening meals together, so—”
“You expect me to cook dinner?”
“No, Vivienne,” he drawled as if she were a two-year-old. “Either we'll dine out, order in, or I'll cook. The refrigerator is always well stocked.”
“You cook?”
“Yes, I cook,” he shot back. “Now, will you please stop interrupting me?”
“Lo siento.”
Diego lowered his leg, planting his sandaled feet firmly on the carpeted floor. “No, Vivienne, you're not sorry.”
A hint of a smile parted her lips. “But, I am sorry. I promise not to say anything until you're finished.” She pantomimed zipping her lips.
Throwing back his head, Diego laughed, the warm, deep sound filling the room. “You know you're really a piece of work, Vivienne Neal.” She nodded vigorously, while pointing to her compressed lips, which made him laugh even more.
“Over dinner we'll discuss the next day's agenda.”
Vivienne listened intently, enthralled by the soft drawl of Diego's voice when he gave her an overview of his family-owned holdings, which included coffee plantations in Costa Rica, Mexico, Puerto Rico, Jamaica and Brazil. The family had expanded their agribusiness to include bananas in Belize, and as CEO he'd become a cotton broker with a Ugandan grower.
“The company's next venture will be based on the mainland,” he said. “It goes against everything my great-grandfather wanted when he first set up ColeDiz, but it's a new century and time for a change.”
“Where do you intend to start up this new venture?”
“South Carolina.”
“What's in South Carolina?” Vivienne asked.
“Tea.”
“Tea,” she repeated. Diego nodded. “You're going to grow tea in the United States?”
“Yes.” He stood up in one smooth motion, Vivienne rising with him. “We'll talk about this some other time. What I need you to do is concentrate on that stack of mail on the desk.”
Vivienne glanced over at the workstation with a large flat screen monitor on an L-shaped desk littered with envelopes. “What's in them?”
Diego bit back a smile. “I don't know. It'll be up to you to discern what's important and what isn't.” He sobered. “I know you probably want to get settled in, so I'll see you in the morning.”
Vivienne took several steps, and then stopped. “What time do you get up?” She knew she was on call 24/7. However, she wanted to establish a schedule with Diego that would minimize confusion.
“Five.”
“Why so early?”
Diego angled his head. “I'm in my office by six.”
Vivienne gave him an incredulous look. “You start working at six?” He nodded. “What about breakfast?”
“I usually grab something from the food kiosk in the building lobby.”
She rested her hands on her hips. “Haven't you heard that breakfast is the most important meal of the day?”
He frowned. “I don't have time to make breakfast.”
“Do you have an early-morning meeting tomorrow?”
“No. Why?”
“I'll get up earlier and make breakfast for you, but only if you promise to stay and eat it.”
The seconds ticked by as Diego stared at the woman who'd offered to get up at dawn to accommodate his unorthodox lifestyle, wondering if she'd done the same for her late husband. He recalled Jake Jones's e-mail about Vivienne's intent to divorce her husband because he'd neglected her—in and out of bed. What, he wondered, had happened to sour their short-lived union? He knew couples who'd been married five years and still acted like newlyweds.
“Thank you.”
Vivienne gave him a dazzling smile. “You're welcome. Good night, Diego,” she said as she turned and walked out of the office.
“¡Buenas noches! Vivienne,” he said to the empty room where she'd been.
To say Vivienne Neal was an enigma was an understatement. Born into privilege, she'd attended elite schools, traveled extensively, spoke several languages, was the widow of a high-powered politician, and now lived under his roof as his personal assistant.
Diego's expression grew serious. Alicia Cooney had told his personnel director that Vivienne Neal was perfect for the position, and Caitlin's reaction had been much the same. He'd found Vivienne highly intelligent, but extremely outspoken. Women with whom he'd found himself involved were usually more reticent.
But, he had to remind himself that despite living together their relationship would remain platonic. After all, he was her boss, and he had very strong views about mixing business with pleasure.
Vivienne walked into the suite that was to become her sanctuary for the next six months. It would be where she'd sleep, read or just while away the hours when she wasn't working for Diego Cole-Thomas.
Her first reaction to the CEO was one of apprehension because of his hard-charging reputation as a man who ran his family-owned corporation like a general directing a military campaign. But she'd discovered another side to the man who'd admitted to being less than perfect when he attributed his wearing mismatched socks to color blindness.
She didn't doubt whether she'd be able to manage Diego's business and personal agenda, because it was something she'd accomplished before. In her first year of marriage, she'd hosted Sean's meet-and-greets when he decided to run for his father's congressional seat. Although she'd held down a full-time job, she mailed out invitations, kept track of the responses, met with caterers to plan menus and florists to come up with arrangements that suited carefully thought-out themes. She'd become the consummate politician's wife. But in the end she'd become a political widow, flying to the nation's capital only when it was advantageous for her overly ambitious husband to be seen with his wife.
She'd shifted her focus from Sean to her career, occasionally traveling abroad as a translator. The trips to Italy, Spain or France became working holidays where she shopped, visited museums and attended the theater, enjoying productions of popular Broadway plays.
When she'd married Sean she'd hoped to balance her career with motherhood, but even that was denied her because whenever her husband returned to Connecticut they rarely shared a bed. And a stubborn pride wouldn't let her beg her husband to make love to her, so work became the balm to soothe his estrangement and her sexual frustration. When she'd called Alicia to complain about Sean, her college roommate suggested two options: divorce, or an affair. In the end she'd decided on the former.
Her bedroom suite—a suede headboard and bedframe, marble floor, rugs, drapes and wallpaper—was decorated in neutral shades. The monochromatic color scheme continued into the bath and sitting rooms. Vivienne fell in love with the bathroom. Mirrored walls, custom moiré wall covering and cappuccino-colored onyx stone around the garden tub and countertops provided a striking contrast to the soft beige tones in an adjoining powder room. She found it odd that although Diego lived alone he'd purchased the top two floors, doubling his living space. All of the furnishings were tasteful, and there was no doubt he'd had it professionally decorated.