“I’m sorry,” she mumbled and buried her gaze in the stack of paper. “I was just looking at those pictures and it hit me. This must be really hard for you. So much pressure to fill your father’s shoes. Your grandfather’s shoes.”
He didn’t know what to say. It was like she had ripped a hole right through him. “I guess it is.”
“It’s quite a legacy.”
“It would have been.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Of course it does.” He closed his briefcase and stood over it, paralyzed. “All my life, I’ve been told I would run this place one day. I used to hate the idea of it. I didn’t want that decision to be made for me. But now that I won’t have it—” He couldn’t finish the thought.
The way the light caught her eye. It was… he couldn’t put his finger on it. He was lucky to have her in his corner. She was smart, savvy, compassionate. And what she lacked in looks, she made up for in so many other ways. If things were different, he might… No. His plans were already in the works. In a day or two he would know something useful.
But, damn, he wasn’t used to being the pursuer.
He was used to fending off advances, not making them. He was used to deflecting unwanted attention. There was always someone angling for a favor. Someone who wanted to be seen on the Collier heir’s arm. In six years, he hadn’t found a single woman who didn’t have ulterior motives.
Maybe that’s what made Zenina so different. She had seen his car. Seen the hotel. Even if she didn’t know his name, she was smart enough to know what he was worth.
And she hadn’t cared. It was just about the best thing about her. Well, next to that tattoo that wrapped her hips and belly like the sexiest damn gift he’d ever seen.
He felt a twitch beneath his belt. He had to stop or he wasn’t going to get any work done today. And the way it was shaping up, he had more to do now than ever.
“I gotta go,” he said. “Reschedule my appointments. I’ll be back after lunch.”
| 17
Abby couldn’t put her finger on it, but something was definitely up with Derek today.
Not only had he let her skate by with unfinished work, but he was almost civil. Or was that her imagination?
It didn’t matter. At least when she’d handed over the incomplete spreadsheet and told him she’d have the rest of the reports to him the next day, he hadn’t asked for those remaining files, because they were still in her apartment, sitting right where she’d left them beside her home computer, along with a copy of the bylaws. Her plan to be a superstar assistant would have worked out so much better if she hadn’t slept through her alarm. In her rush to get herself ready and out the door, she’d left half the project behind. Thankfully, she had e-mailed herself what she had finished, so she had something to give him.
He had been surprisingly fine with the incomplete package, and then when he’d found her waiting by Gladys’s desk, he’d been downright pleasant.
Just like that first night.
The idea caught her in a way she didn’t expect. She had tried to forget that night. Of course she hadn’t, but she pushed it from her thoughts every time it surfaced. She told herself how pointless it was, how dangerous.
The logical side of her listened.
But there was another side that still wanted him. Maybe now more than ever. He had been so wonderful that first night. Gorgeous and perfect. On his best behavior, the way new lovers always are.
These last few days she had seen the real man. The one who was as passionate about his work and his family as he was in the bedroom. He wouldn’t be so angry or feel so betrayed if he wasn’t.
And she had to give him credit. If her family had betrayed her the way his had betrayed him, she wouldn’t be taking it nearly so well. She certainly wouldn’t help them twist the knife once they’d stabbed her in the back.
She could see his pain. He didn’t want this sale. That was obvious now. He was not as impenetrable as he pretended to be. She glimpsed that soft, tender lover again, in moments, and it nearly undid her.
She thought of her father, and the life ripped away from him. And herself, having her only living parent taken from her. She knew about pain and loss. She knew the way it twisted up your insides.
Maybe if she told Derek she understood. Maybe if she wrapped herself around him as she had that night.
It was stupid to even consider. She couldn’t declare herself now. He’d never forgive her.
Would he? Could she make him understand why she had lied?
At her desk, she scribbled a message on a sticky note. “Back in 10. Running downstairs.”
But she didn’t go downstairs. She needed to make a call and it had to be private. She found her car in the parking structure, crawled into the driver’s seat, and shut the door. On her phone, she dialed Melanie.
Her friend picked up on the third ring. “Hey, what’s up?”
“You need to talk me out of doing something really stupid.”
“Okay,” Melanie said. “What would that be exactly?”
“I want to tell him the truth.”
| 18
By the time Abby returned to the executive floor fifteen minutes later, she was feeling better. Melanie had done exactly as Abby had hoped: Made her see how suicidal it would be to come clean with Derek. At least right now. Give it some time, Melanie advised. If something developed down the road, tell him then. Just wait until the studio was no longer on the line.
She didn’t tell Melanie that road would be a short one, since a sale was imminent. It was difficult enough keeping that secret from Melanie.
But her friend would understand. It was the practical thing to do.
When Abby returned to her desk, Derek’s office door was nearly closed and she heard voices. He was back already? Had he been looking for her?
She went to the door to let him know she was back, but his voice reached her before she reached the door.
“She works at the Sultan’s Tent?”
Abby froze. It was a second voice she didn’t recognize.
“Yes,” Derek answered. “Thursday and Friday nights. I’m sure you’ll find her there.”
“That will probably be enough to get started.”
“Will it, or won’t it? I don’t want a probably.”
“If it isn’t, I’ll make some calls. I can find what I need.”
“Good.”
“So, is this a story assignment? My editor wasn’t clear on the details.”
“It’s not for the newspaper.”
Was this for real? Abby tried to breathe, tried not to pass out.
“Then, how should I note it on my expense report?”
“No expense report,” Derek shot back. “No time cards, either. Just let me know the hours and what you spend. I’ll pay you.”
“Directly?”
The young man was obviously struggling to understand. Abby didn’t blame him. She wasn’t doing any better.
“I guess I’m just not sure why you asked me to do this,” he continued. “Why do you need a reporter?”
“Because you know how to dig up information. You know how to get a story. I want this woman’s story. Write up everything you find and give it to me. Directly.”
“Seems like a lot of trouble—”
“Your editor told me you’re the best at what you do. That’s why you’re here. But if you prefer I ask someone else, I’m sure I can find someone interested in making an extra grand.”
“A thousand dollars?” The words all but sputtered out of the guy’s mouth. “No, I mean, I want the job, I was just—”
“You know the place. You know what I want. Tell me you can have your report to me first thing Monday morning and we’re finished.”
“I will have my report to you first thing Monday morning, Mr. Collier.”
The sound of movement startled Abby out of her paralysis. She slid quickly into her desk chair. Blood thrummed in her ears. Fear hammered on her chest.
She watched the reporter exit the office and walk by her desk. Tall. Thin. Bookish. Her unwitting executioner.
He eyed her on his way to the elevator. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon,” she replied and dropped her glance.
Was that the world crumbling beneath her feet?
| 19
Abby stared at the bylaws on her desk, but she hadn’t been able to read a complete sentence for well over an hour. She could only see that reporter’s face. And imagine what Derek’s face would look like, once he learned the truth.
There was no way around that now. Damn, she should have just been honest from the beginning.
“What are you still doing here, Miss Anderson?”
She hadn’t heard Derek’s door open. She hadn’t heard him walk up behind her. Oh, God. How was she going to face him?
“I was just… the bylaws. I was reading through them like you asked.” Her tongue felt like chalk.
“You don’t have to finish that tonight. Go home. Pick it up tomorrow.”
He was so calm. So pleasant. It made what she had to do even more difficult.
“Actually, can I speak with you?”
He checked his smartphone. “Can it wait? I’m running late.”
If only it could.
“It’ll only take a minute.”
Just long enough for him to say “You’re fired,” most likely.
His lips pinched. “All right.”
“Can we do it in your office?”
Had she really just said that? She wanted to hide her face in her hands, but there wasn’t time to be embarrassed. She couldn’t see his face. Maybe he hadn’t registered the ill-chosen words.
And maybe she was making a mountain out of a molehill. Maybe he would even think this whole thing was funny.
And maybe monkeys would fly out of her ears.
She followed him into his office. He leaned against his desk and crossed his arms.
“Okay, what’s so urgent?” he said.
Her fingers rolled into fists at her sides, clutching at nothing as this roller coaster car pulled out of the depot.
“I heard you speaking with the reporter.”
He straightened and scowled. “That’s a private matter. It doesn’t concern you.”
“But it does.” She nearly choked on the words. Seeing him look at her in that cold, brutal way. There had been such warmth in his eyes that first night. Such passion and fire. She remembered stroking the edge of that smooth jaw, the hard lines of his face. She opened her mouth to speak. Nothing came out. She turned away.
As long as she didn’t look at him, she could breathe. She could think. She could remember what she had to say. She pulled a stray tendril behind her ear. Slid the glasses to the top of her head like a head band and turned back to him. “I’m Zenina.”
It wasn’t anger she saw on his face. It was… amusement. A smile turned his cheek. He shook his head. “Miss Anderson, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing. But this isn’t the way to go about it.”
He didn’t believe her. She hadn’t expected that.
“But I am.”
He was still shaking his head, chuckling.
It was maddening. Irritating. “Why would I lie about that?”
“Why do women lie about anything?” he said. “It beats me. But it is a lie. I don’t know how you found out about Zenina. But you are not her. Believe me. She’s—” He paused. He stared at the ground. “She’s different, Miss Anderson.”
Her fear metabolized into something different. Something beyond irritation. “Different? Really? You might not recognize me, but I bet you’ll recognize this.” She worked the buttons on her black blouse and threw it open, not caring that it exposed the simple, white bra beneath. Only certain that he would not doubt her when he saw the tattoo.
The smirk dropped from his face. He inched toward her. His eyes locked on her belly. When he was close enough, he reached out. Fingertips trailed the lines that looped around her waist and plunged beneath the waistband of her skirt.
He stared in silence for a moment before his gaze lifted to hers.
She could see he believed her. Relief mingled with ecstasy. Would he embrace her? Kiss her? She ached to feel him against her, and in that moment she knew. She wanted him—had never stopped wanting him. Not for one night, but until the world ended. She couldn’t deny it anymore. She loved him.
| 20
“Zenina?” Derek said the name, but he couldn’t convince himself it was real. Nothing felt real. Was the room tilting? Was he still breathing? He didn’t know. He could only see her, staring up at him. What was that shine in her eyes? Pride? Triumph? For what? He didn’t understand.
From the pit of his stomach, a raw, gnawing feeling punched back at the question until there was no thought but this: She had lied to him. When had it started? How deep did it run? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the wrenching in his gut. The feeling of being used. That all-too-familiar anguish. She didn’t want him. She had never wanted him. She only wanted his position. His power. She wanted what she could take from him. She was just like the others.
His fingers burned where they touched her skin and he snatched them back.
Self-consciously she tugged the edges of her shirt closed.
“Get out,” he whispered.
The way her dark eyes flashed, he could see she hadn’t expected it. Her smile faded. The victory in her eyes vanished. She was the one suffering now.
It gave him only a little satisfaction, but it was enough.
“But, Derek, everything was—”
He raised his hand to stop her. It didn’t matter what she said now. He knew the truth. “Just leave.”
She stood, frozen. Her expression chiseled with misery and regret.
Fine, if she wouldn’t leave, he would. Without another word, without a glance, he brushed past her and was out the door.
| 21
The first time Abby heard the knock on her front door, she thought it was the television. She was on the sofa, passing in and out of sleep between reruns of Smallville, Angel, and Charmed.
The second time the thumps rattled the walls.
She rolled over and pulled her blanket over her head. Go away.
“Abby, are you in there?”
It was Melanie. Ugh. What did she want? Abby peeked over her shoulder at the DVD player’s digital clock. Nine thirty-eight. Already? The gray light filtering through the blinds made her think it was earlier. Sunny Southern California, yeah, right. Marine layers and May Gray was more like it.
Nine thirty-eight. She should be at her desk. She’d probably be on her second, maybe third cappuccino, if she hadn’t screwed things up.
She forced herself up and went to the door, the blanket trailing behind her.
Melanie looked her up and down. “What the hell happened to you?”
Abby stepped aside to let her friend in.
“What are you doing here?” she said.
“I could ask you the same question.” Melanie gaped at the mess in the living room. The blankets and pillows. The empty bowls and bent soda cans. The ice cream carton and melted chocolate puddle on the coffee table. “Looks like a junk food tornado came through here.”
“I wasn’t expecting company.” She took a half-hearted pass around the room, picking up.
“I went up to the fifth floor to see you and ran into Tall, Dark, and Moody. He said—and not exactly kindly, I might add—that you don’t work for him anymore. What the hell happened? And why have you been ignoring my texts?”
“What texts?” Abby deposited the dirty dishes in the sink and grabbed her purse from the shoulder of a chair. She pulled out her smartphone. Eight missed messages. All from Melanie. None from Derek. But then, did she really expect to hear from him? He’d made it pretty clear he never wanted to see her again. After he told her to leave and walked out, she’d grabbed her purse and left, too.
The rest of the day—and night—wa
s a wet, blubbering blur. She’d cried about losing Derek, and then her job, and soon the studio. And then that pain had tangled up with the familiar, year-old heartache. All the names her ex had called her, all those things he’d said. Maybe they were truer than she wanted to admit. Maybe she was damaged goods. It was her own selfishness that had driven Derek away. Her deception. If she’d been honest, if she’d been worthy. But she wasn’t. That was the cruel, awful truth and she might as well face it.
She thought there could be no tears left, but fresh ones streamed down her face.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Melanie came up and put a comforting arm around her shoulder. “Seriously, what happened?”
“Everything,” Abby managed to say between sobs. “I ruined everything. With Derek. With the studio. And it’s all my own fault.”
“Okay, this is what we’re going to do,” Melanie said in a soothing tone that belied the directive. “I’m going to make us some tea. And you’re going to tell me everything.”
At the end of it, Abby took a calm, restorative breath. She didn’t feel good, but she felt better.
“So let’s see if I have this right,” Melanie said. “You’ve pretty much lost your only chance to save the studio, and you realize you love this guy, but now he doesn’t want anything to do with you.”
Abby nodded. That almost good feeling was slipping away. “Yep,” she said. “In a nutshell.”
Melanie paced as she pondered the problem. She stopped at the dinette table, and stared at Abby’s laptop and the file folders stacked beside it. “What’s this?”
“Work.” Sometime around midnight, she’d realized that while she had lost her chance to save the studio, it was the betrayal in Derek’s eyes that hurt the deepest. She wanted to do something—anything—to make it up to him. The files she’d forgotten at home the day before were still sitting on her table, staring at her. That’s when she’d decided to finish what she had started. She’d completed all but the last bidder profile and finished reading the bylaws, noting anything that might disrupt a sale. It wasn’t going to make up for what she’d done, but it was all she had. And for a few hours, it had kept her mind off of everything else.
Shimmy for Me: A Novella (California Belly Dance Romance Series Book 1) Page 6