Secret Agenda

Secret Agenda
Rochelle Alers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Dear Reader,

Many of you have asked about the extended family and friends of the Coles, who were first introduced in Hideaway. My response is Secret Agenda. This latest novel continues the ongoing Hideaway Legacy series, with Diego Cole-Thomas taking center stage in this romance.

Stranger in My Arms provided a glimpse of Diego when he assumed control of ColeDiz International, Ltd. But as CEO of a privately held conglomerate, he takes the company in a new direction with its first stateside venture. However, when his business commitments conflict with his many social obligations, he hires recently widowed Vivienne Neal as his personal assistant. He is awed by her sensual beauty, intelligence and social grace, and Vivienne becomes his stand-in date and constant companion.

But when Vivienne finds herself doing double duty as a personal secretary and social escort to the CEO, who is well-known for his brusque manner and intimidating reputation, she doesn't realize until it's almost too late that she needs him to do more than just satisfy her long-denied sexual passion. Pursued by an assassin who will stop at nothing to retrieve her late husband's little black book, Vivienne must rely on the only man who can protect her from harm and restore her faith in love.

I invite you to join Diego and Vivienne on their journey of passion and intrigue, an adventure that will test their willingness to risk it all.

Yours in romance,

Rochelle Alers

Contents

PART ONE

Diego Cole-Thomas ColeDiz International Ltd.

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

PART TWO

Vivienne Kay Neal

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

PART ONE

Prologue

James McGhie turned the key in the ignition of the stolen car, and put the heat on its highest setting. Despite wearing a pair of his mama's hand-knit woolen gloves, his fingers were beginning to stiffen up from the cold. He knew sitting in a car with the engine running was certain to draw attention, but he wasn't going to risk the freezing weather, because then he would have to explain to Mrs. McGhie why her precious baby boy—as she referred to him—had frostbite. There were some things he told Mama but many more things he didn't. James realized there were hazards to his job, but losing a digit or two was not in his game plan.

He'd sat patiently waiting for his target to reappear, but the frigid D.C. temperature made his wait very uncomfortable. He took a quick glance at his watch. Forty minutes had passed since U.S. Representative Sean Gregory entered the bank across the street from where he sat in an old black sedan.

He sat up straighter, one hand going to the earpiece. “I just spotted him.”

“Where is he, Jimmy?” asked the gravelly voice in his ear.

“He just came out of the bank near the Dupont Circle Metro.”

“Stay with him.”

The man who'd been trained by the country's best intelligence agency peered through a pair of binoculars, his gaze fixed on his target. He'd spent days waiting for the brash young politician to leave his Georgetown town house. The day before, McGhie had gone to the town house but Gregory's housekeeper had told him her employer wasn't feeling well and wasn't receiving visitors. But from the looks of the nattily dressed man sauntering down the street, he appeared to be the picture of health. Everything about him—his cashmere topcoat and expensive, tailored dark suit—reeked of arrogance, and that included his walk.

“He just got into his car,” James whispered into the microphone under his jacket lapel.

“Follow him for a couple of blocks, and then we'll take over.”

He followed the late-model Lexus sedan until a black Ford Crown Victoria smoothly maneuvered in front of his bumper several yards ahead. He'd done what he'd been instructed to do and now the rest was up to the men in the Crown Vic. Personally, he liked the Connecticut congressman. But he couldn't afford to let his personal feelings interfere with completing his assignment.

He'd been instructed to follow Congressman Gregory and report back when he was alone. If the men who were hired to take out Sean Gregory didn't find what they were looking for on him, then it was up to McGhie to break into the congressman's home and search for the little book that could become a huge political scandal.

James sat in a well-worn recliner watching CNN, while enjoying his second beer after several helpings of his mother's delicious lamb stew. He'd stopped off to have dinner with her, leaving with enough plastic containers filled with leftovers to last him for several days, before retreating to his sanctuary—a furnished studio apartment in a middle-class D.C. neighborhood.

He turned up the volume on the remote when the program he had been watching was interrupted for a breaking news story. An obviously grief-stricken Speaker of the House announced that Connecticut Congressman Sean Gregory had succumbed to injuries he'd sustained in a hit-and-run earlier that morning as he'd stepped out of his car only yards from his Georgetown residence.

The camera shifted to a scene outside the town house where the media, police, the crime scene unit and a crowd of onlookers had gathered. The television reporter announced that the late congressman's wife, who'd flown in from Stamford, Connecticut to attend a fund-raiser, was unaware that her husband had been fatally injured until she arrived at their home. A spokesperson for the Gregory family reported Vivienne Gregory was too distraught to talk to the press.

Cursing under his breath, James pressed a button on the remote and turned off the television. Vivienne Gregory's decision to make a visit to D.C. had changed everything. His cell phone rang seconds later and he answered it before the third ring.

“Yeah,” he drawled, dispensing with any pretense of being polite. While he detested the man who'd paid him to do his dirty work, it was his voice that he hated even more.

“He didn't have the book on him, and with the little wife in town it means that you have to figure out another way to get into—”

“I know it changes everything,” he said testily, interrupting the caller on the other line. The man who he took his orders from had messed up—big-time! In his attempt to eliminate the popular congressman they'd forgotten about his wife. They were lucky if Gregory took what he knew to his grave. If not, then whatever Gregory had uncovered was certain to rock Capitol Hill to its venerable core.

The young woman who'd befriended Gregory's chief-of-staff had told James that the congressman carried a small leather-bound notebook at all times—a notebook James's boss suspected contained the names of other congressional members who'd received kickbacks on government contracts in their districts. Another source at the Justice Department revealed that Gregory had requested and had been given immunity if he informed on those “on the take.”

The well-orchestrated hit-and-run had eliminated Sean Gregory, but finding the snitch's little black book was now a priority for James McGhie. After the police completed their investigation, he would have to break into the town house, look for the book and then leave without a trace.

Chapter 1

Six months later…

“You'd be perfect for the position as Diego Cole-Thomas's personal assistant, Viv.”

Vivienne Neal stared intently at her old college roommate, her expression impassive. Alicia Cooney was the only person she let call her Viv. To everyone else she was Vivienne. Suddenly a smile began to curl around Vivienne's mouth, her lips parting and displaying a set of perfectly aligned white teeth. “That's what you said about my last interview, which I'm embarrassed to say was a miserable failure.”

Alicia's eyebrows lifted in surprise. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd seen her friend smile in the two months since Vivienne had moved to Florida. Vivienne's expression softened, revealing her delicate features, cinnamon-brown complexion, a round face with high cheekbones, a delicate chin, sensual mouth and tawny-colored eyes that had a slightly startled look.

“It wasn't because you weren't qualified. The wife of your potential employer saw you as a threat. The difference here is Diego Cole-Thomas doesn't have a wife.”

Vivienne's smiled vanished quickly. “I am not a home wrecker. And if that had been my intent, I certainly wouldn't have been with a man who's more than twice my age.”

“Charles Willingham isn't your average run-of-the-mill, thrice-married, sixty-nine-year-old letch. I heard somewhere that he likes to pinch his female employees' behinds. He gets away with it because if they complain, he either pays them off or he marries them. It helps that he's one of the wealthiest men on Florida's Gold Coast.”

Vivienne waved a hand. “I didn't let him get close enough to touch me and I could care less about his money.”

Alicia rolled her vivid emerald-green eyes upward. “That's because you never had to concern yourself with money, unlike me who grew up dirt-poor. If I hadn't been blessed with brains and this face and body,” she drawled while waving her hand in front of her chest, “I'd still be slinging hash in a diner like my sisters, mother and grandmother. Luckily, I learned early on how to capitalize on my assets,” Alicia continued, so matter-of-factly that Vivienne knew it wasn't a boast.

She smiled again. Alicia had used her brains and her physical assets to her advantage when she attended college on full scholarship and succeeded in marrying a first-round NBA draft pick. Petite, blond, green-eyed Alicia Cooney had caught the eye of Rhames Tyson during freshman orientation, and dated him exclusively throughout college much to the consternation of many of the African-American coeds. A week before graduation, Rhames signed a multimillion-dollar contract with a California pro basketball team, when Alicia informed him that she was pregnant with his child.

Vivienne was Alicia's maid of honor in a wedding that became a media spectacle. But Alicia's Cinderella marriage ended when her husband insisted on driving—although his blood alcohol level exceeded the legal limit—totaling his six-figure import. He also shattered both knees, which ended his pro ball career. Alicia lost the baby and Vivienne invited her friend to stay with her and recuperate from the physical and emotional injuries. Less than a year after exchanging vows, Alicia filed for divorce, moved to Florida and set up an executive staffing agency.

Now, their situations were reversed. After losing Sean, Vivienne decided to list their mausoleum of a house in an exclusive, upscale gated community in Stamford, Connecticut with a real estate agent. She put the contents of the house in storage and moved to West Palm Beach, Florida, to stay with Alicia until she figured out what she wanted to do with her life. Her parents had wanted her to move in with them, but at thirty-one she didn't want to be treated like a child again. She'd fought too hard for her independence to now relinquish it to her overbearing mother.

She ran a hand over her straightened dark-brown hair with reddish highlights. It was longer than it had been in years. Sean had been dead six months and she had to pull herself out of her funk.

“Tell me about Diego Cole-Thomas before I agree to an interview.”

Alicia crossed her bare feet at the ankles as she lay back on the cushioned chaise on the lanai. “I happen to know him better than most of my clients,” she began.

“You've dated him?” Vivienne asked.

“I wish,” Alicia countered. “Unfortunately our interaction has always been professional. His company's HR will usually contact me whenever they're looking to fill a position. I'm surprised they contacted me again, because you'll be the third applicant I've referred to ColeDiz International over the past four months.”

Vivienne's gaze narrowed. “What happened to the other two?”

“One lasted about a week before Diego sent her packing and the other lasted a month before he was terminated. Both were supposed to be on call, but whenever he needed them they either were unavailable or didn't know how to organize his social and business schedule.”

“And, what makes you think I'll be more successful than the other two?”

“You were the wife of a congressman so you're familiar with the demands of a high-powered man. Plus you have a business background and you're also bilingual. The position is for six months and pays extremely well. You won't…” Alicia's words trailed off as she averted her gaze to stare at a tiny lizard crawling up the screen.

“I won't what?” Vivienne asked, leaning forward on her lounger.

“You'll have to make yourself available 24/7. Diego's an international businessman, so if he's up at two in the morning talking to someone on the other side of the world he may need his assistant to be available, too.”

“So, I'd become a live-in personal assistant?”

“Yes,” Alicia said after a long pause. “I'm certain he'll hire you because you're confident and assertive. He fired the first applicant because she locked herself in the ladies' room, and refused to come out after he'd reprimanded her.”

Vivienne knew her friend made a living from the fees clients paid Alicia's placement agency. But lately, Vivienne found herself tired of sleeping late and hanging around the pool bemoaning the turn her life had taken. No one other than her attorney knew at the time of her husband's death that she'd planned to divorce Sean Gregory anyway. She'd told the reporter who'd managed to get around the police barricade that she'd come to Washington to attend a fund-raiser with Sean. But, the truth was she'd come to tell her husband that her attorney had filed documents to end their four-year sham of a marriage.

She sat up. “Set up the interview, Alicia.”

“Yes,” Alicia whispered as she pumped her fist in the air. Her company had grown from placing nannies and au pairs with wealthy couples who were either too lazy or disinclined to care for their own children, to providing executive and support staff for several Florida-based companies, of which ColeDiz International Ltd. was one.

When she'd heard that her friend had lost her husband, she hadn't hesitated when she booked a flight to Connecticut to be with Vivienne. The public viewed Vivienne Gregory as the beautiful grieving widow of one of Washington's young rising stars. But it wasn't the loss of her husband Vivienne grieved most, but that of a marriage that'd ended before it had a chance to begin. She'd been a political widow four years before she legally became one.

Diego Cole-Thomas closed the shades to shut out the blinding rays of the summer sun before taking his seat at a round table in the anteroom of his office with his cousin and confidant. He'd asked Joseph Cole-Wilson Jr. to meet with him over breakfast because he wanted to discuss a venture that was certain to change the family-owned conglomerate forever.

Diego had celebrated his first year as CEO in April, and it'd taken twelve months to gain the complete confidence of his employees, managers and board of directors to move the company in another direction. Diego's great-grandfather, Samuel Claridge Cole, had set up the company in 1925, and more than eighty years later not much had changed. The board of directors was expanded to include nonfamily members, but every CEO was a direct descendant of Samuel Cole. Martin and David, sons of Samuel, held the position before Diego's father Timothy Cole-Thomas took over the helm. He was now the fourth generation and fifth chief executive officer of a company with holdings that included coffee plantations in Mexico, Jamaica, Puerto Rico and Brazil, vacation properties throughout the Caribbean and banana plantations in Belize.

His first action upon assuming control was to become a cotton broker. He paid cash on delivery to a Ugandan cotton grower, making ColeDiz the biggest family-owned agribusiness in the United States.

Ignoring the cup of coffee next to him, Diego stared at Joseph. He knew his cousin was still smarting because he'd requested the eight o'clock meeting the day the corporate attorney was scheduled to begin a two-week vacation with his longtime girlfriend.

“What I want to tell you will not take much of your time.”

“Gracias, primo,” Joseph whispered in Spanish under his breath.

A slight frown was the only indication of Diego's annoyance with his younger cousin for the unsolicited aside. He'd brought the twenty-eight-year-old into the company, but after five months Joseph still hadn't shown any initiative. If their grandmothers hadn't been sisters, Diego would've fired him his first week on the job.

Even though his last name was Wilson, Joseph's looks were undeniably Cole. He'd inherited Marguerite-Josefina Diaz-Cole, his Cuban-born great-grandmother's, olive coloring and refined features. His close-cropped curly black hair, large dark eyes and sensual mouth had many of the single female employees openly lusting after him. However, once word got out that he was dating a girl he'd met in law school, a collective groan could be heard from his admirers.

“I wanted to tell you before you leave that ColeDiz will establish its first American-based company before the end of the year.”

Joseph sat forward in his chair. “What about the coffee plantation in Lares, Puerto Rico?”

Diego inclined his head. “I should've said a company on the mainland.”

“¿Dónde sobre la tierra firme, Diego?”

Diego's expression didn't change. “Carolina del Sur.” The only time he spoke Spanish at the office was when he and Joseph were alone. His mother didn't speak the language, but his abuela Nancy spoke only Spanish whenever he and his siblings visited with her. Nancy Cole-Wilson never wanted him to forget his African and Cuban roots.

“What the hell is in South Carolina?”

Planting an arm on the table, Diego cradled his chin on the heel of his hand. “Tea.”

Joseph's eyes grew wide. “Tea?” he repeated.

“Sí, primo. Té. ColeDiz is going to get into the business of growing and manufacturing tea, and I'm going to put you in charge of our first North American venture.”

The light that fired the jet-black orbs dimmed. “I know nothing about tea. I'm a lawyer, not a farmer, Diego.”

“I'm not a farmer, yet I know the entire process of growing and harvesting coffee and bananas.”

Joseph wasn't about to argue with his cousin, because he knew he would come out on the losing end. So, he decided to try another approach. “Isn't tea only grown in Asia?”

Diego lifted his eyebrows. “That's what most people believe. But, there's only one tea garden or plantation in America, and it's on Wadmalaw Island in the South Carolina low country.”

“Where do you plan on setting up this plantation?”

“I had someone buy a hundred acres between Kiawah and Edisto Islands. When you return from your vacation I want you to negotiate the transfer of the property to ColeDiz. We'll put in the tea shrubs late fall and hopefully we'll be able to get our first harvest next spring and the second harvest in the summer. And if the warm weather holds throughout the winter, then we can expect another harvest.”

Joseph stared at the man who looked enough like their great-grandfather Samuel to have been his twin. And, the family joke was that Diego was as driven as the man who was known as the consummate twentieth-century deal maker.

“Should I assume that you don't want anyone to know about the venture until you begin planting?”

Diego nodded. “You assume correctly.”

“Have you run this by the rest of the family?”

Silence shrouded the room, swelling in intensity as the two men continued their stare-down. Diego blinked once. “Enjoy your vacation, Joseph.”

The younger man pushed to his feet. His cousin had just unceremoniously dismissed him. “I will.” That said, he turned on his heels and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Joseph liked that he'd become part of the family-owned company, but it wasn't easy with Diego as his boss. Diego worked nonstop and expected everyone else to do the same.

He walked down carpeted hallway to the elevator in the luxury office building. Joseph wanted to tell Diego that he didn't need to set up another company. What he needed was a woman to make him aware that there was a world and life beyond ColeDiz International Ltd.

Diego stared blankly, focusing on the space where his cousin had been, his mind working overtime in anticipation of setting up a new venture. Despite being a brilliant corporate attorney, Joseph was not a risk taker. He didn't want to get into farming when in fact it was farming that afforded him his opulent lifestyle, much to the delight of his social-climbing girlfriend. Now, if Joseph worked as hard as he played there would be no doubt he would become CEO if or when Diego decided to relinquish the title and the responsibilities that went along with running the company. Their great-grandfathers, Samuel Cole and José Luis Diaz, for whom Joseph was named, were farmers. Farming had made the Coles one of the wealthiest, if not the wealthiest, black family in the States.

Reaching for his fork, he speared a chunk of fresh pineapple. He ate slowly, finishing his breakfast, which included freshly squeezed orange juice, sliced pineapple and black coffee. He'd just touched the napkin to his mouth when the intercom rang.

Recognizing the extension on the display, Diego pressed a button on the telephone console. “Yes, Caitlin.”

“Good morning, Diego. I have someone in my office I want you to meet. Her name is Vivienne Neal and I believe she would be perfect for the position as your personal assistant. Are you available to meet with her now?”

He wanted to tell the head of human resources that she'd said the same thing about the other two candidates, but held his tongue because Caitlin had him on speaker. “Yes.”

“I'm faxing you her résumé as we speak and I'll bring her around in about fifteen minutes.”

Once he'd taken over control of ColeDiz, his respect for his father increased appreciably. He didn't know how Timothy Cole-Thomas had managed both business and social obligations without them overlapping until Timothy disclosed that his stay-at-home wife, Nichola, had become his social secretary and personal assistant. Nichola checked with his personal secretary every day to make certain dinner meetings, fund-raisers or family get-togethers did not conflict. Unlike his father, Diego didn't have a wife, so he'd decided to hire a personal assistant.

He cleared the table of his breakfast, slipped on his suit jacket and tightened his tie. Removing the pages from the tray of the fax machine, he'd glanced over Vivienne Neal's résumé, Googled her name and was standing behind his desk when Caitlin escorted her into his office. Caitlin nodded, smiling, and closed the door behind her.

Vivienne felt her heart stop, her breath catching in her chest for several seconds before she was able to breathe normally. She'd used Alicia's computer to bring up what she could on ColeDiz International Ltd., but uncovered very little about the company's CEO. The Coles, like many wealthy families, kept a low profile. Their names appeared in the press only when linked to a business deal or charitable event. They also were fortunate to have lived their lives relatively free of gossip and scandal.

The man standing with his back to floor-to-ceiling windows spanning the width of the expansive room appeared to have been carved out of stone. He was tall, broad-shouldered and it'd only taken a single glance to recognize the exquisite cut and fabric of his suit. However, it wasn't his clothes that drew her rapt attention, but his face.

He rounded the desk and she saw up close the lean, angular sable-brown face with large, deep-set dark eyes that glowed with confidence under black sweeping eyebrows. Chiseled cheekbones, a straight nose with slightly flaring nostrils and a strong, firm mouth and cleft chin completed the undeniably male image that was Diego Samuel Cole-Thomas.

Diego approached, right hand extended. “Good morning, Ms. Neal.”

Vivienne felt a slight shock race up her arm when Diego's hand captured hers. She inclined her head. “Mr. Thomas.”

“It's not Thomas, but Cole-Thomas.”

Vivienne's eyebrows lifted slightly with his terse response. Oh, that's what you're all about? she mused. Mr. Cole-Thomas was the personification of an egotist. She inclined her head again, the gesture conveying her apology. “I stand corrected, Mr. Cole-Thomas.”

A slight frown appeared between Diego's eyes. Vivienne Neal's body language said one thing and her facetious apology another. It was apparent the woman applying for the position as his personal assistant was not only beautiful and tastefully dressed, but also not easily intimidated, which meant she wouldn't dissolve into tears the way her predecessor had. Cupping her elbow, he led her into the anteroom where he held informal meetings. Instead of sitting at the round table, he directed her to sit in a tan leather chair, seated her, then sat in a matching facing chair.

Diego forced himself not to stare at the long shapely legs under the pencil skirt that was part of a navy-blue linen suit that Vivienne had paired with a white silk blouse and stylish blue-and-white spectator pumps. Aside from the pearl studs in her ears, her only other jewelry accessory was a gold band with three rows of diamonds on the middle finger of her right hand. While it was impossible to ascertain the length of her hair, which she'd pinned up in a French twist, it'd only taken a single glance to conclude that Vivienne Neal was no ordinary personal assistant, possessing the style and elegance of a wealthy woman.

“Aunque no conocí a su marido, me gustaría extender mis condolencias sobre su muerte prematura.”

“Gracias, Señor Cole-Tomas.” Vivienne replied fluidly in the same language.

She wondered if Diego had offered his condolences on the death of her husband in Spanish to confirm that she was as fluent as her résumé indicated, having held a position translating financial contracts with a leading international investment firm.

A hint of a smile parted her lips. “Did I pass the test?”

Diego crossed one leg over the opposite knee and pressed his forefinger alongside his face, in a gesture that reminded her of a famous image of Malcolm X. “At least I know you understand Spanish.”

Vivienne felt a shiver of annoyance snake its way up her spine. She wanted to tell Diego Cole-Thomas that she didn't need the position as much as she needed a diversion, something to keep her mind occupied. With the proceeds from the sale of the house in Connecticut and as sole beneficiary of Sean's life insurance, it wasn't necessary for her to secure immediate employment.

Even before they were married, she'd told her fiancé that she had no intention of living year-round in the nation's capital. But that didn't stop Sean from spending a great deal of his time in Georgetown, because he'd believed that she would eventually change her mind and live with him in D.C. when the House was in session. Vivienne had proven him wrong, including the period leading up to his untimely death.

Her accountant recommended that she hold on to the Georgetown property, so she'd rented it fully furnished to a couple who wanted to use the first floor for their architectural and interior design business and the two upper floors as personal living space.

She'd dropped out of sight for six months, playing the role of a grieving widow. The police still hadn't found the car or the driver responsible for the hit-and-run that left her late husband fatally injured. But the officer assigned to the case informed her it would remain open.

Vivienne blinked once. “I understand, speak and write Spanish. I'm also fluent in French and Italian.” There was just a hint of boastfulness in her tone.

She glared at the arrogant man who seemed to challenge her without saying a word. If he wanted a personal assistant who was fluent in Spanish, then she was it. But, if he thought he was going to intimidate her with veiled challenges to her competence, then she wasn't the one for the job.

However, she was forced to admit that everything about Diego exuded power and breeding, from his well-groomed hair to the soles on his imported shoes. A slight frown touched her brow. It could've been the light, but there was something very wrong with his socks. Realization dawned. He was wearing one blue and one brown sock with his dark blue pin-striped suit and black leather wing tips.

“Are you aware that you're wearing two different color socks?”

Diego lowered his leg, lifted the hem of his trousers and stared at his feet. “The laundry service must have mismatched them.”

“You're color-blind.” Her question was a statement.

“Yes.”

“Do you see red and green?”

“Yes,” Diego admitted. “It's the blues and yellows I have a problem differentiating.”

The seconds ticked off as he continued to regard the woman who sat separated from him by less than five feet. There was something about Vivienne Neal he liked—and it had nothing to do with her face or body. She was professional and straightforward, and he doubted if another prospective employee would've pointed out the fact that his socks were mismatched.

“You're more than qualified for the position, given your education and work experience,” Diego said quietly, in the drawling cadence of one who'd grown up in the South. “But the fact remains that I've hired two personal assistants with similar credentials and I've had to let them go.”

Vivienne smiled for the first time. The expression shocked Diego as he sat up straighter. Her smile was as sensual as the rest of her. “Perhaps the third time will be the charm.”

Diego nodded, praying she had more going for her than her pretty face and killer body. “Let's hope you're right, Ms. Neal. Our human resources department will contact you with my decision once they verify your references.” Rising from his chair, he extended his hand and pulled Vivienne gently to her feet. What could pass for a smile softened his mouth. “Thanks for the heads-up on my socks.”

She gave him an open, warm smile for the first time. “You're welcome.”

He released her hand. “Someone from security will escort you to your car.”

Vivienne walked to the door, feeling the heat from Diego's gaze behind her. Even if she hadn't impressed him, she knew her résumé had. And, it wasn't until she was seated in her rental car, driving back to Alicia's house that she admitted to herself that she wanted the position as Diego Cole-Thomas's personal assistant—not because she viewed the position as a challenge, but because the man with whom she would work was the real challenge.

Diego lost track of time as he rested his feet on the corner of his desk, staring out the wall of glass facing the West Palm Beach skyline. Twice he'd reached for the telephone receiver and both times he'd stopped himself. He didn't know what it was, but there was something so inexplicably seductive about Vivienne Neal—a sensuality he'd never encountered in any woman whom he'd met or been involved with.

She was well-spoken, appropriately dressed for an interview and conducted herself professionally. However, she had exhibited a haughtiness when he'd questioned her about her ability to read, write and speak Spanish, and he'd been forthcoming when he told Vivienne that she was overqualified. However, he didn't need her to translate contracts, because there were attorneys and paraprofessionals on staff who were well versed in languages and legal terms to do that. What he needed from Vivienne was strictly personal.

Lowering his feet, he swung around, picked up the telephone receiver and tapped an extension. It was rare that Diego made direct contact with any of his managers. He usually left that task to Lourdes Wallace, his secretary, or as she preferred—executive assistant.

“Human Resources, Caitlin Novak speaking.”

The corners of Diego's mouth inched upward. Within three months of taking over as CEO, he'd instituted subtle changes that he'd believed were a long time coming. At a staff meeting the employees were informed that whenever they answered the telephone they were to identify their department and themselves, giving their full names. An incident involving a representative from an overseas bank, who was placed on hold indefinitely, had become the impetus for the mandate.

“Caitlin, this is Diego. I want you to contact Ms. Neal and let her know that she's hired.”

A slight gasp came through the earpiece. “But, I haven't checked her references.”

“You can check her references later. I need her for this weekend. I want you to messenger an official offer letter. Also, make arrangements to have her clothes and whatever else she'll need delivered to my house.”

There came a pause before Caitlin spoke again. “Is there anything else, Diego?”

“I can't think of anything right now. Thank you, Caitlin.”

“You're welcome.”

It was done. He'd hired the widow of one of Washington's rising political stars to become his personal assistant. Now, he had to make one more call—this to confirm if Vivienne Neal was qualified to function as his personal hostess, also.

Diego dialed a number that went directly to voice mail. “Jacob, this is Diego. I need you to find out what you can on a Vivienne Kay Neal Gregory. She happens to be Sean Gregory's widow. Please get back to me before Friday. Later.”

He hung up feeling more relaxed than he had in months. It wouldn't take weeks or even days to find out whether Vivienne Neal was suited for the position as his personal assistant. However, she would be put to the test this upcoming weekend. Face, body, intelligence and experience aside—he would let her go as quickly as the two before her.

Chapter 2

“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.

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.

Vivienne glanced at her watch. It was close to ten. She knew she had to unpack a few of the boxes tonight to select something to wear to bed and for the following day. And, she'd also promised Alicia that she would call with an update. Looking around, she realized she'd left her handbag on the table in the foyer.

Retracing her steps, she made her way down the staircase and across the darkened living room to the foyer. A lamp on the table provided enough light for her to see her handbag. She'd just reached for it when a voice stopped her.

“Quitting already?”

Spinning on her toes, she saw a shadow. Then Diego stepped into the light. Why, she mused, hadn't she noticed the stubble on his lean jaw when they'd sat together in the office? He moved closer, and the lingering fragrance of his cologne mingling with his body's natural scent was a potent sensual bouquet that served to remind her how long she'd been without a man.

“No, I'm not.” Her voice was low, as if she'd run a grueling race. “I came down to get my handbag.” There came a beat before she asked, “What are you doing lurking around in the dark?”

Diego took another step, bringing him within inches of the woman who intrigued him and upset his equilibrium. “I didn't know I needed your approval to set the alarm. After all, I don't want to be responsible for not protecting my houseguest.”

She smiled. “I thought I was your employee.”

He returned her smile. “Eso, también, Vivienne.”

She froze. It was the first time Diego had initiated speaking Spanish to her. “Houseguest and employee,” she drawled. “Now, which one carries more clout?”

“I would have to say employee. My houseguests usually have to fend for themselves, while I take full responsibility for my employees.”

Vivienne met the dark gaze that seemingly bored into her. She'd attempted to conceal her own feelings behind a sometimes too-bright smile and witty repartee. She'd kept up a brave front for four years, and continued the deception when she was photographed as the grieving widow.

“Lucky me.” She wiggled her fingers. “¡Buenas noches!”

“Good night, Vivienne.”

Diego waited until he was certain Vivienne had made it up the staircase, then he followed the trailing scent of her perfume. The fragrance was like the woman herself—delicate and sexy.

But, it wasn't her face, perfume or body that nagged at him hours later when he found himself in bed tossing and turning restlessly. It was Jake's e-mail and the part about Vivienne's divorce action. If Sean Gregory hadn't been killed in a hit-and-run, then everyone would've known that he wasn't sleeping with his wife. And, the question was, if Congressman Sean Gregory wasn't sleeping with his wife, then who had he been sleeping with?

Diego peered at the clock on the bedside table at the same time as he punched the pillow under his head. It was two in the morning and he wasn't going to get much sleep this night—if any, and he knew the reason for his insomnia was a woman who slept in a suite next to his.

Tossing back the sheet, he moved off the bed. Walking on bare feet to the windows, Diego slid back the glass door and screen. The light from a nearly full moon cast an eerie silvery light on the beach. The damp ocean air swept over his naked body. His flesh pebbled, although the nighttime temperatures were in the seventies. The humidity was as thick and heavy as a wet blanket.

He went to the far end of the balcony and peered over the edge. Strategically placed lights surrounding the rear of the building and the moon provided enough illumination for him to see a couple sitting close to each other on the beach. He smiled. It was apparent he wasn't the only one unable to sleep.

Diego saw movement out the corner of his eye and turned to see Vivienne rise from a chair at the opposite end of the balcony. Time appeared to stand still; she was bathed in moonlight, the outline of her body visible through the lightweight fabric of her nightgown. Within seconds his body reacted violently, the flesh between his thighs stirring to life. Gritting his teeth, he swallowed a curse.

He couldn't remember the last time his body hadn't followed the dictates of his brain. Unable to move, and helpless to stop the blood rushing to his groin, Diego closed his eyes and waited, waited for the shadowy image of Vivienne's slender body to fade. When he opened his eyes he saw that he was alone. Vivienne had retreated to her bedroom, while he had to wait a little while longer before he could do the same.

Breathing heavily, Diego lay facedown on the bed. Shivers of self-doubt taunted him as he chided himself for not only hiring Vivienne Neal but also for mandating that a condition of her employment was that she had to be a live-in personal assistant.

He knew he hadn't made a mistake in hiring her, but in having her in the bedroom next to his. It was apparent Vivienne was more aware than he was of the proximity of their sleeping arrangement when she'd asked whether there were bedrooms on the first floor.

Cursing under his breath in English and Spanish, Diego punched a pillow with enough force to release the feathers from their casing. His plan to utilize his personal assistant's skills as his hostess had just backfired. He'd prided himself on his iron-willed self-control when it came to women. Yet he had found himself fully aroused when he'd glimpsed the outline of her body through a layer of fabric.

“I don't do bosses.” He could still hear Vivienne's taunting voice.

“And I don't sleep with female employees,” he whispered in the darkened room. He repeated it over and over until he fell asleep.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.