High Stakes Seduction - Book 5 (3 page)

"Not yet," he said holding my gaze, "but that will change, if and when time permits. For now, I would like to talk with you about something a little different. How are the twins doing?"

"Well, they're excited about their new designs, and looking forward to seeing us… you." I told him.

"Any problems I should know about?"

"Not that I can tell, but they do sound a little stressed with their manager."

He nodded thoughtfully. "You seem to get along with them very well. They trust you."

"I think so. They're very open with me, anyway."

"Good. I'd like to propose a bit of a change for you. Oh, don't look so startled," he laughed. "It's nothing bad. I have a preference for placing employees into positions where their natural abilities can grow and develop into skills that make them more useful for the company."

"So you're moving me?"

"Not far. I like that you've established rapport with the twins. It's obvious they trust you and confide in you. But even more than that, you have an artist's eye. The location shots you took on the cruise demonstrate a subtle knack for the importance of staging. You're a good enough photographer that you'll be able to communicate your ideas to the rest of the team. So, I'd like to put you totally in charge of Carlo and Poula, to make you the Creative Director for their clothing line."

"Creative Director?"

He smiled. "I know that's not a full time job. Not right now. And I'd like to keep you under Priscilla's direction for the time being. But in regards to the Carlo and Poula shoot in Europe, you will have full autonomy. That means I'll want you to be involved in all aspects of the project, from selecting the photographers, the models, the locations, to coordinating travel for us… in other words, you'll have oversight for everything."

I was at a loss for words. Creative Director? I was excited and terrified—all at the same time.

"Cat got your tongue?"

I looked up at him, swallowing hard. "All by myself?" I asked.

He laughed that warm, deep laugh of his. "Not hardly. Priscilla will give you the contact information you need. And Hilary can help with the details. But you'll be the one coordinating everything. And everyone."

My gaze shifted to the windows behind his head. In my mind's eye I imagined myself with a clipboard, pointing and directing a small crew of photographers and make-up artists, all hovering around beautiful women with gorgeous, flowing gowns. I grinned, enjoying the images.

He tilted his head. "So, is that a yes?"

"Yes!" I answered, bringing my attention back to the man sitting in front of me. "But I'll still be working with Priscilla?"

He nodded. "There's still a lot for you to learn."

"Clearly." I laughed.

"So, tell me, what arrangements have you made so far?"

"We’ve been exchanging ideas. I think we’ve narrowed it down to three possible locations for three different lines. I should have the preliminary photos any day now."

"You’ll need the agency contacts soon, then," he said. "So you can start screening models and arranging availability."

"Yes, I was thinking I’d like models with a classic look to complement their Neptune line, and maybe even contrast with the youthful style of their Euro Transit designs."

"Sooo," he drawled, "I take it you're ready to take on the role?"

I'm sure I blushed.

Chapter Seven

ANTONIO

I sent Angela out to coordinate with Hilary about setting up one of the free offices on the third floor. I'd already alerted HR, and they were processing the necessary pay contracts and documents.

I grinned. Ange had been so excited by the offer that she hadn't even asked, but any increase in duties deserved an increase in pay. If things worked out as I thought they would, she'd likely end up with an even bigger promotion.

Not that this would seem much of a change to anyone from the outside. Priscilla had agreed to cut Angela's floor hours to half. That should give her enough time to pull together the pieces for the upcoming shoot. But, she needed her own dedicated workspace—some place where she could keep track of the details.

I was feeling good about my decision. I had always taken a certain amount of pride in recognizing potential, and I liked placing deserving employees into positions where they could show their talents and grow into valuable assets. Besides, this mini-promotion was deserved. And it filled a gap in our organization. So I didn't think it was too self-serving to offer it to Angela—after all Priscilla had been the one to suggest it in the first place.

"Hilary," I stuck my head out the door, "can you call Thompson? Have him come up."

***

"Sir?"

I turned, realizing Thompson had stepped into the room.

"Sorry, Thompson. Lost in my thoughts."

"Happening a lot lately, Sir," he said in that quiet, stoic way that was not an accusation, yet more than just an observation.

I laughed. "You never fail to surprise me, Thompson."

"How so, Sir?"

"You're highly competent. And loyal. More observant than anyone I've ever known. A highly decorated ex-military hero. Yet from the outside you're so quiet and mild mannered, no one would ever guess what you’ve been through, let alone the talents you possess."

"Just blending in and all. My military days are long behind me, Sir."

I thought about how much and yet how little I knew about my driver. Few people would have been privy to the things he'd shared with me. And I knew there were many more layers than even I had seen.

"Do you miss it?" I asked.

He looked at me, his eyes the most serious I've ever seen them. "You don't have to be in the military, or even a different country, to face the enemy across a battlefield."

I nodded, thinking about the hell he'd been through. His military decorations for the risks he took in saving countless others. The mental and emotional scars of coming home to an unfaithful and dysfunctional wife he thought he could trust. And then, his daughter…

"How's Emily?" I asked.

"She’s with her mother tonight, Sir."

"Got time for a drink then?"

He glanced at his watch, then looked back at me. "I still have another hour on the clock."

"Don't worry about that. I’ll pay you for it, Thompson, but right now I could use the company."

"Then certainly, Sir." He stepped forward and took off his cap.

"Have a seat," I motioned toward the couch. I shed my jacket and loosened my tie as I headed for my little corner bar. I knew Thompson’s relaxed demeanor would only go so far. "What can I get you?" I asked, already reaching for a can of Coke in the fridge.

"Just a Coke on ice, if that’s alright."

I chuckled as I handed him the glass, then turned to pour myself a Jack Daniels on ice.

"So what’s new with you, Thompson?" I asked, eager to take my mind off of, well, everything on my mind.

"Nothing much, Sir. While you were gone I got to spend a lot more time with my daughter. But other than that, just the usual."

"The usual?" I asked, grinning. Thompson had been with me a long time—well, long for me anyway. He was about as loyal as they come, and I was lucky to have him in my employ. "I saw some of Maria Tilson’s work the other day. She showed me some drawings she'd done with your Emily. They were quite lively."

If I didn’t know better, I’d say Thompson hid a smile and a blush behind the next sip of his drink. "Miss Maria has been working with my daughter on some stories. My girl has quite an imagination."

"So I noticed! The three of you are spending time together, then?"

"Well, yes, Sir. That is, when Miss Maria got hurt that one time, well, you did tell me to help out. So, while you were gone… I hope I'm not overstepping any boundaries?"

I laughed. "Oh, not at all. They are quite a pair, the sisters, aren't they?"

Thompson smiled, "A lovely pair, if I may say so, Sir."

"A lovely pair, indeed. And quite talented, too."

"Yes. It's a pleasure to watch the two of them together—Miss Maria and my Emily. I haven't seen her so excited in a long time. Emily tells the stories and Miss Maria brings them to life with her drawings. I don't know how she does it. But Emily insists the drawings look like the pictures in her head."

He smiled down at his drink. When he looked up, his eyes were shining. "It means a lot to me that my girl has something to look forward to. Not long ago, someone in the park thought the stories might be good enough to make a children's book."

"Nice." Quiet on the outside, heart of gold on the inside, I thought as I watched his face.

"Miss Maria met with the woman in her office. She says she's interested and wants to talk about publishing.”

I smiled, holding up my glass to him. "Well, congratulations."

"Emily and Miss Maria do all the work, Sir. I just watch it all happen in amazement."

"To Emily and Maria then," I said, clinking glasses with him.

"Miss Maria is very talented. More people should see her paintings," he said as he lowered his glass.

"Has she ever had her work on display? Do you know?"

Thompson shook his head.

I looked at him thoughtfully, finishing my drink and setting it on the table.

"Let me make some calls," I said.

Chapter Eight

MARIA

Thompson pulled up promptly at eleven in the morning, just as he said he would. I don’t think it was possible for this man to ever be late. Or to do anything that wasn’t completely sweet, honest, and honorable.

What wasn’t to love about him?
I nearly hugged myself at the thought, wondering where it had come from, but liking it all the same.

I was waiting outside, wanting to take in some of the beautiful sunshine. When he drove up, I waved and wheeled down the ramp to greet him.

"Good afternoon, Miss Maria," he said, opening the passenger side door for me. "Are you all set?"

I put my hand in his, and with a gentle tug, he scooped me up and into the car in a deft, fluid motion that made me feel like a princess, rather than someone who’d lost the use of her legs.

"So what is this all about?"

Thompson shrugged. "Mr. Mancini didn’t tell me any more than he's told you, Miss."

"Just Maria," I said for the millionth time but Thompson ignored me. Not impolitely—like I said, anything like that was impossible for him. The day he called me "just" Maria, my jaw would probably hit the floor.

"Sorry Miss Maria," he said with a tiny smile. He smoothly pulled the car back onto the road.

As it was, Antonio hadn’t told me much, just that he had an idea he wanted to discuss with me over lunch. Without Angela. A million thoughts wandered through my head about what that might mean, but I still had no clue.

So I covered my curiosity by chatting with Thompson about Emily. I knew that would bring a smile to his face and in turn, bring a smile to mine.

A short while later, we pulled into the parking lot of the five-star restaurant. I’d seen it on the cooking channel—complete with its award winning chef—but I would never have dreamed of coming here myself.

Thompson retrieved my chair from the trunk and helped me out.

"Wow," I said when he wheeled me inside. I whispered though. I didn’t want to make it obvious how completely I didn’t fit in here.

The maître d’ greeted us with a professional smile that became noticeably more genuine the moment Thompson mentioned we were guests of Antonio Mancini. That seemed to flip some kind of switch, and the man practically jumped to accommodate us, ordering a busboy to remove a chair for me when I got to the table.

Antonio stood to greet me, coming around the table to take my hand and bend to kiss it. He was accompanied by a dusky skinned man with warm eyes almost hidden behind thick glasses.

"Maria Tilson," Antonio said, stepping back to let the second man shake my hand, "this is Gregory Arnold, curator of the Lakeside Gallery."

I smiled up at him, then looked over my shoulder at Thompson. He smiled and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"I’ll be back in a couple of hours to pick you up," he said, leaning down to whisper in my ear. "Enjoy yourself."

The moment his hand left my shoulder, my nervousness leapt into my throat, making it dry. I managed to resist turning to watch him leave, wishing he’d stay—I could really use the comfort of his presence. I'd only met Mancini a short time before, and while we'd hit it off pretty well, we were hardly good friends. I did my best to swallow and smile as I looked to the two men who had taken their seats again.

"My name is Shelly and I’ll be your waitress," said a bubbly voice as the ponytailed blonde laid menus before us. "May I get you something to drink, to start?"

She looked to me first. I glanced down at the wine list in front of me, totally lost. "Um, I’ll just have some water, thank you, with a slice of lemon?" I couldn’t drink wine anyway, I reminded myself, especially during the day. Not with the medicines I was still taking for my back.