“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...
On
e 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.
It’d been another night spent in his office. He preferred it to staring into the dark waiting for sleep to claim him. Because with the sleep came the nightmares.
A couple of months after the accident, his nightmares had started to subside. But then Gabrielle’s father had staged his protest with a megaphone, and he’d shouted horrible accusations. It was then that the nightmares had resumed. Sometimes Deacon remembered bits and pieces. There were brutal images of fire, blood and carnage. He had to wonder how much was real and how much had been a figment of his imagination.
Other times, he was left with a blank memory but a deep, dark feeling that dogged him throughout the day. It’d gotten so bad that he dreaded falling asleep. That’s when his insomnia had set in with a vengeance. After spending one sleepless night after the next, he’d given up sleeping in his bed. In fact, he’d given up on sleep and only dozed when utter exhaustion claimed him.
It’d helped to keep his mind busy. And so he’d become a workaholic. Knowing the movie industry inside and out, he was working on starting his own production business. But being the man behind the curtain meant he had to find people he could rely on to do the legwork for him. That was proving to be a challenging task.
He’d just sat down to read over the lengthy letter that Gabrielle had typed up for him. It had been late in the night or early in the morning, depending on how you looked at it. He’d made it to the last page when his eyes just wouldn’t focus anymore. Blinking hadn’t helped. Rubbing them hadn’t made a difference. And so he’d closed them just for a moment.
He jumped to his feet and gathered up the papers that he’d reviewed. If he didn’t get these on Gabrielle’s desk before she arrived, it would have to wait until lunchtime. Because the mail drop in the wall only went one way. There was no way for him to deliver any documents anonymously for his assistant. He would have to see about rectifying that, but for now, he had to beat Gabrielle to the office.
He strode toward the door. When he reached out his hand for the doorknob, he couldn’t help but notice the webbed scars on the back of his hand. They were a constant reminder of the horror he might have caused that impacted so many lives—especially Gabrielle’s.
It was no secret that he’d liked his cars fast and he’d driven them like he was on a racetrack. He couldn’t remember the details of that fateful night, but it wouldn’t surprise him if he’d been speeding. If only the police would just release their findings. Gabrielle’s father wasn’t the only one anxious for that report.
His attorney had told him there were a number of complications. There had been an intense fire that destroyed evidence followed by a torrential downpour. Deacon didn’t care about any of it. He just needed to know—was he responsible for taking a life?
Deacon moved through the darkened hallway, past the dust-covered statues and the cobwebs lurking in the corners. He didn’t care. It wasn’t like there was anyone in the house but him. Not even Mrs. Kupps was allowed in this part of the house. She kept to the kitchen and the office suite.
&nbs
p; He descended the stairs in rushed steps. When he reached the locked door that led to the office area, he paused. There was no light visible from under the door and no sounds coming from within. He hated sneaking around his own home, but he didn’t have any other choice. He didn’t want to startle her with his appearance.
He recalled what had happened when his friends, or rather the people he’d considered friends, had visited him in the hospital right after his accident. They were unable to hide their repulsion at seeing the scars on his face, neck and arms. And then he’d held up a mirror to see for himself. The damage was horrific. After numerous rounds of plastic surgery, his plastic surgeon insisted the swelling and red angry scars would fade. Deacon didn’t believe him. He’d already witnessed the devastating damage that had been done. It was so bad that he’d removed all the mirrors in the house as well as any reminders of how he used to look.
Deacon banished the troublesome thoughts. What was done, was done. He moved into the office and placed the stack of papers on Gabrielle’s desk. That would definitely keep her busy today and probably some of tomorrow.
He noticed that her desk was tidy. However, there were no pictures or anything to tell him a little about her. It was though she wasn’t planning to be here one minute longer than necessary to repay her father’s debt. Not that Deacon could blame her—no one wanted to be here, including him. But he couldn’t go out in the world—not until the accident was resolved and answers were provided.
Without tarrying too long, he turned to leave. He was almost to the door when he heard a key scrape in the lock. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like to linger in the office and have a face-to-face conversation with Gabrielle. In that moment, he realized how much he missed human contact. Maybe if he were to stay—maybe it would be different this time. Maybe she wouldn’t look at him like he was a monster—a monster that killed her aunt.
He gave himself a mental shake. It was just a bunch of wishful thinking. He moved with lightning speed to the other door. He grasped the doorknob and, without slowing down, he gave it a yank, slipped into the outer hallway and kept moving. He needed distance from the woman who made him think about how one night—one moment—had ruined things for so many people.
Beauty and Her Boss Page 3
