The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 3

by Nora Roberts

  “Okay, we’re in some trouble here. Sketching isn’t my strong suit, though compared to you, I’m da Vinci. I work better when I have some visual aides.” She blew out a breath, paced. “We’ll make do. I’ll have the team fax me sketches as we go. We’ll coordinate schedules so that we can hold a weekly session either here or at my office in the villa.”

  She dropped down on the arm of his chair, frowned into space. She was tuned in to her team, and had sensed the undercurrents. It was something she needed to deal with right away. “I need a half hour here. Why don’t you head over to Armani, and I’ll meet you there.”

  “Why am I going to Armani?”

  “Because you need clothes.”

  “I have plenty of clothes.”

  “Honey, your clothes are like your drawing. They meet the basic definition, but they aren’t going to win any prizes. I get to outfit you, then you can buy me the proper vintner attire.” She gave his shoulder an idle pat, then rose.

  He wanted to argue, but didn’t want to waste time. The sooner they were finished and driving north, the happier he’d be.

  “Where’s Armani?”

  She stared at him. The man had lived an hour out of San Francisco for years. How could he not know? “See my assistant. She’ll point you in the right direction. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “One suit,” Ty warned as he walked to the door. “That’s it.”

  “Mmm.” They would see about that, she thought. It might be fun to dress him up a bit. Sort of like molding clay. But before the fun started, she had work. She walked back to her desk and picked up the phone. “Kris, can I see you a minute? Yeah, now. My time’s pretty tight.”

  With a roll of her shoulders, Sophia began gathering files and disks.

  She’d worked with Kris for more than four years, and was very aware there had been considerable resentment when the fresh-out-of-college Sophia had taken over as head of the department. They’d come to terms, delicately, but she had no doubt that Kris’s nose was now seriously out of joint.

  Couldn’t be helped, Sophia thought. Had to be dealt with.

  There was a brisk knock, and Kris stepped in. “Sophia, I’ve got a pile of work.”

  “I know. Five minutes. It’s going to be rough shuffling things around between here and Napa for the next several months. I’m in a pinch, Kris.”

  “Really? You don’t look pinched.”

  “You didn’t see me pruning vines at dawn. Look, my grandmother has reasons for what she does and how she does them. I don’t always understand them, and I very often don’t like them, but it’s her company. I just work here.”

  “Right. Um-hmm.”

  Sophia stopped packing up, laid her palms on her desk and met Kris’s eyes dead-on. “If you think I’m going to enjoy juggling my time between the work I love and mucking around the vineyards, you’re crazy. And if you think Tyler is gunning for a position here in these offices, think again.”

  “Excuse me, but he now has a position in these offices.”

  “And one you believe should be yours. I’m not going to disagree with you, but I’m telling you it’s temporary. I need you here. I’m not going to be able to drive down here every day, I’m not going to be able to take all the meetings or delegate every assignment. Essentially, Kris, you’ve just been promoted. You don’t get a new title, but I will do everything I can to see that you get the financial compensation for the extra responsibilities that are about to be dumped on you.”

  “It’s not about the money.”

  “But money never hurts,” Sophia finished. “Ty’s position here, and his title, are titular. He doesn’t know anything about promotion and marketing, Kris, and isn’t particularly interested in either.”

  “Interested enough to make comments and suggestions this morning.”

  “Just a minute.” She could be patient, Sophia thought, but she would not be pushed. “Do you expect him to sit here like a moron? He’s entitled to express an opinion, and it so happens he made very decent suggestions. He’s been tossed off the cliff without a parachute, and he’s coping. Take a lesson.”

  Kris set her teeth. She’d been with Giambelli nearly ten years and was sick to death of being passed over for their precious bloodline. “He has a parachute, and so do you. You were born with it. Either one of you screw up, you bounce. That doesn’t go for the rest of us.”

  “I won’t go into personal family business with you. I will say you’re a valued member of the Giambelli, and now the Giambelli-MacMillan, organization. I’m sorry if you feel your skills and talents have been overlooked or undervalued. Whatever I can do to correct this, will be done. But these adjustments must be made, and over the next several months it would pay all of us to make sure we don’t screw up. I have to be able to depend on you. If I can’t, I need you to let me know so that I can make other arrangements.”

  “I’ll do my job.” Kris turned to the door, yanked it open. “And yours.”

  “Well,” Sophia murmured when the door slammed smartly. “That was fun.” On a sigh, she picked up her phone again. “P.J., I need a minute.”

  “No, we want classic. This very subtle chalk stripe to start.”

  “Fine, great. I’ll take it. Let’s go.”

  “Tyler.” Sophia pursed her lips and patted his cheek. “Go try it on, like a good boy.”

  He snagged her wrist. “Mom?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Cut it out.”

  “If you’d done more than brood for the last thirty minutes on your own, we’d be practically out the door. This one,” she said, handing him the rich brown with narrow stripes, “and this.” She selected a classic black three-piece.

  To cut off any complaints, she wandered away from him to ponder the shirts. “Shawn?” She gestured to one of the associates she knew by sight. “My friend Mr. MacMillan? He’s going to need guidance.”

  “I’ll take good care of him, Ms. Giambelli. By the way, your father and his fiancée were in just this morning.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, shopping for their honeymoon. If you’re looking for something special for the wedding, we have a fabulous new evening jacket that would be smashing on you.”

  “I’m a little pressed for time today,” she managed. “I’ll come back and see it first chance I get.”

  “Just let me know. I’ll be happy to send some selections to you for approval. I’ll just check on Mr. MacMillan.”

  “Thanks.” She picked up a dress shirt blindly, stared hard at the cream-on-cream pattern.

  Not wasting a minute, she thought. Shopping for the honeymoon before the divorce is final. Spreading the word far and wide.

  Maybe, maybe it was best she’d be out of her usual loop in the city for a while. She wouldn’t be running into people chatting about her father’s wedding every time she turned around.

  Why was she letting it hurt her? And if it did, this much, how much worse was it on her mother?

  No point in raging, she told herself, and started through the shirts like a woman panning for gold in a fast stream. No point in sulking.

  No point in thinking.

  She moved from shirts to ties and had a small mountain of choices when Ty came out of the dressing room.

  He looked annoyed, faintly mortified and absolutely gorgeous.

  Take the farmer out of the dell, she mused, and just look what you got. Big, broad shoulders, narrow hips and long legs in a classic Italian suit.

  “My, my.” She angled her head, approving. “You do clean up well, MacMillan. Leave fashion to the Italians and you can’t go wrong. Call the tailor, Shawn, and let’s get this show on the road.”

  She walked over with two shirts, the cream-on-cream and a deep brown, held them up to the jacket.

  “What’s the matter?” Ty asked her.

  “Nothing. Both of these will do very well.”

  He took her wrist again, holding it until she shifted her gaze to his. “What’s wrong, Sophie?”
<
br />   “Nothing,” she repeated, troubled that he could see the worry brewing inside her. “Nothing important. You look good,” she added, working up a smile. “All sturdy and sexy.”

  “They’re just clothes.”

  She pressed a hand to her heart, staggered back a step. “MacMillan, if you can think that, we have a long way to go before we get close to middle ground.” She plucked up a tie, draped it over the shirt. “Yes, definitely. How do the pants fit?” she began and reached down to check the waistband.

  “Do you mind?” Flustered, he batted her hand away.

  “If I was going to grope, I’d start lower. Why don’t you put on the black suit? The tailor can fuss with you.”

  He grumbled for form, but was relieved to escape to the privacy of the dressing room. Nobody was going to fuss with him for another minute or two.

  He wasn’t attracted to Sophia. Absolutely not. But the woman had been studying him, touching him. He was human, wasn’t he? A male human. And he’d had a perfectly natural human male reaction.

  Which he was not going to share with some tailor or a skinny clerk named Shawn.

  What he would do was calm himself back down, let them measure whatever needed to be measured. He’d buy everything Sophia pushed on him and get the ordeal over with.

  He wished he knew what had happened between the time he’d gone into the dressing area the first time and come out again. Whatever it was had put unhappiness into those big, dark eyes of hers. The kind of unhappiness that made him want to give her a shoulder to lean on.

  That was a normal reaction, too, he assured himself as he stripped off the chalk-striped and put on the black. He didn’t like to see anything or anyone hurting.

  Still, under the circumstances he was going to have to stifle any and all normal reactions to her.

  He glanced at himself in the mirror, shook his head. Who the hell were either of them going to fool by dressing him up in some snappy three-piece suit? He was a damn farmer, and happy to be one.

  Then he made the mistake of looking at the tag. He’d never realized a series of numbers could actually stop the heart.

  He was still in shock, and no longer remotely aroused, when Shawn came chirpily into the dressing room with the tailor in tow.

  “Consider it an investment,” Sophia advised as she drove out of the city and north. “And darling, you did look fabulous.”

  “Shut up. I’m not talking to you.”

  God, he was cute, she thought. Who knew? “Didn’t I buy everything you told me to buy? Even that ugly flannel shirt?”

  “Yeah, and what did it cost you? Shirts, some trousers, a hat and boots. Under five hundred bucks. My bill came to nearly twenty times that. I can’t believe I got hosed for ten thousand dollars.”

  “You’ll look every inch the successful executive. You know, if I met you when you were wearing that black suit, I’d want you.”

  “Is that so?” He tried to stretch out his legs in the little car, and failed. “I wasn’t wearing it this morning and you wanted me.”

  “No. I had a momentary lust surge. Entirely different. But there’s something about a man in a well-cut three-piece suit that does it for me. What does it for you?”

  “Naked women. I’m a simple man.”

  She laughed and, pleased to be on the open road, punched the gas. “No, you’re not. I thought you were, but you’re not. You did well in the office today. You held your own.”

  “Words and pictures.” He shrugged. “What’s the big deal?”

  “Oh now, don’t spoil it. Ty, I didn’t say anything before we went in because I didn’t want your impressions to be colored with my opinions, or my experience, but I think I should give you a basic personality rundown of the people you’ll work most closely with on my end.”

  “The guy goes along. He’s got a good brain for what he does and likes the work. Probably single so he doesn’t have someone pushing him in the ambition department. And he likes working around attractive women.”

  “Close enough.” Impressed, she glanced over at him. “And a good thumbnail for someone who claims not to like people.”

  “Not liking them much doesn’t mean I can’t read them. Perky P.J. now . . .” He trailed off as she glanced his way and laughed. “What?” he said.

  “Perky P.J. That’s perfect.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s got a lot of energy. You intimidate her, but she tries not to let it show. She wants to be you when she grows up but she’s young enough to change her mind about that.”

  “She’s easy to work with. She’ll take whatever you toss at her and make it shine. She’s good at finding fresh angles, and she’s learned not to be afraid to squash an idea one of us lobs that doesn’t hit the mark with her. If you run into snags that I’m not around to untangle, you should go to her.”

  “Because the redhead already hates my guts,” Ty finished. “And doesn’t think much of yours, either. She doesn’t want to be you when she grows up. She wants to be you now, and she wouldn’t mind if you had a sudden, bloody accident that took you out so she could step into your shoes and run the show.”

  “You did get a lot out of your first day in school. Kris is good, really good with concepts, with campaigns and, when it’s something she believes in, with details. She’s not a good manager because she rubs people wrong and tends to be high-handed with other members of the staff. And you’re right, at the moment she hates you just because you exist in what she considers her space. It’s not personal.”

  “Yeah, it is. It’s always personal. It doesn’t worry me, but if I were you, I’d watch my back. She’d like to leave her heel marks all over your ass.”

  “She’s tried, and she’s failed.” Idly, Sophia tapped her fingernails on the steering wheel. “I’m a great deal tougher than people think I am.”

  “I got that already.”

  Ty settled back as best he could. They’d see how tough she was after a few weeks in the field.

  It was going to be a long, chilly winter.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Pilar was nearly asleep, finally, when the phone rang at two A.M. She shot up in bed, snatching at the phone as her heart slammed into her throat.

  An accident? Death? Tragedy?

  “Hello. Yes?”

  “You ignorant bitch. Do you think you can scare me off?”

  “What?” Her hand trembled as she raked it through her hair.

  “I’m not going to tolerate you or your pitiful attempts at harassment.”

  “Who is this?” She groped for the light, then blinked in the sudden flash.

  “You know damn well who it is. You got a fucking nerve calling me, spouting off your filth. Shut up, Tony. I’ll say what I have to say.”

  “Rene?” Recognizing her husband’s placating voice in the background, Pilar struggled to clear her head, to think over the wild drumming of her heart. “What is this? What’s the matter?”

  “Just cut the goddamn innocent act. It might work with Tony, but it doesn’t with me. I know what you are. You’re the whore, sweetheart, not me. You’re the fucking liar, the fucking hypocrite. If you ever call here again—”

  “I didn’t call.” Fighting for calm, Pilar dragged the covers up to her chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Either you or your bitch of a daughter, and it’s all the same to me. Get this straight. You’re out of the picture, and you have been for years. You’re a frigid, dried-up excuse for a woman. Fifty-year-old virgin. Tony and I have already seen the lawyers, and we’re making legal what everyone’s known for years. There isn’t a man out there who wants you. Unless it’s for your mother’s money.”

  “Rene, Rene. Stop. Stop now. Pilar?”

  Pilar heard Tony’s voice through the rush of blood in her head. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I’m sorry. Someone called here, said perfectly vile things to Rene. She’s very upset.” He had to shout over the shrieks. “Of course, I told her you’d never do such a thin
g, but she . . . she’s upset,” he repeated, sounding frazzled. “I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “She’s upset,” Pilar whispered, and began to rock as the dial tone buzzed in her ear. “Of course she has to be soothed. What about me? What about me?”

  She hung up the phone, tossed back the covers before she gave in to her first instinct and curled into a defensive ball under them.

  She was trembling as she yanked on a robe, as she dug deep into her lingerie drawer for her secret emergency pack of cigarettes. Stuffing them in a pocket, she pushed through the French doors and rushed out into the night.

  She needed air. She needed a cigarette. She needed, Pilar thought as she ran across her terrace and down the stone steps, peace.

  Wasn’t it enough that the only man she’d loved, the only man she’d ever given herself to hadn’t cherished her? Hadn’t respected her enough to keep his vows? Did she have to be plagued now by her latest replacement? Awakened in the middle of the night and screamed at, sworn at?

  She strode away from the house, through the gardens, keeping to the shadows so that if anyone in the house was awake they wouldn’t see her through the windows.

  Pretenses, she thought, furious to find her cheeks were wet. We must maintain pretenses at all cost. Wouldn’t do to have one of the servants see Ms. Giambelli smoking in the shrubbery in the middle of the night. Wouldn’t do for anyone to see Ms. Giambelli doing her best to stave off a nervous breakdown with tobacco.

  A dozen people might have called Rene, she thought bitterly. And she very likely deserved the abuse tossed out at her by each and every one. From the tone of Tony’s voice, Pilar knew he had a pretty good idea just who’d made the call. Easier, she supposed bitterly, to let Rene believe it was the discarded wife rather than a more current lover.

  Easier to let the long-suffering Pilar take the slaps and the insults.

  “I’m not fifty,” she muttered, fighting with her lighter. “Or a goddamn virgin.”

  “Me neither.”

  She whirled, dropping the lighter with a little crash of metal on stone. Temper warred with humiliation as David Cutter stepped from shadow to moonlight.