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.