The Color of Love

by Radclyffe

  He pointed to the left. “Last elevator.”

  “Have a nice day.”

  As she turned away, she heard him mutter, “Yeah, you too.”

  Maybe she would. Nothing like starting the day with unpleasantries. At least then it could only get better.

  The elevator opened onto an expansive maroon-carpeted foyer as big as some hotel lobbies, filled with comfortable seating areas and an unobstructed view of midtown Manhattan through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite wall. She wondered how many buildings Martin had had to buy and demolish in order to maintain that view. A thirtysomething blonde sat behind a black U-shaped desk, her hair drawn back in a sleek French braid, her dove-gray suit jacket doing nothing to conceal her voluptuous figure. She smiled at Derian in a practiced, wholly impersonal way.

  “Good morning. How may I help you?”

  “I’m here to see Martin.”

  Her expression never changed. “I’m afraid Mr. Winfield has no meetings scheduled this morning. You must have mistaken the date of your appointment. If you give me your name, I’ll check to see the correct date.”

  “I don’t have an appointment, but he’ll see me.” Derian held out her hand. “I’m Derian Winfield.”

  Color rushed to the blonde’s face and she rose hastily, leaning across the wide desk to extend her hand. Derian was right, she had a killer body underneath her expensive, professionally stylish suit. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m Victoria, let me get Mr. Winfield’s admin. I didn’t…I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”

  “No,” Derian said, returning the handshake, “we haven’t.” There was a time she might have added she would’ve remembered meeting such a beautiful woman, because she certainly would have. Flirting with women was second nature, but as attractive as the woman was, Derian hadn’t any interest in playing. She released her hand. “The admin?”

  “Oh! Of course.” Victoria reached for a phone, punched in an extension, and a second later said, “Anthony, Derian Winfield is here to see Martin.” Her flush deepened and she partially turned away. “What? No, why would I…” She glanced at Derian, her expression mortified. “I’m terribly sorry. Do you have identification?”

  Derian laughed. “It’s okay.” She reached inside her coat pocket, brought out her passport, and showed Victoria her photo.

  “Yes, of course,” she said into the phone. A second later she hung up, looking relieved and chagrined. “He will be out shortly.”

  “That’s fine, thank you.”

  Derian walked to the bank of windows and thought about how much she detested these little displays of dominance. Everyone jockeying for their small bit of power. Her name had been all she needed growing up to give her that power, and as soon as she’d recognized that everyone she knew was subtly trying to maneuver for even more, she hadn’t wanted any of it. Henrietta had been the only one who didn’t care about appearances or the standing on the social register or the best seat in the banquet hall. Even though Derian had done everything possible to escape the Winfield net, no matter how far she traveled, how vigorously she worked to dissociate herself from her family mystique, she hadn’t been able to shake the celebrity that had nothing to do with her. As she learned very early in life, people were attracted to her for her money and her family name, and the presumed influence and prestige that came with both, making every relationship suspect. And sadly, she was rarely wrong. Keeping people at a distance became a self-protective habit, until Emily. She smiled to herself. Emily was completely unimpressed by her status, despite admitting her penchant for following celebrity news with some dedication. What for Emily provided entertainment, for others provided a foundation for a relationship—exactly what Derian rigorously avoided.

  Emily effortlessly changed everything. From the very first meeting, Emily had seen a part of her no one except Henrietta had ever perceived—her vulnerabilities and her fears—and none of that made her feel diminished or discounted. She didn’t always have to pretend she didn’t hurt, didn’t need comfort, didn’t need someone else to be strong, if just for a few moments. Emily allowed her to be human and didn’t reject her for it. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be out of Martin’s domain, beyond his circle of malicious power, and somewhere, anywhere, with Emily.

  “Ms. Winfield,” a cool male voice said from behind her.

  Steeling herself for the next round, Derian turned and saw a man she didn’t know, but whom she recognized from his perfectly cut hair, dark gray Armani suit, monochromatic shirt and tie, and diamonds glinting in the square gold cufflinks, as one of the sleek corporate sharks regularly following in Martin’s wake.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Anthony Marconi, Mr. Winfield’s executive assistant. I’m afraid Mr. Winfield wasn’t expecting you. He’s presently involved in back-to-back Internet conferences.”

  “I won’t be long. I’ll wait until he’s in between.” She grinned. “Bathroom break or the like.”

  Anthony’s expression remained pleasantly remote. His eyes, however, were annoyed. “Perhaps we could find a mutually agreeable time for you to return. His schedule is somewhat freer tomorrow.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “If you’ll come with me,” he said, looking as if he’d swallowed a fishbone, “I’ll show you to the executive lounge.”

  “Thank you.”

  The lounge, five times the size of the ICU waiting room where she’d spent most of the last week, was furnished with a deep navy carpet, leather furniture, a full bar, a coffee station, and a pool table. Anthony left her to her own devices and, after pouring coffee from a silver carafe into a bone china cup, settled into a chair to listen to an audiobook. She considered calling Emily, but Emily was at work and she didn’t want to pull her into this place even by talking about it.

  Close to an hour later, Anthony reappeared. “He has five minutes.”

  “More than enough time.” Derian pocketed her phone and left the china cup on the table beside the sofa. She followed Anthony past a series of offices with closed doors to the end of the hall where another admin, male again, sat in an alcove in front of a set of enormous walnut double doors with gleaming brass handles. Anthony slid a security card through an unobtrusive card reader off to one side and, at the discreet sound of a faint buzz, held the door open for her. Martin’s office was a suite of rooms larger than many apartments with layers of plush oriental carpets, multiple seating areas, a flagship desk in one corner with views of Manhattan on two sides, and an array of computer monitors on one wall. Anthony slipped out behind them and the doors closed, leaving them alone.

  Martin looked up as she crossed the expanse of carpet but didn’t bother to rise.

  Derian stopped a few feet from his desk but chose not to sit, preferring to look down at him. She hadn’t seen him in three years, but he hadn’t changed at all. His hair was still jet-black, his face tight and youthful appearing, and even sitting, she could tell he was in shape. He had a passion for handball and played several times a week with his assistants. He still wore his suit jacket, even at his desk, with his tie only minimally loosened. A mantle of power shimmered around him.

  “I’m in the middle of a busy morning,” Martin said coolly. “I have businesses to run, after all.”

  “Then I’ll get right to the point,” Derian said just as coolly. “I’m taking over the agency until Henrietta is back on her feet. I want you to call Donatella and tell her to vacate the office.”

  Martin laughed and leaned back in his high–backed leather chair. “Putting aside the fact you have absolutely no experience, we both know that kind of work would strain your…capabilities.”

  “Business is just a sophisticated game,” Derian said, echoing one of Martin’s favorite sayings, “and one thing I’m very, very good at is winning games.”

  “So I’m given to understand. Why would you even want to attempt this one?”

  “Because that’s what Henrietta wants.” She took a chance, knowing her aunt would nev
er leave any eventuality uncovered. “She’s made sure I have a holding interest in the company. It’s in the paperwork somewhere, and you probably already know that.”

  “What I know,” Martin said, an edge creeping into his voice, “is that you haven’t bothered with the business or anything else for years. Henrietta’s return is uncertain, and your pretending to be in charge for a week or two is a foolish exercise.”

  “I’ll be here for as long as necessary, and there are plenty of experienced people already present at the agency who know how to do their jobs. Emily May is a senior agent and has worked closely with Henrietta for years. Should I need to consult with anyone, she’ll be available.”

  “Emily May’s employment status is uncertain”—he waved a hand—“and given that, the board decided someone with more experience and long-term investment in the enterprise was needed.” He smiled, his lips a thin line. “I’m afraid you and Ms. May have a great deal in common. Neither of you is fit to helm the agency.”

  Derian slid her hands into her pockets and strolled to the windows, putting her back to him. His easy dismissal of Emily, as if she was already headed back to Singapore, infuriated her more than his expected ridicule of her own abilities. “I haven’t been very interested in the business, you’re absolutely right. But I find that I suddenly have a new appreciation for Winfield Enterprises. Up until now, I’ve been happy for Aud to represent me at board meetings, but now I find I’d rather do that myself. Of course, it’s possible I might not always be in agreement with your position when it comes time to vote.”

  She didn’t have to turn to feel a wave of anger wash over her. She couldn’t block him in a vote, but he wouldn’t be happy if she took a position against him, especially if she sided with other board members who might disagree with some of his plans. He wouldn’t risk that.

  “You’ve got a month, if you last that long,” he said. “However, the board has asked for an audit, which will be ongoing. Donatella will oversee that.”

  “Just make sure Donatella’s out of my office before I arrive.”

  She turned and walked out without bothering to say good-bye.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Wide-eyed and breathless, Ron burst into Emily’s office, caught the door just before it slammed in his haste to close it, and skidded to a halt. “She’s here!”

  Emily set aside her iPad and stared at him. “Who’s here?”

  He canted his head in the direction of Henrietta’s corner office. “Derian Winfield.”

  “Derian?” Emily shot to her feet. “Here?”

  “In the flesh.” Ron eyed her suspiciously. “I think you’ve been keeping secrets.”

  “No, I haven’t.” Feeling her blush deepen, Emily sat slowly and hoped her excitement wasn’t evident. Never had she had such a spontaneous thrill just from hearing someone’s name. “I had no idea she was coming.”

  That was certainly an understatement. The last time they’d talked, Derian hadn’t said anything about visiting the agency, but then, why would Emily expect her to? They were becoming friends, at least she felt that way, but hardly intimates, and Derian had no reason to discuss business matters with her. Derian was a Winfield, after all, and as much as she resisted accepting the role of heir apparent, that’s what she was. For an instant, Emily felt a twinge of hurt, and then brushed it impatiently aside. Business was business, and if Derian was here, that was certainly none of her concern. What mattered was the agency.

  “She is Henrietta’s niece, after all,” Emily said offhandedly, “so it shouldn’t be a surprise she’s here.”

  “That’s not what you said a few days ago. No interest in the business, I think you said. Plus, why do you look as if it’s Christmas morning, and you’ve got a big present under the tree?”

  “I do not.”

  “With a giant red bow and—”

  “Stop it.” Emily had to laugh.

  Ron pulled a chair closer to her desk, plopped into it, and settled in for what looked like a long campaign. “It’s time for you to spill it, honey.”

  “There’s absolutely nothing—”

  He wagged a finger. “When just the thought of someone makes your eyes light up the way yours just did, you are honor bound to have to tell your friends.”

  Was that true? She didn’t know. She hadn’t discussed intimate feelings for someone since she was a teenager, and those wishful relationships had just been crushes. And come to think of it, she’d never really discussed her girl crushes with her friends, especially since her biggest had been on a best friend who was undeniably and irrevocably interested in boys, and only boys. And after that, there hadn’t been anything serious enough to discuss with anyone. But what would she say?

  “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” she said, almost to herself.

  A sympathetic expression crossed his face. “You could start with how you feel about her.”

  Emily laughed abruptly. “Wouldn’t that be starting at the end instead of the beginning?”

  “I suppose it depends on your perspective. Start at your beginning, then.”

  Something about his kindness and the genuine friendship beneath all his teasing and prodding, mixed with her own confused emotions, prompted her to put into words what she’d almost been afraid to consider. “We’ve had dinner a couple of times.”

  “Aha, and where did that happen?”

  “Well, I told you about the first time,” she said a little impatiently, not at all certain she wanted to go down this path. “At her apartment in the Dakota.”

  “I’ve never been in there. Is it as fabulous as they say?”

  She laughed. “It is.”

  “Okay, enough of that—you can tell me all about the décor later. And the next time?”

  “I cooked for her,” she said softly.

  “Wow,” he said with a reverent tone. “That’s very personal. Just dinner?”

  “Yes,” Emily said hearing the prim tone in her voice and chiding herself inwardly. Why was she hiding her feelings? “Just dinner and…a good-night kiss.” Before he could say another word, she held up her hand. “That’s all, just a kiss. And I’m not saying any more about that.”

  “Oh, you can’t be serious. You kissed Derian Winfield? How many times?”

  “I’m not giving any details.”

  “All right,” he said musingly, a thoughtful expression crossing his face, “let’s discuss the theoretical. Do you want to kiss her again?”

  For one of those rare times in her life, words failed her. If she voiced her desires, then what? Would she no longer be able to deny to herself how very attracted she was to Derian? And since when was she afraid to face her own feelings or the realities of her life? She sighed. “I certainly wouldn’t mind.”

  “And how about her? Has she issued any invitations?”

  I want to make love to you. Derian hadn’t been afraid to say what she wanted—and what did that say? Was Derian so unused to rejection, she didn’t mind exposing her feelings? Or had she really been as driven by passion as she’d sounded? Emily remembered the heat of Derian’s mouth on her throat and the gravelly desperation in her tone. God, I want you. Emily’s breathing kicked up again, her blood racing. Hopefully Ron couldn’t tell. “I think she’s interested also.”

  “Wow.” Ron looked suddenly serious, an unusual expression for him. She’d learned over the years his approach to dealing with almost everything in life was with humor liberally laced with sarcasm. “That’s kind of serious. Derian Winfield isn’t exactly known for serious.”

  “If you mean she has a reputation for being a player, I know that,” Emily said. “But she’s not the person the media makes her out to be. She’s kind and generous and sensitive.”

  “Oh.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve got a thing for her. I mean, beyond the she’s hot kind of thing.”

  Emily made an exasperated sound. “Just because I happen to like someone, and find them attractive, and…” Sh
e caught her breath as she heard herself denying again. That wasn’t her. “Actually, you’re right. I have a big thing for her. She’s gorgeous and sexy and pretty much wonderful.”

  “Well,” Ron said with finality, “then I think you should drag her off somewhere and have your way with her. Because I’ve never heard you say that about anyone before, and opportunity doesn’t usually knock twice.”

  “You know, Ron, everything isn’t about sex.”

  “Of course it is, when everything is said and done. Okay sure, maybe you won’t have sex with your best friend, but when you start thinking about your best friend as being attractive and gorgeous and wonderful and sexy, they’re not your best friend anymore. They’re something else altogether. And, opposite side of the coin, you know, someone doesn’t have to be your best friend to have really hot, satisfying sex with them.”

  “I don’t think of her as my best friend,” Emily said. “Actually, I think of you as my best friend and I’ve never wanted to have sex—”

  “Okay, let’s not go there,” Ron said, grinning.

  “If she’s here, Ron,” Emily said, decidedly not going to discuss sex with Derian with anyone, “it might not mean anything at all. She’s never been interested in the business. It’s possible she just came on an errand for Henrietta.”

  “You think you can find out?”

  “I’m not going to use my relationship with her to get insider information. If she’s here for anything other than a brief visit, I’m sure we’ll all find out at the same time.”

  “You know, sometimes you’re absolutely no fun.”

  “You might be right.” Emily grinned. “But sometimes, I am.”

  “Well I know one thing,” Ron said, rising and starting for the door. “Things would be a hell of a lot better around here if she stayed.”

  He slipped out the door and Emily leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Derian couldn’t be planning to get involved at the agency, could she? As much as she wanted to see Donatella dethroned, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to see Derian in Henrietta’s place. If she and Derian had to work together, she wasn’t sure their personal relationship could go any further. For the first time in her life, her professional goals ran smack up against her personal ones. She’d never had to choose between her goals and her desires, and she wasn’t sure what she would do if she had to.