He nodded. “Yes, Dad said something about it last year. But weren’t there some design problems with it?”
She nodded eagerly. “Were. We’ve fixed all the major problems.” She moved to his side and began turning pages in the file. “See, here and here. The heavy wing issue here.”
He resisted the urge to turn his head in her direction knowing if he looked directly at her, she would scurry away from him with the speed of an urban squirrel.
“Yes, but wasn’t there also some kind of problem with the rotors?”
She glanced up at his face, but when he held her gaze, her eyes—light brown—went wide in amazement. What? Did she think he was an idiot?
“Yes, that’s right. But you see here—” she turned a couple pages “—it was just a calculation problem. Once we knew what the problem was, it was an easy fix.”
He gestured to his small, round conference table in the corner of the office. “Let’s sit down. So, since all the major issues have been resolved, what am I supposed to be doing here?”
As they reached the table, she pulled a chair over closer to the one he’d chosen to sit in. Sitting down beside him, she reached for the folder and turned back to the first page. “Well, you need to review the file, and let me know if you have any other concerns regarding the design, then we move into the prototype stage of production.”
“Who pays for that?”
“We do initially and back bill it to the customer once they accept the design.”
Michael reclined in his chair and looked directly at her. “Can I ask you a personal question?” He watched as her whole body tensed in response.
“Yes?”
“Well, you’re obviously more than capable of doing this job, so why don’t you?”
“What do you mean?” She fussed with the folder to avoid looking at him, but Michael was not fooled and thought maybe he was beginning to understand.
“I mean, I can’t imagine my father being the astute businessman I know him to be letting a talent like yours go wasted.”
She looked up at him, directly at him for the first time and although she was frowning, Michael had the sudden feeling of déjà vu. He doubted that she’d actually frowned at him before, since she barely looked at him at all. But still, something about her frown bothered him.
He smiled at her in return. His million-dollar-playboy smile, the one that had served him well over his twenty-seven years.
Apparently, she was immune because her frown intensified. “What do you mean wasted?”
His smiled faded, as he realized his mistake. “I didn’t mean what you do is not important.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“It’s just that you can do so much more. I mean, you know as much about this company as I do.”
She started to say something and given the ongoing frown, Michael knew it would not be anything good. But instead, something in her shifted, and she suddenly became extremely self-conscious and looked down again.
“Thank you,” she mumbled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Using her index finger, she absently pushed up her glasses.
Now Michael frowned wondering what had just happened. He quickly replayed the two-minute conversation in his head and immediately understood that because of his careless insult, little Miss Ultra Control lost it—only for an instant—but it was long enough for the curtain to drop and for Michael to like what he saw behind it.
When she wasn’t working so hard to be meek and timid, she was actually, kinda…well, kinda interesting. She apparently had opinions, one of which was a sense of pride in her job. He would have to remember that for the future.
Suddenly, she stood. “Well, just let me know if there are any other changes you feel necessary and I’ll make them right away.”
“Is there a deadline on this?”
“Thursday by three, if possible?”
He nodded, sitting back in his chair looking up at her. “Look, sorry if what I said was in any way offensive. I truly meant it as a compliment.”
She flashed a smile. “I know. Thank you.” She turned and scurried across the room to the door, and as she pulled it closed behind her, Michael was once again left with a feeling of déjà vu. This made no sense whatsoever.
* * *
Connie hurried down the hall with her arms wrapped around her midsection, her heart racing in her chest. She was starting to get used to the excitement she felt whenever she managed to get away from him without him realizing who she was.
And this time was more thrilling than the others, because she was certain she’d seen a spark of recognition in his eyes—just for a moment, but she was almost certain it had been real. If he did, it was her own fault. Over the past couple weeks, she’d become lax in keeping up her disguise and did not always wear her contacts, like today. She couldn’t let that happen again.
Her mind was racing so that she turned a corner and almost ran into the mail cart sitting unattended in a hallway, but caught herself just in time. From the moment she’d left Michael in Fiji, Connie had been torn. Her mind thought she was doing the right thing, the only thing she could do. But her heart was another matter. Standing so close to him, smelling his wonderful scent, hearing his deep voice resonate around her. And now, knowing how intelligent he was, experiencing how his brain worked. She was finding that the more she knew about him, the more she loved him when in fact just the opposite was supposed to be happening.
He was supposed to reveal himself for the shallow, self-conceited playboy she’d convinced herself he was. He was supposed to be trifling and useless, and eventually she would come to see his true nature and stop loving him. Right?
But instead, he was turning out to be more wonderful than she could’ve ever imagined, with levels of depth she had never even considered. How was she supposed to stop loving him when he was becoming more lovable by the day?
Somehow, she would have to, because there was simply no way they could be together again. Not like they were before, and Connie could never settle for less. Although, Connie held no illusions that Michael would even want to continue their relationship if he knew who she really was. After all, she’d presented a false front. Contessa and Connie may occupy the same body, but beyond that they had nothing in common.
* * *
That night, Michael had a disturbing dream. It was about Contessa, as most of his dreams had been lately. But instead of the lust-fueled visions he’d had before, this dream was closer to a nightmare. She was racing down a hallway, wearing the black dress and spiky heels she’d been wearing the night he had met her. It took a moment to recognize where they were, but it was the corridor right outside his office. He was chasing her and every once in a while she would glance back over her shoulder at him with a look of pure terror on her face. He couldn’t understand why she was so scared…of him? What had he ever done to make her afraid of him?
He ran and ran, reaching out for her but could never quite grab hold of her. He followed her around the corner at the end of the corridor and found himself in the main lobby of the building. Contessa had simply disappeared. In the middle of the marble floor of the lower level was a desk and sitting at the desk was Connie, his father’s assistant.
She was busy at work, and did not even look up from her work as he hurried past still looking for some sign of his Contessa. Realizing Contessa was nowhere to be found, he turned to Connie to ask her if she’d seen Contessa, but strangely he found himself looking right at Contessa. She was plainer than he was used to seeing her, but it was Contessa’s hazel eyes staring back at him. Contessa’s beautiful smile on Connie’s face. Contessa’s eyes and smile…but Connie’s face?
Michael’s eyes opened and he sat straight up in the bed.
Chapter 9
He stood leaning against the wall a few feet away. Her bac
k was to him and he was certain she did not know he was there. He wished he could move around to get a better look at her face. But that would alert her to his presence. And for now, he just wanted to be able to watch her uninterrupted.
It was just a dream. He’d repeated that same phrase over and over and yet he was still standing here. Watching her body movement, looking for any sign of the woman he loved. And yes, against all odds he still loved her. But, there was no way it was possible.
He’d worked with this woman for the past month and there had been no sign of Contessa. Just look at the way she dresses, he thought. His Contessa wouldn’t be caught dead in such dowdy clothes. And why would Contessa not speak to him? Not tell him who she was, even if he did not instantly recognize her?
But, it would also make sense in some strange way. It would explain the look on her face the night before she had left. When she had asked him for his last name. She would’ve known then that he was the son of her boss. And if she had never intended to see him again, which apparently she did not, then knowing they would soon meet again would’ve been alarming for her.
But how long did she think she could keep up such a charade? Well, he conceded, she’d managed to keep it up for a month so far. Maybe she thought she was free and clear. And maybe she would’ve been if he hadn’t had that dream.
Finally, he pushed off from the wall and walked around to the front of the desk. “Good morning, Connie.”
She turned in her seat and looked up at him and he stopped in his tracks. How the hell had he not seen it? With her head turned at a slight angle he could see the edge of a contact lens covering her pupil. He would bet his life that the eyes beneath the contacts were a much lighter color…hazel-gold to be exact. How could he have been this close to her this long and not realize who she was?
“Good morning, Mr. Hillard.” She pushed up her glasses on her nose and continued typing.
Michael stood staring at the top of her head trying to figure what was wrong with her hair. It was much too dark. Contessa’s hair had been a softer auburn color with blond highlights, which perfectly suited her caramel complexion. But Connie’s hair was much, much darker, almost black in fact. Not that it mattered, he thought. There was no longer any doubt in his mind.
He just didn’t know what to do with the knowledge now that he had it. Should he just walk away and allow her the privacy that she so obviously wanted? She had apparently moved on from him, so should he not just simply move on from her?
But still, a part of him wanted answers. A part of him wanted to know if he’d just imagined the feelings they had had for each other. Or maybe they had all been on his side. Either way, he wanted to know for sure. So he could let go of her once and for all.
After several minutes, she stopped typing and looked up at him again. “Is there something I can help you with this morning, Mr. Hillard?”
He just shook his head, staring at her face intently. Her eyes widened slightly, but she quickly recovered. That’s right, dammit, I’m on to you.
Once again, she up pushed her glasses on her nose and resumed her typing. He stood there for several more minutes, but finally walked away.
His instinct was to grab her up out of that chair and demand she tell him the truth. But the why, that terrible unanswered why still haunted him. And until he had a better understanding of her motives, he didn’t want to strip away her mask.
For all he knew, there could be a very good reason for why she kept her true self hidden from him. For the present, he would hold his peace, but for how much longer? If she knew he was catching on, maybe now she would come to him and explain.
He could only hope. He turned and headed back to his office. Although he didn’t know how he was suppose to get any work done knowing his Contessa was sitting just a few feet away, pretending for all the world as if she’d never laid eyes on him before he had stepped off the plane a month ago.
He stopped short right outside his office as another thought occurred to him. Contessa…Connie. He shook his head, once again amazed by his level of denseness.
* * *
Connie held her breath until she heard his office door shut and then exhaled. Damn.
She grabbed her purse from a drawer and headed toward the elevators. She needed to get out of here for a few minutes to pull herself together. She saw it, the recognition in his eyes. He knew. Damn. Damn. Damn.
She pushed the button on the elevator again and rung her hands nervously. How much did he know? Did he just think it was a very strong resemblance? Did he think she might be Contessa? Or did he know for certain? And if so, what did he plan to do with the information?
A month ago, she would’ve hazarded a guess, but the Michael Hillard who was quickly becoming a shrewd businessman was so different from her playboy lover. They could almost be two different men. Just as she was two different women.
Where the hell is the elevator? She pushed the button one more time before finally giving up and taking the stairs down. As soon as she stepped outside, a breeze blew across her face and she took a deep breath. She could breathe again.
Should she say something to him? Should she confess? Would he hate her? Would he want to pick up where they had left off? How did she think she could carry on the charade forever without him finally figuring it out?
As she crossed the street and headed to the small coffee shop, she wondered briefly, how had he figured it out? What had given her away?
She bought a chocolate chip muffin and cup of coffee and sat down at a booth in front of the window. Even if he did want to pick up where they had left off, how could they? There was the problem of how she had ended the relationship. She didn’t see him forgiving her easily for running away from him. And there was the problem of her life.
She’d come back from Fiji feeling like a new woman and she’d made affirmations to change her life. But once she was settled back in her little room in Brian’s house, she reverted to obedient Connie. She tried raising the possibility of getting her own place one night over dinner and Brian had shot it down like a duck during hunting season.
When he had finished quoting the crime statistics for single women living on their own, she had been almost afraid to leave the house ever again. As much as she hated to admit it, he had a point. She knew nothing about living on her own. She was thirty years old and had never lived by herself. Never established her own utilities, paid her own rent, bought her own groceries. She’d never done any of the things most women her age had. And she was terrified that if it came down to it, she would not be able to handle her own affairs. It was a depressing thought.
Connie was so different from Contessa, she was beginning to believe she’d been possessed by some sassy ghost during that wonderful week in Fiji. Contessa would’ve told Brian what he could do with his statistics. Connie had sat meekly and let him bully her. Although bully probably wasn’t the right word. He was trying to help her after all.
An hour later, her nerves were settled enough for her to return to work. She only hoped that Michael’s decision not to confront her directly was possibly his attempt to let sleeping dogs lie. But of course, she should’ve known better.
* * *
It started shortly after lunch. She felt a presence, turned to see Michael standing directly behind her. He had a strange smile on his face. No… It was actually more like a smirk.
“Did you want something, Mr. Hillard?” she asked.
“Yes, I did Ms. Smi—I mean, Ms. Vaughn, but it can wait.” He turned and headed back to his office.
She pursed her lips wondering what the hell that was about. She shook her head and returned to her work. The more time that passed the less tense she was feeling.
Regardless of what Michael decided to do, she was beginning to doubt it would affect her relationship with Mr. Hillard Sr. as Junior wasn’t likely to admit where he knew
her from.
Throughout the rest of the day, Michael would pass her desk giving her dirty looks, to the point where she got tired of the ill-treatment and started giving dirty looks back.
Two days later, Michael brought in a couple dozen doughnuts and a dozen muffins for the office workers. At first, Connie thought it might be some kind of peace offering as she crowded around the boxes with the rest of the people on her floor. Until she glanced over the selection and noticed something strange, just as someone else was exclaiming on the fact.
“Is this national cranberry month?” Jon from IT commented to much laughter as he settled on a cranberry muffin.
Looking over the box, Connie realized every doughnut and muffin contained some variation of cranberries. She was allergic to cranberries, a fact which she had told Michael when he had attempted to order drinks that first night they had met.
Too bad, she thought. She’d run late that morning and did not have breakfast. She could’ve really went for a doughnut. Connie turned to walk away from the pastry boxes and saw Michael leaning against the doorway of his office watching her, wearing a sarcastic grin. She really wanted to stride over there and knock the smirk right off his face.
Instead she walked to her desk without a word. A second later, in her peripheral vision, she saw Michael go back into his office. Up until that moment, she’d been feeling a little guilty about how things had ended between them. But now…now, he was starting to get on her last nerve.
The next day, she found a box on her desk. Scribbled across the top of the box read: I remember how much you like crab legs—hope you enjoy.
She stood looking down at the box, almost afraid to open it. She glanced around, but there was no sign of him.
Slowly, she opened the box to find a pile of steamed crab legs just as promised. But after the little trick he’d played with the doughnuts, Connie was not inclined to trust him. So, she tossed the crab legs in the garbage and returned to work.
A hour later, she practically jumped off her seat when a voice behind her shouted, “You threw them away!”
Island for Two: Hawaii MagicFiji Fantasy Page 17
