Beauty And Her Boss

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

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

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

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

The man’s back was to her.

She called out again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I assume that would be Mr. Santoro.”

“Oh, will he be out soon?”

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

“Not even on his own estate?”

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

This arrangement was getting stranger by the minute.

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

“He will phone you.”

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

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

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

Then the phone rang.

* * *

He should have never agreed to bring Gabrielle here.

The decision had been made in haste.

And it was a mistake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Focus.

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

“I don’t see how I had any choice?”

“Everybody has choices—”

“Not in this case.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Of course it is.”

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

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

“Will you be stopping by the office later?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand—”

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

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

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

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

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

“And my father?”

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

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

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

“I am.”

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

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

“No.”

She didn’t immediately respond.

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

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

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

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

“And that would be?”

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

“That’s fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER TWO

THIS DEFINITELY WASN’T her best first day on the job.

In fact, it ranked right up there as one of the worst.

And the day wasn’t over yet.

A loud crack of thunder shook the windows at the same time as lightning lit up the sky around the guesthouse. Gabrielle rushed to close the French doors. Somehow the weather seemed rather fitting.

She had one more piece of business before she curled up with a book and escaped from reality. She had to file her first report with QTR.

Gaby sat down at the granite kitchen bar and opened her laptop. She stared at a blank screen with the cursor blinking at her...mocking her. What would she say? She didn’t even know what format to use. Did they expect her to tell a story or stick to bullet points?

Sure, she’d earned a bachelor’s degree in journalism, but with a downturn in the economy, she hadn’t been able to land a position in publishing, so she’d returned to school. She’d gone on to get a second degree in library science. Books had always been her first love.

And as much as she loved words, right now they wouldn’t come to her. She typed a couple of words, but they didn’t sound right. She deleted them.

This is ridiculous. It’s not an article for the public to read. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just needs to be the facts. So start writing.

The man has closed himself completely off from others. Is it the result of guilt? Or something else?

As she pressed Enter to begin the next point, the landline rang. That was odd. She hadn’t given anyone that phone number. Her father had her cell phone number.

She picked up the phone. “Hello.”

“Did you find everything you need?” Not a greeting. Just straight to the point.

“Yes, I did.”

“I wasn’t sure what you like to eat, so I had Mrs. Kupps prepare you a plate of pasta, a tossed salad and some fresh baked bread. You will find it in your kitchen.”

Outside the storm raged on with thunder and howling wind. Gaby did her best to ignore it. “Thank you.” Had he called purely out of courtesy? Or was this his way of checking up on her? Perhaps this was her opportunity to flush him out of the shadows. “Will you be joining me?”

“No.” His voice was firm and without hesitation. He was certainly a stubborn man. “In the future, you can let Mrs. Kupps know what you eat and don’t eat, so that she can plan the menu appropriately.”

“I—I can do that.” She hesitated. “The guesthouse is nice.” There was some sort of grunt on his end of the phone. She wasn’t sure what it was supposed to mean, so she ignored it. “What time would you like to get started in the morning?”

“I start before the sun is up. You can start by eight. Will that be a problem?”

“No. Not at all.” She was used to opening the library at eight each morning. “I have a few things that I’d like to go over with you. Shall we meet in my office?”

“I thought you understood that this arrangement is to be by phone or email. I don’t do one-on-one meetings—”

“But—”

“There are no exceptions. Good night.”

And with that terse conclusion, he’d hung up on her. She stared at the phone. She could not believe that this man was so stubborn. Working for him was going to be difficult, but trying to get information about the accident from him was going to be downright impossible—unless she could get past this wall between them. And she hadn’t come this far to give up.

Gaby hung up the phone and turned her attention back to the report for QTR. She’d lost her concentration after speaking with Deacon. She was back to staring at the blinking cursor and wondering what she should write.

QTR had assured her that before anything was published, they would get her approval. She wouldn’t have agreed to the arrangement otherwise. After all, she didn’t want them getting the facts wrong.

Although at this point, there wouldn’t be much to write about the elusive Mr. Santoro. Giving herself the freedom to write about anything she’d learned so far, she resumed typing.

His estate in in disarray with overgrown vegetation. Was it always this way?

He’s run off multiple assistants. What has happened? Has he fired them? If so, for what?

Locked door between the office and the rest of the house. What is he hiding?

The man lacks social niceties. Has he always been this way? Or is this a new thing?

It certainly wasn’t a stellar first report. Would they be upset that it contained more questions than answers? Or would they appreciate her train of thought and look forward to the answers?

Accepting that it was the best she could do now, she proofread the email. Gabrielle pressed Send and closed her personal laptop.

She moved to the French doors and stared at the sky—the storm had now moved away. She opened the doors, enjoying the fresh scent of rain in the air. In the distance, the lightning provided a beautiful show. Was Mr. Santoro staring at the sky, too? She instinctively glanced in the direction of the main house, but she couldn’t see it as it sat farther back than the guesthouse.

Still, she couldn’t stop thinking about her mysterious boss. There had to be a way to break through the man’s wall. She would find it, one way or the other.

CHAPTER THREE

TWO DAYS...

Forty-eight hours...

Two thousand, eight hundred and eighty minutes...

One hundred seventy-two thousand and eight hundred seconds...

No matter how Gaby stated it, that was how long she’d been at the Santoro estate and how long she’d gone without laying eyes on her new boss. It was weird. Beyond weird. What would that be? Bizarre?

Gaby sighed. Whatever you called it, she wasn’t comfortable with this arrangement. Not that her accommodations weren’t comfortable. In fact, they were quite luxurious. And unlike the estate’s grounds, the guest suite was immaculate, thanks to Mr. Santoro’s housekeeper, Mrs. Kupps. The woman had even written her a note, welcoming her.

Gaby glanced at her bedside table and realized that she’d slept in. She only had five minutes until she was due at the office. She had to get a move on. She slipped on a plain black skirt to go with a gray cap-sleeve blouse. There was a jacket that went with the outfit, but she rejected it. It was a warm day and she was more comfortable without the jacket. After all, it wasn’t as if she had any business meetings. When Mr. Santoro said that he would limit their interactions to strictly email with the rare phone call, he hadn’t been exaggerating.

She stepped in front of the full-length mirror and slipped on her black stilettos. With her height of only five foot two, the extra inches added to her confidence.

A knock sounded at the door, startling Gaby. She knew who it was without even opening the door. It would be Mrs. Kupps trying to lure her into eating breakfast. Gaby already explained that she didn’t eat much in the mornings. In all honesty, she loved breakfast but never had time for it. She’d grown used to her liquid diet of coffee, with sugar and milk. It was easy to grab when she was on the run. Upon learning this, Mrs. Kupps had clucked her tongue and told her that she would end up with an ulcer if she didn’t take better care of herself.

Gaby rushed to the door. “Good morning.”

Mrs. Kupps stood there with a bright smile, a tray full of food and a carafe of coffee. “Good morning to you, too. I just brought you a little something to eat.” Mrs. Kupps rushed past her and entered the small kitchen, placing the tray on the bar area. “I know you’re in a hurry, but I’m determined to find something you can eat quickly.”

“Mrs. Kupps, you don’t have to do that.” And then, because she really didn’t want to hurt the woman’s feelings, she added, “But it is really sweet of you. And the food looks amazing.”

Mrs. Kupps beamed. “Oh, it’s nothing, dearie. I enjoy having someone around here to spoil. Lord knows Mr. Santoro doesn’t let anyone fuss over him since the accident. He’s like a big old bear with a thorn in his paw.”

“So he wasn’t always so standoffish?”

Mrs. Kupps began setting out the food. “Goodness, no. He was always gracious and friendly. Perhaps he was a bit wrapped up in his acting career, but that’s to be expected with his huge success. But now, he lurks about all alone in that big mansion. He doesn’t see guests and rarely takes phone calls. I cook all his favorites, but his appetite isn’t what it used to be. I’m really worried about him.”

“Do you know what’s wrong with him?” Gaby couldn’t help but wonder if the guilt over the accident was gnawing at him.

Mrs. Kupps shrugged. “I don’t know. And I really shouldn’t have said anything. I just don’t want you to leave. We need someone young and spirited around here. Lord knows, we’ve gone through assistant after assistant. He’s even tried to run me off but it’s not going to happen.” The woman smiled at her. “You’re a breath of fresh air. I have a good feeling about you.”

Mrs. Kupps checked that everything was as it should be and then made a quick exit. It wasn’t until the door shut that Gaby thought of a question for the very kind woman. Why did she stay here? Mr. Santoro was not the easiest person to work for. In fact, he was demanding and expected nothing but perfection with everything that Gaby did. And when she messed up, there was a terse note telling her to fix said error. And he didn’t spare the exclamation points.

Still, she had agreed to this arrangement to save her father—a father who was now more eager to know what dirt she had dug up on her boss than worrying about how she was making out in such strained circumstances. It was all he’d wanted to talk about on the phone. His full attention was on making Mr. Santoro pay for the accident.

Gaby’s gaze scanned over the croissant and steaming coffee. There was also a dish of strawberries. Okay. So maybe she had enough time to enjoy a few bites. Her stomach rumbled its approval. Perhaps some nourishment would help her deal with the stress of the day.

She couldn’t help but wonder if this would be the day that Mr. Santoro revealed himself to her. He couldn’t hide from her forever.

* * *

Deacon awoke with a jerk. His gaze sought out the clock above the door. He’d slept for more than two hours without waking. That was a new record for him, but it had come at a cost. He’d had another nightmare and, even worse, he was late.