The Color of Love (21 page)

Emily effortlessly changed everything. From
the very first meeting, Emily had seen a part of her no one except Henrietta
had ever perceived—her vulnerabilities and her fears—and none of that made her
feel diminished or discounted. She didn’t always have to pretend she didn’t
hurt, didn’t need comfort, didn’t need someone else to be strong, if just for a
few moments. Emily allowed her to be human and didn’t reject her for it.
Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be out of Martin’s domain, beyond his
circle of malicious power, and somewhere, anywhere, with Emily.

“Ms. Winfield,” a cool male voice said from
behind her.

Steeling herself for the next round, Derian
turned and saw a man she didn’t know, but whom she recognized from his
perfectly cut hair, dark gray Armani suit, monochromatic shirt and tie, and
diamonds glinting in the square gold cufflinks, as one of the sleek corporate
sharks regularly following in Martin’s wake.

“Yes.”

“I’m Anthony Marconi, Mr. Winfield’s
executive assistant. I’m afraid Mr. Winfield wasn’t expecting you. He’s
presently involved in back-to-back Internet conferences.”

“I won’t be long. I’ll wait until he’s in
between.” She grinned. “Bathroom break or the like.”

Anthony’s expression remained pleasantly
remote. His eyes, however, were annoyed. “Perhaps we could find a mutually
agreeable time for you to return. His schedule is somewhat freer tomorrow.”

“I’ll wait.”

“If you’ll come with me,” he said, looking as
if he’d swallowed a fishbone, “I’ll show you to the executive lounge.”

“Thank you.”

The lounge, five times the size of the ICU
waiting room where she’d spent most of the last week, was furnished with a deep
navy carpet, leather furniture, a full bar, a coffee station, and a pool table.
Anthony left her to her own devices and, after pouring coffee from a silver
carafe into a bone china cup, settled into a chair to listen to an audiobook.
She considered calling Emily, but Emily was at work and she didn’t want to pull
her into this place even by talking about it.

Close to an hour later, Anthony reappeared.
“He has five minutes.”

“More than enough time.” Derian pocketed her
phone and left the china cup on the table beside the sofa. She followed Anthony
past a series of offices with closed doors to the end of the hall where another
admin, male again, sat in an alcove in front of a set of enormous walnut double
doors with gleaming brass handles. Anthony slid a security card through an
unobtrusive card reader off to one side and, at the discreet sound of a faint
buzz, held the door open for her. Martin’s office was a suite of rooms larger
than many apartments with layers of plush oriental carpets, multiple seating
areas, a flagship desk in one corner with views of Manhattan on two sides, and
an array of computer monitors on one wall. Anthony slipped out behind them and
the doors closed, leaving them alone.

Martin looked up as she crossed the expanse
of carpet but didn’t bother to rise.

Derian stopped a few feet from his desk but
chose not to sit, preferring to look down at him. She hadn’t seen him in three
years, but he hadn’t changed at all. His hair was still jet-black, his face
tight and youthful appearing, and even sitting, she could tell he was in shape.
He had a passion for handball and played several times a week with his
assistants. He still wore his suit jacket, even at his desk, with his tie only
minimally loosened. A mantle of power shimmered around him.

“I’m in the middle of a busy morning,” Martin
said coolly. “I have businesses to run, after all.”

“Then I’ll get right to the point,” Derian
said just as coolly. “I’m taking over the agency until Henrietta is back on her
feet. I want you to call Donatella and tell her to vacate the office.”

Martin laughed and leaned back in his
high–backed leather chair. “Putting aside the fact you have absolutely no
experience, we both know that kind of work would strain your…capabilities.”

“Business is just a sophisticated game,”
Derian said, echoing one of Martin’s favorite sayings, “and one thing I’m very,
very good at is winning games.”

“So I’m given to understand. Why would you
even want to attempt this one?”

“Because that’s what Henrietta wants.” She
took a chance, knowing her aunt would never leave any eventuality uncovered.
“She’s made sure I have a holding interest in the company. It’s in the
paperwork somewhere, and you probably already know that.”

“What I know,” Martin said, an edge creeping
into his voice, “is that you haven’t bothered with the business or anything
else for years. Henrietta’s return is uncertain, and your pretending to be in
charge for a week or two is a foolish exercise.”

“I’ll be here for as long as necessary, and
there are plenty of experienced people already present at the agency who know
how to do their jobs. Emily May is a senior agent and has worked closely with
Henrietta for years. Should I need to consult with anyone, she’ll be
available.”

“Emily May’s employment status is
uncertain”—he waved a hand—“and given that, the board decided someone with more
experience and long-term investment in the enterprise was needed.” He smiled,
his lips a thin line. “I’m afraid you and Ms. May have a great deal in common.
Neither of you is fit to helm the agency.”

Derian slid her hands into her pockets and
strolled to the windows, putting her back to him. His easy dismissal of Emily, as
if she was already headed back to Singapore, infuriated her more than his
expected ridicule of her own abilities. “I haven’t been very interested in the
business, you’re absolutely right. But I find that I suddenly have a new
appreciation for Winfield Enterprises. Up until now, I’ve been happy for Aud to
represent me at board meetings, but now I find I’d rather do that myself. Of
course, it’s possible I might not always be in agreement with your position
when it comes time to vote.”

She didn’t have to turn to feel a wave of
anger wash over her. She couldn’t block him in a vote, but he wouldn’t be happy
if she took a position against him, especially if she sided with other board
members who might disagree with some of his plans. He wouldn’t risk that.

“You’ve got a month, if you last that long,”
he said. “However, the board has asked for an audit, which will be ongoing.
Donatella will oversee that.”

“Just make sure Donatella’s out of my office
before I arrive.”

She turned and walked out without bothering
to say good-bye.

Wide-eyed and breathless, Ron burst into Emily’s
office, caught the door just before it slammed in his haste to close it, and
skidded to a halt. “She’s here!”

Emily set aside her iPad and stared at him.
“Who’s here?”

He canted his head in the direction of
Henrietta’s corner office. “Derian Winfield.”

“Derian?” Emily shot to her feet. “Here?”

“In the flesh.” Ron eyed her suspiciously. “I
think you’ve been keeping secrets.”

“No, I haven’t.” Feeling her blush deepen,
Emily sat slowly and hoped her excitement wasn’t evident. Never had she had
such a spontaneous thrill just from hearing someone’s name. “I had no idea she
was coming.”

That was certainly an understatement. The
last time they’d talked, Derian hadn’t said anything about visiting the agency,
but then, why would Emily expect her to? They were becoming friends, at least
she felt that way, but hardly intimates, and Derian had no reason to discuss
business matters with her. Derian was a Winfield, after all, and as much as she
resisted accepting the role of heir apparent, that’s what she was. For an
instant, Emily felt a twinge of hurt, and then brushed it impatiently aside.
Business was business, and if Derian was here, that was certainly none of her
concern. What mattered was the agency.

“She is Henrietta’s niece, after all,” Emily
said offhandedly, “so it shouldn’t be a surprise she’s here.”

“That’s not what you said a few days ago. No
interest in the business, I think you said. Plus, why do you look as if it’s
Christmas morning, and you’ve got a big present under the tree?”

“I do
not
.”

“With a giant red bow and—”

“Stop it.” Emily had to laugh.

Ron pulled a chair closer to her desk,
plopped into it, and settled in for what looked like a long campaign. “It’s
time for you to spill it, honey.”

“There’s absolutely nothing—”

He wagged a finger. “When just the thought of
someone makes your eyes light up the way yours just did, you are honor bound to
have to tell your friends.”

Was that true? She didn’t know. She hadn’t
discussed intimate feelings for someone since she was a teenager, and those
wishful relationships had just been crushes. And come to think of it, she’d
never really discussed her girl crushes with her friends, especially since her
biggest had been on a best friend who was undeniably and irrevocably interested
in boys, and only boys. And after that, there hadn’t been anything serious
enough to discuss with anyone. But what would she say?

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” she
said, almost to herself.

A sympathetic expression crossed his face.
“You could start with how you feel about her.”

Emily laughed abruptly. “Wouldn’t that be
starting at the end instead of the beginning?”

“I suppose it depends on your perspective.
Start at your beginning, then.”

Something about his kindness and the genuine
friendship beneath all his teasing and prodding, mixed with her own confused
emotions, prompted her to put into words what she’d almost been afraid to
consider. “We’ve had dinner a couple of times.”

“Aha, and where did that happen?”

“Well, I told you about the first time,” she
said a little impatiently, not at all certain she wanted to go down this path.
“At her apartment in the Dakota.”

“I’ve never been in there. Is it as fabulous
as they say?”

She laughed. “It is.”

“Okay, enough of that—you can tell me all
about the décor later. And the next time?”

“I cooked for her,” she said softly.

“Wow,” he said with a reverent tone. “That’s
very personal. Just dinner?”

“Yes,” Emily said hearing the prim tone in
her voice and chiding herself inwardly. Why was she hiding her feelings? “Just
dinner and…a good-night kiss.” Before he could say another word, she held up
her hand. “That’s all, just a kiss. And I’m not saying any more about that.”

“Oh, you can’t be serious. You kissed Derian
Winfield? How many times?”

“I’m not giving any details.”

“All right,” he said musingly, a thoughtful
expression crossing his face, “let’s discuss the theoretical. Do you want to
kiss her again?”

For one of those rare times in her life,
words failed her. If she voiced her desires, then what? Would she no longer be
able to deny to herself how very attracted she was to Derian? And since when
was she afraid to face her own feelings or the realities of her life? She
sighed. “I certainly wouldn’t mind.”

“And how about her? Has she issued any
invitations?”

I
want to make love to you.
Derian hadn’t been afraid to say what she
wanted—and what did that say? Was Derian so unused to rejection, she didn’t
mind exposing her feelings? Or had she really been as driven by passion as
she’d sounded? Emily remembered the heat of Derian’s mouth on her throat and
the gravelly desperation in her tone.
God,
I want you.
Emily’s breathing kicked up again, her blood racing.
Hopefully Ron couldn’t tell. “I think she’s interested also.”

“Wow.” Ron looked suddenly serious, an
unusual expression for him. She’d learned over the years his approach to
dealing with almost everything in life was with humor liberally laced with
sarcasm. “That’s kind of serious. Derian Winfield isn’t exactly known for
serious.”

“If you mean she has a reputation for being a
player, I know that,” Emily said. “But she’s not the person the media makes her
out to be. She’s kind and generous and sensitive.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“You’ve got a thing for her. I mean, beyond
the
she’s hot
kind of thing.”

Emily made an exasperated sound. “Just
because I happen to like someone, and find them attractive, and…” She caught
her breath as she heard herself denying again. That wasn’t her. “Actually,
you’re right. I have a big thing for her. She’s gorgeous and sexy and pretty
much wonderful.”

“Well,” Ron said with finality, “then I think
you should drag her off somewhere and have your way with her. Because I’ve
never heard you say that about anyone before, and opportunity doesn’t usually
knock twice.”

“You know, Ron, everything isn’t about sex.”

“Of course it is, when everything is said and
done. Okay sure, maybe you won’t have sex with your best friend, but when you
start thinking about your best friend as being attractive and gorgeous and wonderful
and sexy, they’re not your best friend anymore. They’re something else
altogether. And, opposite side of the coin, you know, someone doesn’t have to
be your best friend to have really hot, satisfying sex with them.”

“I don’t think of her as my best friend,”
Emily said. “Actually, I think of you as my best friend and I’ve never wanted
to have sex—”

“Okay, let’s not go there,” Ron said,
grinning.

“If she’s here, Ron,” Emily said, decidedly
not
going to discuss
sex with Derian with anyone, “it might not mean anything at all. She’s never
been interested in the business. It’s possible she just came on an errand for
Henrietta.”

“You think you can find out?”

“I’m not going to use my relationship with
her to get insider information. If she’s here for anything other than a brief
visit, I’m sure we’ll all find out at the same time.”

“You know, sometimes you’re absolutely no
fun.”