“I’ll try not to.”
“I’m thinking about settling down.” He refused to look up during the long silence, but plunged ahead. “One woman—to have and to hold till death do us part. That kind of thing. Like our parents.”
“Hey, I have something you might want to check out,” Solomon said.
Marcel’s gaze crept up when a card was thrust in front of him to read. “Dr. Michael Porter? You think I need a shrink?”
“It couldn’t hurt.”
They stared at each other.
“Look,” Solomon began. “As much as I believe in the sanctity of marriage, I also believe that the institution isn’t meant for everyone, especially someone with your track record. Let’s face it, you bore easily.”
“Fine.” He finally grabbed the card and pocketed it. “A lot of good it will do.”
A hard knock sounded at the door and the men barely had enough time to look up before Diana Guy stuck her head through the door.
“There you are,” she said, locking gazes with Marcel and sliding her thick, black-wire-frame glasses up her slender nose. “Your father is waiting for you in your office.”
Marcel straightened. “What’s he doing here?” he asked, moving toward the door.
“I don’t know, but he doesn’t look too happy.”
“Nothing new there,” Solomon chimed, following his partner through the doorway. “Surely, he’s not here because of the profit reports. We’re up a full twelve percent.”
Marcel shook his head as he strode down the hallway taking long strides. “I swear I regret more and more every day asking him to invest in this company. His constant interference is going to drive me to an early grave.”
Solomon laughed. “Maybe we can arrange it so we can get out plots next to each other.”
Opening his office door, Marcel gestured for Solomon to go first.
“Gee, thanks,” Solomon mumbled under his breath as he entered.
Diane returned to her desk outside his office.
“Five minutes,” he instructed.
She gave him a curt nod.
Marcel turned and entered his office with a broad, plastic smile. “Pop, what a pleasure to see you.”
Donald Taylor stood from his chair. His extra two inches of height easily gave him the physical dominance he loved to lord over his son. “Marcel,” he said with a slight nod. “I hope I’m not interrupting your business schedule.”
“Of course not. You’re welcome anytime.”
“Well,” Donald said, glancing over at Solomon, “I’m not here on business.” He paused as if waiting for his meaning to sink in, but when it didn’t he looked back at his son. “I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes.”
Marcel nodded. “Yes, of course.”
Solomon remained mute while holding his painted-on smile.
“Alone,” Donald added with another glance at Solomon.
“Oh,” Solomon said, finally emerging from his stupor, and blinking with embarrassment. “Gotcha.”
Marcel managed to suppress a laugh at Solomon’s hasty exit and then glanced at his watch as he made his way around the desk. “Okay, now that you’ve cleared the room, what can I do for you?” He eased into his chair.
His father drew in a deep breath. “How much time do I have before Diana comes in here to excuse you to a nonexisting emergency meeting?”
The men locked gazes, before Marcel answered with brutal honesty. “Two minutes.”
“Then I’ll get right to the point.” He erected his tall frame and blurted the news. “Your mother and I are getting a divorce.”
Chapter 2
Diana stared at her letter of resignation on her computer screen but lacked the guts to print out the damn thing. Quitting would be the right thing to do, the voice in her head assured her. A person with her education, experience and dedication should be able to find employment anywhere.
She moved her mouse to hover over the printer icon.
The other rational voice in her head cut in to stop her. Don’t be stupid. You can’t afford to quit. Have you forgotten about the stack of medical bills for your grandmother? Despair overwhelmed her as a list of responsibilities ran through her mind. You can’t quit until you find another job first.
Resolute, Diana closed the document, checked her watch and stood up from her cluttered desk.
Marcel Taylor wasn’t difficult to work with—on the contrary. Despite his image as a ladies’ man, Taylor was as competent as he was charming, intelligent as he was handsome. In her opinion, her employer was the total package: wealthy, attractive, smart, attractive, charismatic and attractive.
She shook her head and cleared her thoughts. Every woman at T&B Entertainment coveted the handsome president. With so many beautiful women adoring him, Mr. Taylor never noticed his plain-Jane secretary, Diana.
At Marcel’s door, she took in a deep breath, knocked and entered. “Mr. Taylor…”
She stopped cold at her boss’s stunned expression and then glanced uncertainly at Donald Taylor, equally floored to see unguarded emotions on the older man’s usual stoic face.
Marcel cleared his throat. “Diana, cancel whatever it is.”
“Yes, sir.” Her gaze swept over him a final time before she backed out of the office. After the door clicked behind her, she replayed the scene in her mind. Something’s going on, she thought, returning to her desk. Something big.
“Ahem.”
Diana looked up at the always-stylish Nora grinning down at her with a stack of papers. “Can I help you?”
Nora’s coral-colored lips beamed wider. “As a matter of fact, you can. Marcel instructed me to leave these figures with you.” Unceremoniously, she plopped the mound of paper onto the desk. “By the way,” she said, moving toward his office door. “Is he in now?”
“Wait.” Diana stopped Nora before her hand landed on the doorknob. “He’s in an important meeting right now.”
“With who?”
Diana’s brows arched, her expression clearly saying, That’s none of your business.
Nora turned from Marcel’s door and settled her hands on her hips. The ex-model’s pose appeared provocative with little effort.
Diana’s jealousy proved hard to ignore.
“How long have they been in there?” Nora asked.
Diana stood and removed the stacked reports from her desk and placed them on top of the nearest file cabinet. A few of the items on the top page, however, caught her attention and she lifted the top sheet. “My goodness.”
“I know, I know.” Nora rolled her eyes. “We’re a little over budget. But it’s not like we’re not going to recoup the money from Belinda’s CD sales.”
“It’s her first CD. There’s no guarantee that we’re going to recoup much of anything,” Diana said, now picking up the second sheet. “There’s no way Mr. Taylor is going to approve most of this stuff. Why does she need a top-of-the-line tour bus? She’s only scheduled to do eight cities.”
“It never hurts to ask for things. The most Marcel can say is no.”
Diana placed the papers back and shook her head while she returned to her desk. It wasn’t the first time she wondered how Nora got her job. The woman had no experience in the music industry, she constantly put her nose in places it didn’t belong and she made it her business to know where and what the president was doing at all times.
“Any idea what they’re discussing?” Nora’s attention had drifted back to Taylor’s closed door.
Diana glanced at Nora, her irritation just barely concealed. “He canceled your lunch meeting. Did he not tell you?”
“Oh, yes. He told me. I’m curious to know what was so important he had to cancel our date—I mean, our appointment.”
“I don’t know.”
Nora’s arched brows rose. “I find that hard to believe, Ms. Efficient. I bet you know everything that goes on in Marcel’s life.” She moved back toward Diana’s desk. “Am I right?”
Dian
a sighed at the woman’s diva theatrics. “Ms. Gibson, I wouldn’t be good at my job if I betrayed Mr. Taylor’s confidence, now, would I?”
Nora’s cinnamon gaze raked over Diana, making her self-conscious of her drab clothes and her dowdy, pinned-back hairstyle. Chin high, she reached for the first thing in her in-box.
Nora sashayed to the front of her desk, leaned her hip against it and crossed her arms. “I’ve only been here a few months. I don’t mean to step on anyone’s toes, especially yours. I know Marcel thinks the world of you.”
Diana cringed at the familiarity with which Nora said his name and looked up. “Let me guess—you want us to be friends?”
Irritation flashed behind the beautiful woman’s eyes and then disappeared. “Why, yes.”
A smile on her face, Diana’s hands now zoomed across her keyboard.
“What’s so funny?” Nora asked.
“Nothing. It’s just that I’ve had this same conversation with more than half the women working here. I’m going to tell you what I told them. If your attraction to Mr. Taylor is going to hinder you from doing your job, then maybe you should consider seeking employment elsewhere. He has a strict rule about office romances with employees. He doesn’t do it.”
Nora pushed away from the desk, but Diana was saved when Marcel’s office door jerked open and Donald Taylor rushed out.
In the few seconds it took for him to pass by, Diana caught the same look of anguish chiseled in his strong features.
“Diana,” Taylor called. “Could you come in here?”
She jumped at his gruff voice and quickly grabbed a pen and notepad.
“Well, something’s going on,” Nora said.
Diana ignored her and hurried into Taylor’s office. Once inside, she closed the door behind her and then glanced around to find her boss by the window.
She eased into a leather chair and waited as he stared out at the city view.
Long seconds ticked into awkward minutes and still she waited. During the silence, she used the time to study his incredible profile.
Working in the entertainment business, Diana had certainly seen her share of flashy and suave dressers, but no one filled out a suit or commanded attention like Mr. Taylor.
He turned suddenly and caught her gaze. Flustered, she imprisoned every ounce of air that her lungs could hold until he looked away.
“Are your parents still together?” he asked.
Diana blanched, caught off guard by such a personal question. She answered in a low voice, “My mother passed away when I was ten.”
Sympathy softened his gaze. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It was a long time ago,” she said, dropping her gaze to the blank page in her notepad. The silence heightened to a deafening decibel but she refused to look up again.
“Did your father every remarry?”
Briefly, she thought about not answering. After all, it wasn’t any of his business, but in the end the truth spilled out.
“My parents were never married.”
Another long silence lapsed.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
She chanced a look up and found he’d turned back toward the window. “Is something wrong?”
He was quiet for so long, she assumed he wouldn’t answer.
“Yes and no,” he finally said, moving away from the window and over to his desk. “I need you to help me with something.”
“Of course, sir.”
Once he was settled into his chair, their gazes locked once again. “This matter is not to be discussed with anyone…including Mr. Bassett.”
Startled and then curious, Diana nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Beneath his leveled gaze, a strange and delicious warmth spread throughout her body.
“I need you to help me find my mother.”
The sentence rolled over her head. “Excuse me?”
Marcel shifted in his chair. “Um, my parents are…separated—at the moment.” He reached for a folded piece of paper from the corner of his desk. “She left a note.”
“A note?” she repeated, trying to follow the conversation.
“Yeah.” He drew in a deep breath. “She asked my father not to try and find her because she needs some time to think.”
In the two years Diana had worked for Marcel, it wasn’t uncommon for her to lend a hand in his personal life as well as his professional. Those services usually included sending flowers or candy, or purchasing concert tickets and arranging shopping sprees. This was something else entirely.
“I’m not quite sure I’m the one who—”
He held up the letter. “You’re perfect.” She frowned. How long have I been waiting to hear that?
“According to this she’s going somewhere in Italy,” he continued. “Since she’s always talked about visiting Venice, I think we should start there.”
“But if Camille doesn’t want to be found—”
Marcel held up a finger. “Actually, she said she doesn’t want my father to find her. I’m not my father.”
“Then maybe you should wait until Camille tries to contact you.” It was the wrong thing to say.
His lips thinned into a straight line. “I don’t want to wait. Can you do this for me?”
Again their eyes met and Diana pretended her skin didn’t tingle and her breath hadn’t hitched, but this time she was the first to look away. “Consider it done.” She stood from her chair.
When she moved toward the door, he moved with her.
“Diana.”
She turned, surprised to find him standing so close. “Do me a favor and don’t tell anyone about this.”
She smiled. “Don’t worry. I know how to keep a secret.”
Chapter 3
Marcel closed the door and drew in an unsteady breath. Diana to the rescue. At least he found comfort in his reliable secretary. Lord knows, she could find a needle in a haystack let alone a little old black woman in Venice, Italy. What would he do if Diana weren’t around?
The woman had a way of making him look good. Maybe he should do something for her—send her on a trip or something. He thought for a moment and couldn’t remember whether in the past two years she’d ever taken a vacation or even called in sick.
He frowned. Surely, he was mistaken.
Shaking off the thought, he promised himself to look into it later. Right now, he needed to figure out what to do about his parents.
The news of their possible divorce rattled him like nothing before. More questions than answers plagued him. As usual his father was vague with details, but Donald Taylor kept many things close to his vest.
Instead of returning to his desk, Marcel detoured to the leather sofa at the opposite end and stretched out. Who’d ever heard of getting a divorce after forty years of marriage?
He groaned, closed his eyes, and massaged his temples. For as long as he could remember, his parents, despite their night-and-day personalities, were happy. However, Marcel suspected the real problem was his father’s retirement.
A year ago, dear old Dad retired from the law firm of Hughes, Taylor & Hughes and invaded his mother’s peaceful world of music and quiet social functions. The man of the house was home and he wanted his wonderful wife to devote all her precious time to him. This undoubtedly drove her crazy.
The last time Marcel talked with her, she wanted his father to take up golf—a nice sport that took hours to play.
It was a bad idea.
Donald Taylor, a frugal man, couldn’t see the point in spending so much money to chase a small ball around acres of grass.
Marcel’s mother’s need for time was likely code for: she wanted a vacation from her husband. Now his father tossed the word divorce around more as a threat than anything else—at least he hoped.
A quick knock jarred Marcel from his thoughts, but before he answered, Solomon poked his head inside.
“Is the coast clear?”
“All clear.” Marcel sat up and erased the worry
from his face.
“Good,” Solomon answered. “Looks like you survived the surprise attack. Any bombs I should know about?”
“Nah. Just family stuff.”
Solomon nodded and entered the room proudly presenting a magazine to Marcel. “Look who’s on the cover of Rolling Stone.”
Marcel stared at his picture. A red and white cape donned his shoulders while an oversize gold crown adorned his head. At the bottom in large block letters the cover line asked the question: THE NEW PRINCE OF HIP-HOP??
“Wow,” he said.
“Is that all you can say?” Solomon smiled and flipped the cover around so he could read it again. “You’re off the charts, man.”
Suddenly, the first eight notes of “Superfly” filled the room and Marcel dug into his pocket and retrieved his pager. “It’s Tee Bo. Are we still passing through Club Secrets tonight?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. That cat from WZEZ radio station is deejaying. Word is he’s off the chain.”
“Cool.” Marcel typed in his answer and then pocketed the device. “If we’re going, then I need to head over to the house and work on a few things first and feed Brandy.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was a good enough excuse to leave the office.
After gathering his things, Solomon walked Marcel out of his office, continuing to talk to him through the halls and over to the elevator bay. Marcel couldn’t concentrate and resigned himself to just smile and nod.
When the elevator arrived, Solomon pounded Marcel’s back. “Well, I’ll catch you at the club later.”
“You bet.” He smiled and then stepped into the empty compartment. Thankful for the solitude, he pressed the button for the lobby.
“Hold the elevator,” a voice called out a second before a slender hand jutted between the sliding doors and stopped them from closing.
When they opened again, the lovely Nora Gibson appeared. “Mind if I ride down with you?” she asked in a tone thick with seduction.
A broad smile galloped across Marcel’s face at the not-so-hidden innuendo. “Of course not, Ms. Gibson.”
Unforgettable (Arabesque) Page 2
