by Sharon Sala
“This way, my dear. You’re going to be much more comfortable living here.”
Rachel frowned. “I liked the other apartment just fine.”
His smile was pained, as if she’d just committed a faux pas. “But darling, it was over a restaurant.”
Rachel bit her lip. Arguing with this man was futile. He smiled and nodded and then did what he damned well pleased. She sighed. If he thought the apartment over the restaurant was unfit, he should have seen where she’d lived before that.
A gold and black awning stretched over the sidewalk from the front of the apartment building to the curb. The double glass doors looked to be several inches thick, and the doorman in a matching gold and black uniform tipped his hat as he opened the door for them to pass through.
Still unused to the deference that comes with money and fame, Rachel paused and caught herself staring, wondering what kind of a man would choose such a job. There was nothing in the man’s narrow face to indicate what might have led him to accept this as his lot in life. Then their gazes met, and impulsively Rachel smiled. She remembered all too well the thankless jobs she’d had for most of her life.
“Thank you,” she said.
The connection between them was, for Beatty, unexpected. And although it was nothing more than a smile of politeness for Rachel, he saw it as more— much more.
Jules frowned as they moved toward the elevators. “That wasn’t necessary,” he said shortly.
“What wasn’t necessary?” Rachel asked.
“Acknowledging the doorman’s help. That’s what he gets paid to do.”
Rachel sighed. As much as she dreaded confronting this man, his constant need for control had to stop.
“Mr. Farrier, I appreciate—”
Jules arched an eyebrow and then grinned. “Mr.? I suppose that means I’ve offended you again.”
Rachel shook her head. “I’m not offended. But I’m also quite capable of choosing who I speak to. If I want to thank someone for something, I will.”
Jules’s gritted his teeth to keep from arguing. Maris had warned him about Rachel from the start. He could push her, yes, but only so far. He traced the curve of her cheek with the tip of his finger, savoring the perfection of her skin.
“Whom. Whom you speak to, not who. And I’m sorry, darling. I only want what’s best for you.”
Rachel flinched. It wasn’t just his manner that was proprietary. He took far too many things for granted. She was going to have to talk to Maris about this as well. She moved backward. Not much, but enough to put herself out of his reach.
Jules panicked. The last thing he wanted was to tick her off. Her face was crucial to the launch of his new line. He took a deep breath and looked away. As difficult as it was for him, he decided to back off. But not permanently. Just long enough for Rachel Austin to become firmly entrenched in the high life. He knew his women. After that, she would do anything to stay in his good graces so the money would keep rolling in.
Rachel wrinkled her nose, a bit put off by the spicy scent of his cologne. It was a thick, rich scent, like the man who wore it. When he turned away, she couldn’t help but stare, comparing his classic good looks, expensive clothes, and cosmopolitan charm to Houston’s face and style. There might be several million dollars’ worth of difference in their bank accounts, but Jules Farrier was no match for her Houston when it came to looks and charm. And then she sighed, reminding herself that Houston wasn’t her anything anymore.
“We’re here,” Jules announced, then stepped out of the elevator and turned, holding the door for her as she exited behind him. “As you can see, it’s quite convenient. Security cameras in the hallways. Coded entry.”
Rachel watched as he punched in a series of numbers. When the lock clicked, she frowned. Something was odd. And then it hit her.
“Jules.”
He turned. “Yes, my dear?”
“If this is going to be my apartment, why do you know the entry code?”
It wasn’t often that Jules Farrier slipped up, but this was one of those times. Damn, he thought. But he hid his dismay behind a bland smile.
“Oh! Didn’t Maris tell you?”
She shook her head.
“This apartment belongs to Farrier Cosmetics.”
Rachel’s frown deepened. “I don’t like what I’m hearing,” she said. “I may not be as cosmopolitan in my tastes as you’d like, but we have whores, even in Texas. There is no way I’m staying in an apartment owned by my boss.”
“But you already were,” he said shortly. “I fail to see the difference between me and Maury Feldman.”
Rachel’s glare cut straight to his heart, and he knew instantly that it had been the wrong thing to say.
“The difference is that Maury Feldman didn’t offer me that apartment. Esther Goodman did. She’s also responsible for getting me the job in the Crystal Room. And if you think for one minute that there was anything going on between me and Mr. Feldman, then you can take your money and your job and—”
Jules blanched. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I had no idea you knew Estie Goodman. She’s a legend, you know.”
Rachel refused to be swayed and headed for the door.
Jules groaned beneath his breath. By God, Maris Binder had been right. This woman was going to walk out on her contract and the money, and all his careful planning was going to go to hell. He bolted, grabbing her arm just before she got to the door.
“Wait! Please wait!”
Rachel spun, yanking away from his grasp, her eyes blazing with fury. “Don’t touch me.”
Jules turned her loose as if she’d suddenly caught fire.
“I’m sorry. My God, Rachel, I’m sorry. Please, this is all just a terrible misunderstanding.”
“This better be good,” she warned.
Jules felt out of sync. He couldn’t remember a time in his life when he’d ever been this scared and uncertain. Certainly not since he’d reached adulthood. Everything he wanted, both for himself and for his company, hinged on calming her.
“Look, our arrangement is a bit unusual, but only because I wanted sole rights to your services.” He blanched when she backed up some more. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” he muttered. “I mean sole rights to use you as the spokesmodel for my entire company, not just the Timeless campaign. I offered living accommodations as part of the package. Didn’t your agent tell you?”
Rachel shook her head. “I doubt I would have missed that part.”
Jules sighed. He would yank Tom Mikeowitz’s chain for this one for sure. Jules had been responsible for guiding Maris toward the Mikeowitz Agency. It wouldn’t do for Rachel to become disenchanted with her agent as well. If she picked someone else, Jules might not have as much control, and control was what he thrived on.
“I certainly meant no disrespect to you,” he said. “Nor do I want you to think I am assuming there will be anything between us other than a congenial working relationship.”
Rachel’s face was expressionless. “I don’t believe you.”
He was starting to sweat. “Here,” he said, yanking his cell phone out of his pocket and dialing Maris Binder’s number. “Ask Maris. She’ll tell you the truth.”
Rachel shoved away the phone. “I’m not talking to anyone connected to this Cinderella business. I’m calling Esther. She’ll tell me the truth.”
Jules felt sick. He couldn’t believe this was happening.
“Then use my phone,” he said quietly. “I’ll wait outside in the hall.”
Rachel hesitated. “I don’t know her number. I was going to ask Maury.”
“I’ll get him on the line for you,” Jules muttered. “Just please calm down, for God’s sake. Don’t let this ruin everything. You’re too important to me—and to the company. Please, Rachel?”
She stared at him for the longest time, judging the panic on his face against the guilt in his eyes. She wasn’t a fool. Despite what he was saying, she suspected he’d been pl
anning to assume a whole hell of a lot.
“I know the number to the Crystal Room. I’ll call him myself,” she said, and then stepped aside, waiting for Jules to leave as he’d promised.
He went into the hallway, wincing as the door slammed behind him, then dropped into a nearby chair and pressed his hands on his knees to keep them from shaking. A minute passed, then another, and another, until almost fifteen minutes had come and gone. Afraid to move, he kept staring at the door, willing it to open.
Inside, Rachel dialed the phone with trembling hands. Her gaze raked the opulence of the apartment as she waited for her call to go through. She had the most sickening notion that she was being had. Her legs were shaking, but she would be damned before she sat down on anything connected to Jules Farrier.
A couple of minutes later she was dialing Esther Goodman’s number and praying the old woman would be home. And then her voice came on the line, and Rachel went weak with relief.
“Esther, it’s me, Rachel. Do you have a minute to talk to me?”
Esther’s joy was evident. “Rachel, darling, it’s so good to hear your voice. And Maury tells me great things are happening for you. I saw your first cover. It’s fabulous. I had it framed, you know.”
“Thanks,” Rachel said.
Esther frowned. “Why do I hear a but in your voice?”
Rachel sighed. “Things are happening so fast. Sometimes I don’t know who to trust.”
Esther set aside the book she’d been reading and then leaned forward. “Tell me.”
Rachel started to talk.
Jules had never been kept waiting in a hallway in his entire life, and to think he was letting one of his employees get away with this stunt made him furious.
And then the door opened and his anger died.
Rachel was staring at him from the doorway.
He stood, unable to take the news sitting down.
She handed him the phone. “The entry code will have to be changed.”
Weak with relief, Jules put his phone into his pocket and nodded in agreement.
“Of course. I should have thought of it myself.”
“I intend to meet all of my contractual obligations, but that does not put me under any personal obligation to you. Understood?”
He nodded. Right now he would have done just about anything she asked.
“Understood,” he said, and then added, “Of course, I hope this does not preclude an evening out now and then? For business reasons, of course.”
“For business.”
“Then it’s agreed?”
She nodded.
“I’ll send someone for your things. Can you be ready to move by tomorrow? I’d like for you to get settled before the gala this weekend announcing the release of Timeless. You have a fitting the day after tomorrow morning and a photo shoot in the afternoon for the next promotion. This one will be in Cosmo. Are you impressed?”
“Tomorrow is fine.”
Jules allowed himself a smile. Damn her for being so unimpressed with the strings that he’d pulled. If he didn’t know better, he might think that the only thing that kept her interested was the money. But that couldn’t be right. The beautiful women he knew would never be blasé about becoming famous.
There was also another facet to Jules’s anger that he had yet to admit: it was tinged with an unsatisfied lust. When she turned around to shut the door, he had to resist the urge to take her in his arms. What he wanted was to push her back into that apartment, strip her naked, fuck her senseless, and regain the authority. It was a testament to his self-control that he offered her his elbow instead.
“Shall we?”
She hesitated, then slipped her hand in the crook of his arm.
“I’ll drop you off at the Crystal Room on my way back to my office,” Jules said. “I’m sure you’ll be wanting to say your goodbyes.”
They left the same way they’d come in, but Rachel was still so upset, she hardly noticed the odd little doorman.
But Beatty Andrews noticed them. Ever since they’d gone up in the elevator, he had been watching, waiting for their return. He’d even forgone his midafternoon break for fear that he’d miss their exit.
From his place outside the door, he saw them getting off the elevator. The surge of joy he felt was almost sexual.
He gave the man she was with a perfunctory glance before turning his full attention to her. She wore something white and slightly sheer that moved against her body as she walked. The color was the perfect contrast for her black hair and dark skin. As he watched her lips moving in answer to some question the man had proposed, a shiver of longing came over him. Within seconds she would be close enough to touch.
He stepped to the door and promptly opened it for them. As they walked by him he stared, absorbing everything about her as if it were happening in slow motion. The slight bounce to her unfettered breasts. The way her hair swung in opposite rhythm to her stride. Her scent, a mixture of soap and shampoo and some exotic perfume. He had no idea it was Farrier’s Timeless, the scent that was going to make her famous.
He held his breath, wanting to hear that low, husky voice again, willing her to speak or at least to look his way. To his dismay, she did neither. He stood on the curb, satisfied that his second fleeting glimpse of her had been more memorable than the first, and watched as their cab pulled away. In all of his life he’d never seen a more beautiful woman. He thought of his mother then and wondered if she’d ever been pretty. He didn’t think so. He couldn’t imagine an attractive woman turning into the witch that she’d become.
As he walked back to the door, the idea of immersing himself on the Internet wasn’t as enticing as usual. He kept thinking of her. Of the way she walked. Of the way she laughed. By the time a half hour had passed, he’d convinced himself that if he had asked her, she would have gone out with him, though he didn’t even know her name. But he couldn’t ask her, of course—not until he had a place of his own. He couldn’t let a woman like her know that he still lived with his mother.
He frowned, trying to focus on his work as another cab pulled up to the curb. One of these days he was going to move out and get his own apartment. Then he could do whatever he wanted, when he wanted. Even take out a woman like her.
Rachel stood before the mirror in her new apartment, staring at herself in disbelief.
“Oh, Mama,” she whispered. “If only you were here to see this.”
The dress she was wearing had been designed specifically for Farrier’s gala. Its style, like the perfume itself, was timeless. Backless, sleeveless, and with a décolletage that only a perfect body could carry, it radiated success. It was a pure, virgin white edged in gold, and it fit her body like a glove. The slit up the front revealed a length of long leg. Rachel moved first one way, then the other, frowning slightly. Almost too much leg. Then she shrugged. This wasn’t Mirage and she was no longer waiting tables for cash. She wanted to be a success, and if using the assets God gave her was going to make it happen, then so be it.
The doorbell rang, startling her out of her musings.
She glanced at the clock as she turned away from the mirror. Just after six-thirty—too early for Jules. But when she looked through the peephole, her eyes widened in surprise. It was him. When she opened the door, it was obvious that Jules Farrier was equally elegantly arrayed. His black tux was impeccable. The pin-tucked shirt beneath the jacket was pristine white.
“Good evening, Jules. Please come in.” She smiled nervously. “You’re early. I wasn’t quite ready.”
Jules felt blindsided. Even though he’d seen the dress during every stage of its creation, on her it took on a new dimension. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
“My God, you’re magnificent!”
Rachel blushed. “So everything’s okay? You told me to leave my hair down, but this gown is so elegant, it doesn’t seem right.”
He just shook his head. “Okay is not the word.” Then he took a small velvet bag fr
om his pocket. “And your hair is perfect for this.”
Something glittered in his hand as he removed it from the bag.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
She did as he asked, feeling the pressure of a narrow band around her forehead as he turned her toward the mirror in the foyer.
“Now you may look.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Is that real?” she muttered.
An eyebrow arched. It was his only sign of humor. “Of course.”
She reached up, running her finger along the gold and turquoise circlet he’d placed on her head. No more than a half an inch wide, the oblong stones set within the band added an exotic look to her appearance. Lost in her own reflection, she missed seeing the hard glitter in Jules Farrier’s eyes.
“Perfect!” he whispered, and cupped her shoulders, squeezing them gently.
Rachel blinked, her focus shifting from her hair to the reflection of the man behind her. Again, the hint of possession in his voice and his touch made her uncomfortable. She moved—not much, just enough to put some distance between them.
Jules recognized her nervousness and took a deep breath, making himself relax. He’d worked far too long and hard on this project to mess it up now just because he wanted in the woman’s pants. Granted she wasn’t ordinary, and there was the distinct possibility that she wasn’t even wearing those pants tonight, but he would do what he had to do. And, he reminded himself, there was always later. Denial wasn’t part of his normal routine.
“I should have called,” he said. “We need to leave early; there’s a photographer waiting at the ballroom. I want some stills taken of you before the guests begin to arrive.”
“Then I’d better finish dressing,” Rachel said. “Please have a seat. I won’t be long.”
Beatty Andrews went off duty at six P.M., but he’d dawdled as he changed from his uniform into his own clothes. By the time he was ready to head for home, almost thirty minutes had passed. He was on his way out of the building when he saw the black limousine pulling up to the front. When he recognized the man who got out, he moved into a hallway to watch.