Rochelle Alers - Secret Agenda

Vivienne curbed the urge to roll her eyes at him. “I understand,” she said instead. Although she wanted to stay and examine the space where she would sleep, she also wanted to know her responsibilities.

Diego extended his hand, smiling when she placed her hand on his as he eased her gently to her feet. “You can check out the house later,” he said, reading her mind, “but what I want to discuss with you is a priority.”

Tilting her chin, she stared up at him staring back at her. There was an emotion lurking behind the raven-black eyes that caused a shiver to race along her spine. “What do you need me to do?”

“I don't need you to do anything except to accompany me to a wedding Saturday evening.”

A moment of apprehension rushed through Vivienne as she mentally replayed his statement. “You want me to be your date?” The last word was a whisper.

Nothing on Diego moved, not even his eyes. “For lack of a better word—yes, I want you to be my date.”

Her gaze dropped to his chin. Apprehension gnawed at her confidence as she tried to slow down the runaway beating of her heart. Diego Cole-Thomas hadn't hired her to keep his life in order, but to become a live-in call girl sans the sex.

“If I were a man, would you've asked me to be your date?”

He flashed a sensual smile. “No. I would've asked another woman.”

“If that's the case, then why don't you ask her?”

Diego increased his hold on Vivienne's hand before he tucked it into the bend of his elbow. “I'm trying to uncomplicate my life, Vivienne, not add to the craziness.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “So, you're using me to run interference with an old girlfriend?”

There came a beat. “There are no old girlfriends in my past, Vivienne.”

“If they're not old girlfriends, then what were they?”

“Acquaintances.”

“So, you're a love-'em-and-leave-'em kind of guy?” she whispered under her breath.

When Diego didn't respond to her taunt, Vivienne knew it wasn't because he couldn't, but because he'd chosen not to. She'd spent less than fifteen minutes with her new boss and she already knew that Diego Cole-Thomas was a very private person. If he lived alone it wasn't because he couldn't get a woman to live with him.

He was alone by choice.

Vivienne sat on a chocolate-brown leather love seat in a room with a wall of pocket doors. They were open to take in the cooling breeze coming off the ocean.

She stared at Diego who sat in a matching club chair. This time, when he crossed his legs he hadn't had to concern himself with mismatched socks. Resting his elbow on the arm of the chair, he anchored his thumb under his chin and placed a forefinger along the side of his face.

She glanced around the room rather than focus on Diego staring at her as if he were a predator contemplating an attack. At that moment she was his prey, having signed an agreement to give him the next six months of her life and not to disclose any information about ColeDiz International Ltd.

Instinct told her that working closely with Diego wasn't going to be an easy task, yet she welcomed the challenge. It would help her to maintain her fluency in Spanish, sharpen her business skills and fill a six-month employment gap on her résumé. She wouldn't have resigned her position with the investment firm if Sean was still alive. But his death had become fodder for the tabloids, and it wasn't until he was buried with all of the reverence bestowed upon an elected official that her life resumed a semblance of normalcy.

“This room will become your office,” Diego said in a voice so quiet that Vivienne had to strain to hear him over the hypnotic sound of the crashing waves. “It can also double as a bedroom. The sofa converts to a queen-size bed.” His eyebrows lifted slightly when she glanced at the leather sofa that completed the seating grouping. “The alcove has a small utility kitchen with a mini fridge stocked with snacks and beverages. There's also a half bath on the other side of that door.” He pointed to a door at the opposite end of the room.

“The telephone has three extensions,” he continued. “The first one is the house phone and the second a direct line to my executive assistant, Lourdes Wallace.”

“And the third?” Vivienne asked when he hesitated.

“It's my direct line. All you have to do is press the button and the call will go to my private line at the office. If I don't pick up after four rings, then the call will be forwarded to my BlackBerry. I'll order a BlackBerry for you, so we'll be in sync.”

“If the house phone rings, how do you want me to answer it?”

“Cole-Thomas residence, Ms. Neal speaking, will suffice.”

Vivienne nodded, mentally filing away the information. “How are you going to explain me to your family when they call and I answer your telephone?”

Diego glared at her under lowered lids. “I don't explain myself to anyone—and that includes my family.”

“Well,” she said sotto voce.

“A cleaning service comes on Mondays and Thursdays.” He wagged a finger at her. “And that translates into you not lifting a finger to do any cleaning. I'm going to give you a remote device for your car that will allow you to come and go without being stopped by security.”

Vivienne smiled. “It's probably easier to get into Fort Knox than trying to get into this place.” She'd been stopped along the private road leading to the multimillion dollar condominiums by an armed uniformed guard a quarter of a mile from the gatehouse. He'd called in her name on his walkie-talkie, and it was only after she'd been cleared that she was allowed to continue.

“The residents pay through the nose for security.”

“Hiding behind armed guards and electronic gates is hardly what I call living, Diego.”

“It is to those who value their privacy.”

“And, are you one of those who value your privacy?”

“More than anything,” he confirmed. “That's one of the reasons why I hired you, Vivienne. You were married to a politician, so you know about discretion. Secondly, you're a recent widow and if we're seen together at a social event, then it lets both of us off the hook when I explain that our liaison is strictly business-related.

“Did you ever meet Sean?”

“Not personally. I was introduced to him at an NAACP fund-raiser in D.C. a couple of years ago.”

“Why were you in Washington?”

“I'm on the board of the local Florida chapter.”

“Is that the only board you're on?” Vivienne asked.

Diego exhaled an audible sigh. “No. At the present time I'm an active member on five boards, either as a consultant or a fund-raiser. I've earned quite a reputation by convincing many of my wealthier friends and family members to dig deep for a good cause.”

“Convince or intimidate?”

He waved a hand. “I use whatever works, Vivienne. You'll have a computer, so how you set up my schedule is your decision. Just make certain you send an update to Lourdes every day, and she'll do the same to avoid scheduling conflicts.”

“Other than Saturday's wedding, what else is pending?”

“The wife of a college friend is throwing him a surprise birthday party on Sunday. What he doesn't know is that it'll be aboard a yacht that will be a birthday gift from his in-laws.”

“You're kidding me?”

Smiling, Diego shook his head. “No, I'm not. His in-laws are in the oil business.”

“Apparently he doesn't have to concern himself with how much it'll cost to gas up that baby.”

“Do I detect a hint of cynicism?”

“Damn skippy, Diego,” she countered, glowering at him. “While most people have to decide whether to fill up their gas tanks to go to work, or cut back on food for their children some guy gets a yacht for his birthday because his outlaw in-laws reap untold oil profits.”