Beauty And Her Boss

The woman shook her head. “Not me, dearie. I wouldn’t have a clue. I’m the housekeeper and cook.”

Gaby was disappointed. Working with Mrs. Kupps would have certainly made her workday interesting. “Do you know who will be showing me what I need to do?”

“I assume that would be Mr. Santoro.”

“Oh, will he be out soon?”

The woman clucked her tongue. “Mr. Santoro does not get out much these days.”

“Not even on his own estate?”

The woman shook her head as a serious look came over her face. “He prefers to stay in his suite of rooms.”

This arrangement was getting stranger by the minute.

“But how will I be able to work with him?”

“He will phone you.”

And then Mrs. Kupps pointed out the way to the office. Gaby made it there with ease. Once inside, she glanced around the office, taking in the white walls and two desks that faced each other from across the room. They were both sparsely set up, but the one to her left looked a bit haphazard, as though the person had been in a rush to get out the door.

The room was adorned with beach decorations and a couple of prints of the ocean. It was pretty, but there was nothing of the man that owned this spacious estate. There were no movie posters, no snapshots of Mr. Santoro with costars and no awards. It was though he’d purposely removed himself from the room. But why?

Gaby moved to one of the desks and placed her purse as well as her pink-and-white tote on the desk chair. Her gaze scanned the desk as she searched for any instructions of what was expected of her or a number that she was supposed to call upon arrival.

Then the phone rang.

* * *

He should have never agreed to bring Gabrielle here.

The decision had been made in haste.

And it was a mistake.

Deacon paced back and forth in his private study. This woman with the honeyed voice was dangerous, as she was poised to be a distraction from the stark reality of his situation. She would make him think about all of the damage that had been done. If only he could remember the accident—remember if he was at fault.

He would need to be on constant guard around her. With her being the niece of the woman who had died in his arms, she would be out to finish what her father started—destroying him.

And then he’d almost been caught by Gabrielle while he was in the rose garden.

It was his oasis. His chance to feel like a normal person, not a man hunted and hounded for the truth—something he didn’t possess. How exactly had she missed the sign that explicitly said Do Not Enter?

Luckily he’d had enough time to make a clean escape. But as her sweet voice called out to him, he’d hesitated. An overwhelming urge came over him to capture a glimpse of the face that went with such a melodious voice.

In the shadows, he paused and turned back. He’d been awestruck. He didn’t know how long he’d stood there in the shadows watching her move about the garden searching for him. Her long hair had bounced around her slim shoulders. Her face—it was captivating. It wasn’t the type of beauty that was created with powder and makeup. No. Hers was a natural, undeniable beauty.

Her creamy complexion was flawless. He was too far away to catch the color of her eyes. He imagined they would be blue. His gaze strayed down past her pert nose and paused on her lush, rosy lips. Oh, she was definitely going to be a big distraction.

He jerked his meandering thoughts to an immediate halt. What was done, was done, as his mother would say. Now he had to deal with the consequences.

Deacon Santoro gripped the phone in his good hand and pressed the number for the office. He lifted the receiver to his ear. Two rings later, Gabrielle answered. The tone of her voice was a sweet blend of vanilla and caramel with a touch of honey.

He did not have time to get caught up in such nonsense.

Focus.

Deacon resumed pacing. “I see you decided to abide by our agreement.”

“I don’t see how I had any choice?”

“Everybody has choices—”

“Not in this case.”

“And you were able to find someone to check in on your father?” He didn’t know why he’d asked except that when he’d first made this proposal, Gabrielle had been quite hesitant to leave her father.

“I have a friend staying with him. Newton just moved back to the area and my father had a spare room. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“I take it you’ve since changed your mind about this Newton.”

Gabrielle hesitated. “Let’s just say I’ve gotten to know him better and he’s not the same as I remembered.”

“I see.” Deacon’s curiosity spiked, but he forced himself to drop the Newton subject. “At least you won’t have to worry about your father.”

Deacon was impressed by her allegiance to her father, but that wouldn’t be enough to sway him to concede. Her father had cost him more than just bad press, a mess in his yard and upset employees—her father had stirred up the paparazzi. Once again, there were news reports on television and the internet. His phone—with its private number—was now receiving calls from journalists wanting “the truth.”

The little sleep he did get was once again riddled with nightmares—fiery, jagged dreams. But when he woke up, the images blurred and the memories receded to the back of his mind. With each dream, he hoped he’d be able to latch on to the elusive truth of what happened on that deadly night. But try as he might, his memory had holes the size of craters and images blurred as if in a dense fog.

The doctors had warned him that the memories might never come back to him. That was not the answer he’d wanted to hear. He needed the truth—even if it meant he was responsible for taking another person’s life. Trying to live with the unknown was a torture that had him knotted up inside.

“If you would just tell me where to meet you, we can sit down and go over what is expected of me.” Gabrielle’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Of course it is.”

He could hear the confusion in her voice. She wasn’t the first assistant that had been uncomfortable with his distant style of management, but it was the way it had to be. He didn’t need anyone eyeing him with pity. He didn’t deserve anyone feeling sorry for him. It was best for him to keep to the shadows. The accident had left permanent scars on him both inside and out. His career as an actor was over. And he was now struggling to find a new position for himself in the background of Hollywood.

He cleared his throat. “All of your instructions are on your computer. The password is capital B-e-a-c-h.”

“Will you be stopping by the office later?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand—”

“We will conduct our business via the phone or preferably by email.”