For All the Wrong Reasons (12 page)

But in fact, she hadn't said a thing. Ernie had never mentioned it. Nobody had said boo to him. Mrs. Foxton had actually kept that plump, sexy little mouth shut.

He should thank her. He had meant to go and thank her. She could have made things hard for him, and she had chosen not to.

Credit where it's due, Michael thought. He resolved he would see her tomorrow.

He looked across at Iris, her legs up in the air, lying on her stomach now. Her ass stuck straight up in the air. He was sure she lay around naked deliberately. Whatever, she was a great piece of ass.

“Get over here,” he said.

ELEVEN

Michael Cicero looked at Diana.

He was lounging on Ernie's antique Chesterfield sofa that she had found at huge cost with the help of two decorators. Diana couldn't accuse him of being rude, at least not directly. His feet weren't propped up on her Indian ottoman, he wasn't smoking and dropping ash onto the Persian carpet.

But something about his manner set her on edge. Diana's skin prickled when she noticed his body, lean and hugely muscled, looking even bigger in that new suit he was wearing, arranging itself comfortably on the leather, relaxed, confident. Cicero didn't seem in the slightest bit put off by the fact that he was lolling on a fifteen-thousand-dollar piece of furniture; nor nervous that he might knock over one of the eighteenth-century vases. He wasn't even staring reverentially at the pictures and mentally calculating how much they cost. He didn't seem, Diana realized with another shock of annoyance, to care.

His suit was charcoal, hand tailored. It was no designer she could pick out. The shoes—John Lobb, maybe? Diana was hazy on men's fashions, but she knew instantly that Michael Cicero had come into money and that he had aggravatingly good taste.

“That's not the most pleasant way to greet a guest, ma'am,” Michael said with a lazy smile. His eyes flickered over her, and for the first time, Diana noticed it. She blushed slightly and drew herself up, angry at having been caught in blatant rudeness. You couldn't allow yourself to slip like that. This arrogant man was some kind of business acquaintance of Ernie's.

I won't endear myself to Ernie by putting off his colleagues, Diana thought.

She glided into the drawing room and offered him the warmest smile she could muster.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean it how it sounded.”

“‘Oh hell, it's you'?” Michael quoted, with a broad grin.

Diana was slightly flustered. “Well, I—I guess—it came out—”

Cicero held up one hand. “Hey, that's fine. I understand. Don't worry about it.”

Diana bit down on her lip. “You were waiting to see Ernie here? I'm afraid he'll be at the office for quite some time.”

“No. I came to see you.”

She paused, not quite sure she'd heard him properly. “You came to see
me?
”

“You're going to ask, To what do you owe the pleasure, aren't you?”

“Something like that.”

“Please, have a seat.” It was amazing, the way he could so generously invite her to sit down in her own apartment. He did it with such force of will that Diana found herself settling on the armchair opposite him.

Michael watched the way she tucked her slender legs in behind her automatically as she sat down. Her back was rigid, her bearing ladylike. She was one class act, he thought, and judging from the way she was dressed, she cost exactly what you always imagined these dames fetched. He thought about Ernie Foxton. Maybe she liked Ernie's take-no-prisoners business style, who knew? The guy had nothing else to recommend him. Prancing around in his flashy clothes, with his designer offices, and weak limbs—probably never seen a set of weights in his life. He hadn't had the right body language with his girl either, when they were at lunch. Hadn't even held her hand. Hell, if she were my woman, Michael told himself, I'd be all over her.

He decided that the unyielding rigidity of her back was due to the fact that she never came. A little mouse of a man like Ernie couldn't melt the ice over that exterior. No way.

He pulled himself sharply back from his reverie. She was a spoiled little minx, and she looked exhausted—from her long day of shopping, probably. Best that he said his piece and got out.

“Well, actually, I figured I should come around and thank you,” Michael said.

“Thank me for what? I'm sure you don't owe me anything.” Diana pressed a little button on the table, and Consuela glided into view. “Could you fetch us a pot of coffee and some cookies, please, Consuela?”

“It's not necessary. I won't be staying. My company, Green Eggs, signed a deal with Ernie's company last week.”

“Really? I don't pay much attention to his work,” Diana said vaguely.

Then it's not his business nous, Michael thought, just good old-fashioned gold-digging. He refused to believe that the gorgeous creature in front of him could love anybody at all apart from herself, and certainly not Ernie Foxton.

“Well, yeah, we did. It meant I got new offices, some cash to play around with, great distribution, more staff, a printing facility…”

“Congratulations,” Diana said, slightly coolly. Why on earth was he telling her all this? It pained her to see this—this thug from the wrong side of the tracks sitting in front of her and congratulating himself on his shiny new offices and fleets of staff, or whatever it was, when she herself could not even get a lousy editorial assistant's job.

“And in a way I have you to thank for it.”

“I don't see how.”

Michael swallowed. This was the bit he hadn't been looking forward to. “When we had lunch that time, I guess I let rip some. And since you were Ernie's wife, I expected you to go running home to him and tell him. It could have blown the deal. Not the main deal, because I signed real fast, but some bonuses and stuff.”

“If you're coming here to apologize for what you said that day at lunch, I forgive you.”

“Not at all. I'm not apologizing,” Michael said quickly, struggling not to snap when he was supposed to be thanking her. “I just want to thank you for having kept it to yourself.”

Diana bristled. She'd wanted him to eat humble pie, and apparently that was not on today's menu. But what could she do when he was here thanking her?

Her blue eyes settled on his face. It was handsome and square jawed. She had visions of him with maybe dozens of women. That was usually what made men so cocky. This one had been the same way even when he'd showed up to lunch in that cheap suit and bad shoes.

“That's no problem at all.” I'm going to be gracious if it kills me, Diana thought. “I don't go telling tales on people. Whomever Ernie wants to deal with, that's his business. I hope the takeover works out well for you.”

“It's not a takeover, it's a partnership.”

“Whatever. I hope it makes you very rich.”

“I certainly hope it's good for the company,” Michael said neutrally. “For both companies.”

Diana felt a great wash of exhaustion rock her. She didn't feel up to an in-depth discussion of this guy's successes right now. She pressed one slender hand to her forehead. “Look, Mr. Cicero—I wonder if you would be kind enough to excuse me. I've had a really bad day, and I was looking forward to a bath and bed.”

“Of course.” He stood up, and she couldn't help but notice he was short, and very stocky. He was about five ten, and his lack of height just made his body look bigger. “I'm sorry to hear that. Why was your day so bad?”

“I couldn't get a job.” Diana half clapped her hand over her mouth. Had she just said that? She must be tired.

“You were trying to get a
job
?”

“Do you all
have
to look so surprised? Yes, I worked before my marriage. I was a fashion assistant at
Vogue
in England. Ernie's an American citizen, so as his wife I have a right to look for work.”

“Hey, hey, slow down.” He sat down again. “I'm sure you do. Now, who's ‘you all'? How many interviews did you go on?”

Diana wondered how she had gotten into this, but there was no point in lying now. “Seven. And the last woman was just rude to me.”

“I'm sorry.” Michael tried, and failed, to imagine the woman in front of him going to seven job interviews. Seven in one day would mean that she was almost serious about getting a job. “She was rude, huh? What did she say?”

“She said I should sit at home and throw charity balls for the paparazzi.”

Michael burst out laughing, and Diana couldn't take it anymore. She stamped her foot.

“You're worse than she was! How dare you laugh at me! You're in
my home
!”

“Look.” Michael smothered his laugh and walked closer to her, putting his hands on her arms. His touch was very strong, but subtle. “I'm truly sorry I laughed just now. It was just such a rude thing of her to have said.”

That was a lie, but a little white lie couldn't hurt. It wouldn't comfort her to know that he'd laughed because that was exactly what he'd thought Diana should do himself. Cicero felt an unexpected small pang of guilt. The girl was trying, right? He had to give her credit for that.

“It was, wasn't it?”

“Very. Look, if you're serious about working, you could maybe come and do something in my office.”

“Like decorating it?” Diana brightened. “I'd be excellent at that and very reasonable.”

That would be a coup. She'd love to tell her friends that she had her first decorating commission. That might actually be fun.

Michael Cicero was giving her a surprised look with his dark eyes. “No. I have the wall color I want and a print and some furniture.”

“I
think
I could manage something rather more exciting than that. I could start with some Eames chairs, and—”

“My budget for decorating isn't really large,” he said, dryly. She was a fox, no doubt about that, but she was definitely starting to irritate him again. “I mean, say, being my assistant, helping to file, and make phone calls—”

“Fetch tea and coffee?” Diana asked sarcastically.

The sarcasm washed off him like water off a duck's back. “Exactly. Tea, coffee, frank the mail, whatever needs doing. It's like a Girl Friday job. It would be hard work and it wouldn't pay much.”

“Sounds great.”

“Look, if you don't want it, I understand. You're a rich lady. Thanks for taking the time to see me,” Michael said, courteously, offering her a stiff little bow.

“No—wait, please.” Diana ran and caught at the elbow of his jacket. Her pride was stung. He agreed with the nasty hag from
City Woman,
he thought she should stay at home and run charity balls. I'm more than that, she thought fiercely. I can handle a job! Why does everybody except Milla assume I would fail? The thought of Mira Chen, in the office, the little businesswoman, probably right now taking a “meeting” with her husband, made her furious. “I'd love the job. It doesn't matter about the pay. Just as long as I can start as soon as possible.”

“Pay would be fifteen thousand a year.”

“Sounds good to me,” Diana said, insistently.

Michael could have kicked himself. Who on earth would have thought that the woman would actually say yes? But that was fine. She'd quit in a week. A chick like that—society lady with a body of a forties sweetheart—had probably never worked an honest day in her life.

“We have new offices in the Blakely's building. Fourth floor. You won't be too near Ernie, I'm afraid.”

“That's fine,” Diana assured him. “What time do you open the office? Publishing normally starts around nine, correct?”

“Correct. It normally does. But Green Eggs is a bit more ambitious than most. I like to be in the office at eight thirty. I'll see you there at that time tomorrow. If I'm a little late, the security guard will let you in.”

He chuckled inwardly, watching her pale. Any second now she'd fling the job back in his face.

“Oh, and by the way.” He thought he'd spice up the mix for her. “I take my coffee black, and I like it fresh brewed twice a day.”

Diana swallowed hard. Insufferable man. He was playing with her. He wanted her to quit.

“See you tomorrow at eight thirty,” she snapped. “Let me show you out.”

“You do that.” Cicero was strolling out to the door. That arrogant walk he had, it was like he owned the place. “I'll look forward to working with you.”

*   *   *

Diana went upstairs and ran herself a hot tub, shaking Floris Lily of the Valley liberally into it, and revelling in the cloud of fragrant steam as she sank her long limbs into the water. Her feet had a very unaccustomed ache from tramping around the streets of New York all day long—it was amazing how hard it was to get cabs in midtown at lunchtime—and she wasn't used to the humiliations she'd been asked to suffer. Well,
Elle
and
Marie Claire
would regret bitterly that they hadn't snapped up the new Diana, the new businesswoman Diana, once she'd made her mark in publishing. She was determined to be upbeat about her new job. Fifteen thousand didn't sound very much, and, of course, it was dollars, not even pounds. But it was a start. It could be her handbag money, or maybe she'd put it in the stock market, and wind up really rich like the Rockefellers. There were consolations. Diana considered the delicious necessity of buying a completely new wardrobe full of business suits, maybe even kitsch pinstripes, who knew? There were endless possibilities, and then of course one needed work shoes and handbags to go with them. She could almost forgive Michael Cicero his coffee remark. Did he really expect her to fetch his drinks? Of course not. That had to have been a joke. At any rate, she would show him that she could not be bossed around the way he seemed to be planning.