Della

by Julie Michele Gettys

  She laughed. “I think I’d better watch out what I fib about. I wanted the job. I thought if I couldn’t figure it out, Iris would help me.”

  Their friendly patter intrigued Carrie. Wes certainly appeared taken with this young woman. “We’re having one of our usual get-togethers Saturday night. Would you like to come, Della?” Carrie, who hadn’t touched her lunch, sipped her coffee.

  “I’m free. I’d love to. Iris told me about your parties.”

  “You’re welcome to bring a guest,” Wes added. “These soirees give us a chance to talk business, break bread, and have a few laughs. Makes for better working relations. Only the inner circle come. Sometimes, we meet without our SOs and really get down to the nitty-gritty, but since this will be your first time, we’ll have a fun night. Keep the business to a low roar.” He bit into his fish. “You do have a young man in your life?”

  “I’m seeing someone.”

  Carrie wiped her mouth with her napkin, laid it across her plate, and relaxed back in her seat. “Where does your family live?”

  Della cleared her throat, stiffened; then, without looking anyone in the eye, proceeded to tell them about her father dying in the line of duty. A policeman in Pittsburgh. Her mother had taken the insurance money, helped Della get started, then trotted herself off to Europe in search of her roots, where she still lived. Della rarely saw her. She had no siblings.

  “You must be very lonely without family here,” Carrie crooned sympathetically.

  “I’m used to it.” Della glanced at Wes.

  So did Carrie. Wes winced. Why? Attraction or empathy? Carrie might just have to take this girl under her wing, keep an eye out for her. Since Wes was so taken with her, he’d appreciate her maternal concern.

  Carrie strongly suspected Della was trouble. But Carrie, as always, was on top of the situation.

  Right where she liked to be.

  * * *

  Wes Gates laid on his oversized bed, piles of reports neatly stacked around him, and on the nightstand his glass of sherry. Carrie was doing her nightly ritual in her bathroom. Through the open window came the comforting nightly canticle of crickets and frogs.

  Since dinner, Wes had tried to figure out the right time to bring up Della's name. He hated feeling guilty, but dammit, this debacle was Carrie’s fault. The hiring of executive staff should be his responsibility and his alone. He had no written or verbal agreement with her regarding her involvement in the hiring of his team. The custom had just evolved–mainly, he suspected, so she could keep an eye on whom he hired. Della Garland wasn’t Carrie’s ideal associate for him. In the past, he’d put up with her involvement, but he had no intention of letting anyone screw up his ultimate power. That wasn’t how Wes Gates worked, even with his beloved wife. He knew that as well as he knew his own name.

  All through their meal, he had watched Carrie struggle, carefully avoiding any mention of his latest protégé. Carrie was a cagey one, talking about everything under the sun except what was really on her mind.

  If Carrie gave him any trouble, he was ready.

  Having Della near him was all that mattered. Since he’d learned of her existence, he admitted he was obsessed with her. His son, Steven, had never been interested in his business. Steven was interested only in law. In the early days, Wes was disappointed, but he’d come to terms with it and was happy his son was doing something he loved. God knows, Wes followed his dream, as did Carrie. Steven was a whip, who would have been great at Wes’s side. But now Wes had a daughter he could groom to take his place.

  If he had told Carrie the truth about Della in the beginning, his life might have been much simpler, but he hadn’t. Now, he was backed into a corner. He’d wheedled his way out of many corners in his day, but this was going to be a doozy.

  At least, he didn't have Lillian to contend with. She wasn’t in the picture, posed no problem to him. He often wondered what she looked like now. Had the years been kind to her, or had she hardened from the fast life she’d led? What had caused Della to disown her?

  Carrie entered the bedroom, her bright red nightie and ruffled peignoir flowing around her. She was brushing her short, wavy blonde hair, and her perfume floated on the air. He basked in her beauty.

  “You know, Wes, Steven called yesterday. He said he'd like to work for you over summer vacation.” She sat on the edge of the bed, took the paper from his hand, and laid it on the stack next to him.

  Another of her ploys. She had never given a damn whether Steven worked for him or not. Her curiosity about Della oozed from every pore. Wes might have enjoyed her game more if he hadn’t felt so guilty. Obviously, she wasn’t going to bring up the subject herself. He appreciated her instinctively knowing how far to go.

  “Honey, Steven can work for me anytime he's home.” He stroked her arm, lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “You both know that. However, this is the first summer he’s been interested. What's on his mind?” Her mind, actually.

  She toyed with the sleeve of her peignoir. “He didn't say. I think he's just taking an interest in the family business.”

  “That's a switch. He's never been interested in anything but law. And we both know his interest lies in criminal law, not corporate law.”

  “You pay enough in legal fees to warrant your own in-house legal department. I’m sure then Steven would be interested.”

  “I like the firm I work with. I also like them on their own premises. But if Steven should show an interest when he passes the bar, I'll think about setting up a legal division.”

  He picked up the prospectus Della had prepared, eyed the fine job she’d done, tipping the report just enough for Carrie to see. “She did great on this.” Wes tried to sound preoccupied, disinterested.

  “Who did,” Carrie said nonchalantly, “your Della Garland?”

  “Yes. And she’s not my Della Garland.”

  “Let me see.” She glanced over the report.

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “Talk about what, dear?”

  He pinched her cheek. “You know very well.”

  “All right.” She slapped his arm gently. “You know I've been burning with curiosity all evening, don’t you?”

  “All evening? How about all day?”

  They laughed. He felt better, relaxing the tension between them. “I love you, darling.” She made him feel proud with her at his side. He appreciated her talents as a corporate wife. She did everything with aplomb, and everyone who knew her admired her. She made Wes the envy of his peers.

  “I love you too, darling.” Her tone went from affectionate to intense. “Now, why don't you tell me why you took me out of the loop.”

  Wes looked Carrie straight in the eye. “When I first thought of hiring Della, I only wanted her to handle our travel, like she’d done for us at Globe. You’ve never been involved in the hiring of clerks. When I interviewed her, I was so impressed, I believed she had greater potential. I didn’t want to lose her.” He was thinking quickly to cover his tracks, keep dissension between them to a minimum. “She’s been interviewing around town and waiting to hear. Jack Davis tried to get her back.” Wes hadn’t told Carrie he’d pulled his account from Davis. His motives were questionable and difficult to explain without exposing everything. “Time was of the essence. Hiring her was an impulsive decision during my interview. You know I've talked about her many times in the past, while she was at Globe. I didn't think she’d be available.”

  Carrie rose and poured herself a sherry from the wet bar. “Just how long do you think getting me into the process takes? I’m usually available.”

  Wes flinched. She was trying to nail him, and he wasn’t about to let her. He masterminded this empire. “That's not the point. I made the decision and I hired her. I don't want to feel I can't hire someone without your approval.”

  Her shoulders slumped, then she stiffened. “You're right. Gates International is your business. Believe me, dear, I never forget that. If you want to change how we've do
ne things in the past, that's your prerogative.” She took a long swallow of her drink, batted her lashes. Changed like a chameleon, she cooed, “I like Della. She'll be an asset to your organization.” She returned to his side. “I’ll take her under my wing and personally see that she fits in.”

  “If there's one person who doesn't need a mentor, it's Della.”

  “Don’t be too sure about that. A young woman alone in the world can always use a protector. My God, Wes, she's only twenty-five. She's a baby. Coming into this company will be traumatic, I can assure you.”

  He had never known her to take a personal interest in any woman. She prided herself on being a man's woman, proclaiming women were back-biters and she didn't trust them. She was up to something, and he didn’t like thinking about what she might do.

  * * *

  Della’s week flew by. Tonight, she’d be indoctrinated into the inner circle. The thought of hobnobbing with this group of people made her feel suddenly buoyant. She rummaged through her small sparse closet, looking for just the right dress to wear. No one had told her the dress code for these affairs. The only thing to do was punt. A cocktail dress. She laid out on the bed one of two she owned.

  Later, in a warm, frothy bubble bath, she rested her head on a small pillow, drew in the fragrance of the gardenia-scented candles burning at the other end of the tub. The warmth of the water calmed her tension-filled body. Classical music played on the stereo.

  From early morning until late at night, she’d thought of nothing but her job. Even Rick had become a passing thought with all she had to remember. No one at Gates International worked by the clock. Wes and Iris had put her on one project after another. Each night, she read a report from a different Gates company. Each and every one ran like a well-tuned machine. Wes told her that as soon as she had a grasp on the various enterprises, he’d send her out into the field to meet and see firsthand how each operation functioned. If she found one that particularly interested her, she could work for that company. She had the choice of staying at headquarters, or moving to another location. Decisions, decisions–all too good to be true.

  Fully relaxed and ready to take on the evening, she dried off, dressed, and was ready at the very moment Rick rang her buzzer. He was dashing in khaki slacks and a button-down shirt, his jacket casually slung over his shoulder. He greeted her with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. In the flurry of excitement, she’d nearly forgotten the rush his touch gave her.

  “Ready?”

  Rick maneuvered his Carerra through heavy Saturday traffic like a downhill skier, putting them in front of the Gates Tudor mansion right on time. She gasped at the size of the house and the picture-perfect manicured lawns and gardens. She turned to Rick, who parked his Carerra behind a Mercedes, a Lexus, a Continental and a Seville. Damn, she was glad she hadn’t come alone in her beat-up Ford Escort. She would have turned around and driven off without a backward glance. Her dress–an older slinky black sheath–was too sexy, not stylish enough for this high-tone place. She should have worn the dowdy gray, less conspicuous dress.

  “Why me?” she said, a tremor in her voice.

  “Why not you?” Rick squeezed Della’s thigh. “These hoities probably all started out with nothing, too. Hell, I feel right at home.”

  “Not me. I feel like a kid from the wrong side of the tracks.” She laughed. “Can you see me having some of these high-flyers over to my little pad for a get-together? Gawd, what a night that would be.”

  He got out, walked around the car and opened her door. She stepped out, her thigh exposed through the slit in her dress. “Nice,” he whispered and winked. “You’ll knock ‘em dead, honey.”

  “Honey? That’s a new one. I wish my knees would stop knocking.”

  At the front door, Rick pushed the doorbell. Inside, a grand-sounding set of church-like chimes announced their arrival.

  Della giggled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You in casual, me in dressy. Who’ll be dressed more appropriately?”

  The door opened and a uniformed maid greeted them. Della felt comfortable with her dress.

  “Nice digs,” she muttered to Rick. “You may be understated, my dear.” They strolled into the plush living room where a dozen people were sitting and standing, drinking and munching on appetizers. Della turned to Rick and frowned. Everyone had dressed casually, not a cocktail dress in sight. Rick was dressed perfectly.

  “Wished I’d placed a bet on this,” he whispered.

  She elbowed him in the ribs. Her nerve center short-circuited and she wanted to turn and run. She had not only overdressed, but she felt like a slut in the tight, slitted skirt. This, her first inner-circle meeting, was going to be a disaster. Jack Davis had been right about the way she dressed. She was out of her league. Rick seemed to be taking the party in stride, until one of the men made his way toward them. Rick became as jittery as an alcoholic without a drink.

  The man was in his late forties, tall, working on a middle age spread, with thinning brown hair slicked back. He seemed surprised himself, stuck out his hand and said, “Hello, Rick. Fancy meeting you here.” He gazed at Della. “You must be the new gal everyone’s raving about. Welcome to the Inner Sanctum. I’m Phillip Henshaw.”

  Rick had never mentioned knowing anyone from Gates International. Where had they met? “Nice to meet you, Phillip.” She made every effort to control the quiver in her voice. “Wes and Iris told me about you.”

  “Good things, I hope,” he said, grinning.

  “All good. I understand you head up the music division of Gates International.”

  “All rock and roll, lotsa soul, money and platinum our goal. Catchy, don’t you think? Oh, my God, I’m on a poetic roll. How about a drink?”

  Rick said scotch, she said club soda. No way would she lose another ounce of self control. When Phillip left to get their drinks, Della pounced, “So, where do you know Henshaw from? And this better be good.”

  “I sell software to some of his rock stars, helped some of them set up web sites. I’ve dealt with Phillip on a number of occasions. He never mentioned Gates before. I only know Phillip as Henshaw and Associates.”

  “I learn something new about you every day.”

  “Ain’t it grand?” His smile was devastating.

  Wes came in from the patio area. “Della, I’m so glad you made it. You look lovely.” He shook her hand. “Is this your young man?”

  “Yes, this is Rick Courtney. Rick, Wes Gates.”

  Why Wes or Iris hadn’t told her the dress code for these affairs was a mystery. Wes wore a Hawaiian shirt and slacks, and classy Iris, always dressed to the nines, strolled over in a seriously casual sleeveless dress and white open-toed sandals, looking nothing like she did at work. And then, like an angel floating down from the clouds to save Della’s evening, came Carrie, descending the circular staircase, one deliberate step at a time, dressed in a stunning black and red Valentino, similar to one Della had seen recently in a fashion magazine. She looked absolutely gorgeous, slim and radiant, the mistress of her husband’s empire.

  For one brief moment, Della felt vindicated.

  “I’m happy to see someone around here likes to dress for a party,” Carrie said, nearing Della’s group. “I’m from the east, never have gotten used to this California casual. Glad to see you’re of the same mind, Della.”

  To her surprise, Carrie actually sounded friendly, almost as though she were trying to save Della’s pride.

  Phillip returned, handed them their drinks, put an arm around Rick’s shoulder and said, “Excuse us for a few minutes?”

  They maneuvered their way through the crowd to a quiet corner. Della was dumbfounded, wondering what in the hell was going on.

  “Carrie, why don’t you take Della around and introduce her?” Wes kissed Carrie’s cheek.

  His caring tone relaxed her, and God, did she need relaxing. He hugged her. Carrie stiffened, then as quickly as she had lost her composure, she recover
ed, looped her arm through Della’s and they worked the room.

  Acting the perfect hostess, Carrie introduced her to all of Wes’s close associates and their wives or dates. While she traversed the room on Carrie’s arm, she watched Rick from the corner of her eye. At one point, he and Phillip looked as though they were arguing. She lost her focus and worried more about what Rick was doing than her own first-time introduction to these important men and women.

  Dinner was a buffet in the elegant white and black dining room. The food was light but expensive. An array of pates, caviar, shrimp, salads, and various freshly baked breads which filled the room with their sweet, yeasty aroma, were displayed on a long linen-covered table against the wall. After filling their plates, everyone returned to the living room and sat around, eating from their laps. A most casual sight in a house this magnificent, but everyone seemed comfortable, as if this were a regular ritual.

  She set her plate on the coffee table, pulled up a chair, chatted with those around her, and picked at her food. Three extra bites and the seam to her dress might unravel in front of God and everyone.

  No one discussed business, and all conversation focused on her. Wes did remind her a little earlier this night was for fun. He had decided to save business for another time. When everyone had all their questions answered, Della, who still felt like a fish out of water in her slutty cocktail dress, feigned a headache and, with Rick on her arm, left early.

  They weren’t on the road a minute when she started firing questions at him. Even if it meant jeopardizing their relationship, she wanted answers to what were now burning questions. “I want to know all about your friendship with Henshaw. I find this mighty strange.”

  “Why did we have to leave so early?” Rick drove with his arm propped on the open window frame. A warm Southern California breeze, with a hint of exhaust fumes, drifted through the car.

  “I felt uncomfortable.”

  “Why? They were a pretty nice bunch of people.”