Bargaining with the Boss (10 page)

Natalie flicked them off the desk.

"If you tell your sister what you heard, you're dead."

"As if she doesn't already know."

"How—?"

"Garret, of course. But don't worry. She's happy for you. She said you deserve to be with someone, even if that someone is Brooks." Eliza laughed, and when Natalie didn't join her, she cleared her throat.

"I think she meant it as a joke."

"Right." She sighed. Okay, so Rachael knew about her and Brooks. Garret, too. That was good news in a way. When the office found out about them after the gala...

"Hey, I'm going to head back to my desk. Let me know if you need anything."

Eliza saluted her and Natalie trudged off, trying to find one main focus that wasn't the stupid gala.

And Dominic.

The odds of his being there were slim, especially if Franco knew she'd be there, but there was still the off chance she might catch a glimpse of him through the crowd. Or worse, that he might catch a glimpse of her.

She ran her fingers through her hair.

It was brown now, not blonde as it had been then. A few years had passed. She looked different. Maybe even unrecognizable.

And if not, that's what the restraining order was for, right? He wouldn't dare talk to her in the middle of all those people, for all the world to see.

She swallowed hard, then pulled the lot of roses out of the vase and threw them in the trash along with his stupid note.

M
i amor
,

Come back to me. I've changed. I would never—

T
hat's
as far as she'd ever read. The sight of his handwriting always brought a fresh wave of bile to the back of her throat, and the smell of the damned roses kept it there all day long.

Like a constant reminder that he knew where she was. That he could find her if he wanted to. But throwing the damn things out would bring too much attention to her.

So she just sat there, day in and day out, waiting until he finally gave up.

Which, if their history was any indication, might be south of never.

She glanced at Brooks' door and bit her lip again. Maybe if she told him who Dominic was, he'd be able to steer them clear of him. But then again, if Dominic saw her with another man? Or even if he saw their picture together in the paper?

Her ribs hurt just thinking about it, and the noxious odor of the roses wafting from her wastebasket made her head swim.

She couldn't go to this gala. Restraining order or not, he'd kill her.

Or Brooks.

She picked up the receiver on her phone, then noticed the red blinking light and pushed the button for her messages.

"Natalie," Franco's rumbling voice floated through the receiver, and she pressed it to her ear, hoping it wasn't so loud that she might be overheard.

"I've just spoken to Brooks, and I requested to be transferred. I wanted to let you know that I'm hoping to see you at the gala on Saturday. I'll be there if you need me."

The line clicked off and she set the receiver down again.

She knew what he meant, and though she was sure he'd meant to comfort her, it was only a confirmation of the worst.

Franco's brother, Dominic, was sure to be there.

Which left her only one option.

She picked up the receiver, dialed, and when Eliza picked up, she spoke as quickly as she possibly could.

"Hey, Eliza. It's Natalie. Yeah, um, could you just let Brooks know I won't be able to make it on Saturday? Thanks."

She slammed the phone down before Eliza got the chance to crack a joke or make a comment. She could handle all that later.

For now, she was going to grab her coat and head the hell out of here before the smell of the roses made her sick.

T
here was
nothing on TV except for old movies and press coverage of the gala. Apparently, celebrities had taken to the event in order to show their cultural and moral awareness.

Old, recognizable faces lit the screen from time to time and whenever she saw their itchy-looking close-fitting dresses she pulled her robe over her a little more tightly, thanking god that she'd made the right decision.

Or, at least what she hoped was the right decision.

She hadn't spoken to Brooks since she'd blown him off, too worried that he'd pry for an explanation she didn't want to give. If he knew she was scared, then maybe he'd think she wasn't over what had happened with Dominic.

And she was.

She'd been over it, and him, for years now.

That wasn’t the problem. The problem was if he saw Brooks. She couldn’t put him in danger like that. Even if Dominic didn’t come at him directly, lord only knew the lengths he’d be willing to go to for his revenge.

It wasn’t worth it to find out. She’d simply have to handle it all after the event. First, she’d take Brooks aside and explain why she’d been ignoring him. Then, she’d tell Franco about the flowers.

They’d both be able to handle things and she could go on with her life.

Easy, peasy.

It would all be taken care of. Just not tonight.

The camera panned left and Dominic’s brooding face and beady eyes consumed her television screen and she flipped the channel as quickly as she possibly could.

Look on the Brightside, Nat.

Now that she knew he was there for sure, she wouldn't have to worry about him showing up on her doorstep. The flowers hadn't been delivered to her house, after all, and that meant she still had some degree of anonymity from him.

Probably.

That’s it. He’d stay there and she’d stay here. She took a few slow, deep breaths, then told herself over and over again that it was no big deal. That everything was fine.

On the screen, Fred Astaire was sweeping Ginger Rogers across a dance floor, singing about something or other and gazing into her eyes dolefully.

Would there be dancing at the gala tonight?

There usually was. It was the chance for wealthy old men to try to get close to young, sometimes-single ladies. And for businessmen to try to make important connections.

Brooks would probably have to dance with someone.

He was well versed in how to charm women, she knew, so it would make sense that he'd want to be seen.

She could handle that.

Though, probably he'd be too busy with Franco to worry about charming anyone else.

Her doorbell rang and she shot up before racing to the door.

She'd seen Dominic on the TV. It couldn't be him. He couldn't have gotten here so--

She opened the door to find Brooks waiting there, a huge dress box in his hands.

"Me and your fluffy pink bathrobe meet again, I see." He surveyed her clothing and then shouldered through the doorway. “You really make that thing a priority."

"Brooks, I—"

"You've been avoiding me." He set the box on the coffee table, and then sat back on the couch. "Normally, I'd blow off my plans and spend time with you, but I can't tonight. So, if the Muhammad won't go to the mountain..."

"I haven't been avoiding you. I've just been busy." Why was she talking so fast? She just had to take a breath, one deep breath and she could convince him to go without her.

To dance with every woman in the place so long as she didn't have to go. No matter how her stomach churned at the thought.

"You've been leaving work early, not answering my calls, abandoning your desk. If that's not avoiding me—"

"It' just a coincidence."

"Just tell me what I did. I'll make it better. But don't do this." He looked up at her with so much earnestness that she had to chew on her tongue to keep from telling him everything.

It was the worst possible timing.

And seeing him in that tuxedo did nothing to make her job any easier.

But she had to let him down.

Maybe if she told him she couldn't be with him, he'd leave and she could tell him on Monday she'd changed her mind. It always worked like that in the movies.

"I got you something." He leaned over the coffee table and pulled out the most gorgeous blue ball gown she'd ever seen.

It wasn't beaded or lacy like the ones she'd seen on the news. This was all satin, and when it moved, it looked like running water.

"You didn't have to do that." She swallowed.

"I know that. But I know you hate this stuff, and I thought you probably turned me down because you're scared to go back into that world. Like maybe you've forgotten what to do. But you don't have to worry about that. Whatever happens tonight, I'll stand by you. I promise."

He smiled and she stared from him to the dress and back again.

She should tell him. About Franco and Dominic.

About everything.

But Brooks would kill Dominic if she did. He’d get himself in trouble. And if he didn't, then Dominic would kill Brooks.

"I just hate the idea of being there without you. Please, come with me. I'll make sure nothing goes wrong. Promise." He held the dress out toward her and she stared at the moving water of the silk.

He'd be with her. And so would Franco. It was a public place filled with thousands of celebrities and important people. The security was sure to be top-notch.

And if she didn't go...

Well, wouldn't that be giving him even more power over her?

She took the dress and Brooks grinned at her.

"You're going to look incredible. You always do."

"Thanks." She nodded, and then disappeared into her bedroom before she lost her resolve.

N
atalie glided
through the crowd like a well-practiced heiress, stopping every now and then for a photographer or a cameraman. If he'd been nervous about her not fitting in, well, he'd been dead wrong.

It felt like every few feet someone was calling to her, waving them over and cooing about how they hadn't seen her in ages. They'd missed her so much. Her sense of humor had been such a breath of fresh air to Insert Some Society or Another.

She always smiled and laughed, held the old women's hands as they talked to her, though somehow she never managed to look them in the eye.

All the while, too, she hadn't so much as glanced in Brooks' direction.

If someone would ask about him, standing there lingering behind her, she'd say that he was her boss.

Her boss.

And they would giggle about how she'd found a job and how strange that must be for her. Or they'd cast a judging look and say they were sorry for her predicament.

Regardless, the word "date" was never once breathed in the entire hour it took them to get to the Opera House doors, and when they stepped through and he tried to place his hand on the small of her back, she twitched away.

"What's going on, here? I thought you knew—"

She shook her head. "You just surprised me. I'm sorry, I'm, um, a little on edge."

"Okay."

"Let's get some drinks, all right?" She cut through to the bar, still careful to stay a league ahead of him the entire time.

What the hell?
He grit his teeth, waiting as she ordered their drinks, wondering if she'd bother to stand beside him as she worked on hers.

Still, he didn't want to push her.

This was progress. Two hours ago, she'd still been determined not to come with him tonight. If she was nervous about being seen together—whether it was because of her old society friends or because of the people at the office—he'd have to respect that.

He guessed.

And he'd just have to grin and bare it until she relaxed a little.

His nerves were set aside momentarily as she sidled up beside him with her melon ball in hand. She handed him his vodka cranberry with a wink.

"Thanks." He said.

"No problem. Hey, I'm sorry I've been so weird. Now that we're here, though, I really think you should know—"

He held up a hand. "It's okay. I know that you didn't have much time to prepare yourself for this. We don't even have to stay that long. Franco said he'd meet us in the gardens out back. Let's just meet with him, and then we can hop the fence and catch a movie."

She smiled her thousand-watt smile. "You've got yourself a deal."

They made their way through the crowd, and all the while Natalie was careful to scan the room. She'd occasionally mumble something about clients or the company, but there was something about the way she walked--in jerky, quick motions--that made him wonder.

Still, when they reached the silence of the gardens, she relaxed a little.

He hadn't seen her much in crowds. It was possible she was just one of those people who liked solitary conversations. Small groups.

It didn't seem to fit with the Natalie he knew, but he supposed it was possible.

They reached the Gazebo, and a huge Italian man sat there reading a newspaper and smoking a cigar. The smoke obscured his face slightly, but there was no denying who the mane of thick, dark hair belong to.

"Franco," Brooks said, "I'd like to—"

"Natalie!" Franco set his newspaper aside and rushed down the gazebo's wooden stairs so quickly that Brooks was sure he'd snap one of the boards. He stretched his massive arms out wide and then enveloped Natalie in what looked like a bone-crunching embrace.

Brooks waited as the hug went on for what felt like an hour too long. When the other man finally pulled away, he kissed Natalie on both cheeks, and then held her face between his hands.

"You're embarrassing me." She laughed.

Laughed. Like this was normal.

Like he touched her like that all the time.

Anger coiled in Brook's stomach, but he pushed it away. Franco was Italian. Maybe it was some kind of custom for men to grope women like that right in front of their dates.

"I could never embarrass you. You love me too much." Franco kissed her cheeks again as the anger snaked its way of Brooks' throat, burning his esophagus.

"Mr. Del Rossi, it's wonderful to see you again." He held out his hand, and though he knew his speech had sounded forced, it seemed to do the trick.

Franco took his hand and all the warmth he'd shown to Natalie disappeared in a split second.

"Mr. Adams. A pleasure. Thank you for meeting with me. Now, could we speak?" Franco led them into the tiny enclosure and they sat in a triangle with Natalie between them.

Oh, the metaphors of life.

He squared his shoulders and surveyed the man, then said, "Mr. Del Rossi, I'm sure you appreciate the difficulty of the situation."

"I do." He nodded, then glanced at Natalie again like he was looking for confirmation.

Or maybe it was just a look of admiration.

It was getting harder and harder to tell the difference.

Still, Brooks swallowed his venom and continued, "We have thousands of women in our data base, so before we're able to find likely candidates, we need to settle a few basic questions about the type of woman you're looking for."

Franco nodded. "Understood."

Brooks cleared his throat, then grasped the piece of paper from his inside pocket and read from the list.

"Now, Franco, would you say that you like women who are more passive or aggressive?"

"In what way?" Franco smiled and Natalie let out a disgusted cough.

"He likes them passive. The opposite of his mother." She grinned at him and he barked a laugh.

"She knows me well." Franco said.

"Apparently so." Brooks wrote the answer, but his knuckles were already beginning to turn white on the pen.

She'd met this man's mother? What kind of friend knows a friend's family members like that? Sure, it wasn't entirely out of the ordinary but—

No. Focus.

"Okay, so, what would you say was the cause of your last break-up?"

Franco cleared his throat. "A difference in goals."

"Could you be more specific?"

"No." Franco said.

"He doesn't want children." Natalie explained. "That was the reason."

"Maybe I should just be asking
you
these questions." The words were out of Brooks' mouth before he had a chance to temper them, and Natalie's eyes widened in response.

"Maybe you should." She shot back.

"What quality can you not stand in a companion?" Brooks asked, turning his attention back to Franco, but Franco stared from him to Natalie for a long minute before answering.

"Mr. Del Rossi?" Brooks prompted.

"Oh, I think I cannot stand disloyalty."

"Okay." He wrote it down.

"Is there something going on here? Between the two of you?" Apparently Franco was more perceptive than he'd let on.

Brooks stared at Natalie, waiting for the answer to the question, but she only blinked at him, her mouth puckered into a tiny dot.

"Natalie—" He started, but she interrupted him.

"How about we finish up the questionnaire, okay?" She smiled at Franco, and then turned to Brooks. "What's the next question?"

Brooks nodded, and though he read the question, his brain didn't register what it said.

She wouldn't tell him that they were together. It wasn't the office. It wasn't anything. She just didn't any people to know.

Was it his reputation?

He could understand that, though he thought she would have told him if it was something like that.

No, there was something else going on here.

Jealousy, maybe?

"Three or four times a week." Franco's answer cut through his thoughts, and when his gaze met the other man's he had a sudden insistent urge to sock him as hard as he possibly could.

Dammit all.

He had to get out of here.

Take a minute to pull himself together and figure this out. It was possible he was overreacting. She wouldn't do anything to—

No.

No. He was done making excuses for the layers of secrets he just had to deal with because that was Natalie's way. He was sick of being bounced around, not knowing whether she was going to zig or zag.