Secret Agenda

She struggled to free herself, but his slender fingers were like bands of steel. “I'm sorry I brought it up, Diego. Now, please let me go so I can finish making breakfast.”

Diego released her wrist. “We'll continue this later tonight. If we're going to live and work closely together, then I don't want to have to deal with your moods. If I tick you off about something, then I expect you to tell me. “¿Comprende?”

She nodded. “Yes, Diego, I understand.”

“Good.” He winked at her. “You can check my socks now,” he said, pulling up his suit trousers.

Vivienne leaned over, peering closely at a pair of black socks with dark gray specks. “They're good.”

Diego curbed the urge to run his fingers through Vivienne's hair. There was something so endearingly domestic about her getting up to cook breakfast and check his appearance that he wondered if she'd done the same early on in her marriage to Sean Gregory.

“Do you want me to help you with anything?” he asked when she straightened.

Vivienne shook her head. “No, thank you. I have everything under control. I'm making an omelet for myself. Would you like one?”

Moving closer to Vivienne, Diego rested a hand at the small of her back when he glanced over her shoulder, the gesture as natural as if he'd executed it countless times, as she picked up the knife to finish dicing the ingredients for an omelet. “I like my eggs over easy. Hey, you're pretty good with that knife.”

Tilting her chin, Vivienne smiled up at him. Even though Diego was close, very, very close, she loathed asking him to move back. There was something so natural about them standing together that it took several minutes for her to realize what she was sharing with him at that moment was what she'd wanted with her late husband. The only time Sean had entered their kitchen was to open the refrigerator to get a bottle of mineral water or a cold beer.

“That's only because I took a few cooking courses in France and Italy.”

“Which do you like better—French or Italian cuisine?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I'm somewhat partial to Italian.”

Diego nodded. “So am I,” he said. “Do you like to travel?” He recalled the entry on her résumé that mentioned she'd traveled extensively for her former employer.

“It all depends on where it is and the accommodations. The older I get, the less I'm willing to rough it.” Diego's hand fell from her shoulder when she moved over to the sink to wash her hands, and she missed his warm touch.

“I can assure you if you travel with me on ColeDiz business, you definitely won't have to rough it.”

Vivienne turned and stared at Diego as if she'd never seen him before. “I have to travel with you?”

“Didn't Ms. Novak tell you that it was a part of your job?”

“No. What she did ask was if I had a valid passport, and I told her yes.”

“I'm sorry she wasn't more explicit. But to answer your question, yes, you'll have to travel with me on occasion.”

“How often is ‘on occasion'?”

Diego stiffened as if Vivienne had struck him. He glared at her. “Why do you always challenge me, Vivienne?”

“I'm not challenging you, Diego. I merely asked a question.”

“Well, I don't like being questioned, nor do I want to have to edit everything I say to you because if I don't, then you're going to mouth off at me.”

Vivienne's temper flared. “Are you such a tyrant that you're going to deny me my First Amendment right to free speech?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Is that how you see me, Vivienne? You think I'm a tyrant?”

Vivienne stared at the man towering above her like an avenging angel. At that moment Diego Cole-Thomas had become her late husband. Her frustration with and resentment of a dead man had been transferred to a man who ordered her about as if she were chattel.

“Yes I do, Diego. You issue orders, and then expect me to fall in line, in lockstep like an automaton. Despite what you've been led to believe, you are not perfect, Mr. Cole-Thomas.”

Diego found Vivienne's tirade amusing and somehow quite sexy. Watching her chest rise and fall under the T-shirt was definitely a turn-on. All traces of gold had disappeared from her eyes, leaving them the color of strong black coffee.

“I know I'm not perfect,” he drawled, “because after all I am color-blind.”

Vivienne curbed the urge to swat him with the dish towel. “I wasn't talking about that, Diego, and you know it.”

“Don't try and put words in my mouth, Vivienne,” he said, repeating what she'd told him the night before. “Arguing with you is not only bothersome but also tiring. Keep it up and I'll take it out on some hapless employee who needs his or her job.”

Her jaw dropped, and she gave him an incredulous look. “You'd fire someone just because you're in a bad mood?”

It was Diego's turn to stare at Vivienne as if she'd lost her mind. How was she so sophisticated, yet so gullible? Had her marriage failed because she'd believed everything Sean Gregory told her until she'd had enough of his excuses? Or had she chosen to believe there was nothing wrong with their marriage because politicians were expected to spend time away from their families with the excuse that they were affecting change on behalf of their constituents?

Reaching over, he tugged on the end of her ponytail. “No, Vivienne.” His voice had lowered to a sensual timbre. “I'd never take my frustrations out on someone else.”

A momentary look of distress crossed her face. “What are you frustrated about?”

“Let it go, Vivienne.”

“Didn't you hire me to uncomplicate your life? If you let me know what's bothering you, then perhaps I can help.”

Crossing his arms over the front of his crisp white shirt, Diego angled his head. “Unless you're willing to go upstairs and take off your clothes and permit me to make love to you, then I don't think you can be much help to me.”

Vivienne wasn't able to stifle her gasp of surprise. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. It was the first time in a very, very long time that she'd found herself at a loss for words. Her shock faded, replaced by anger. Diego had lied to her. What happened to his I-don't-get-involved-with-my-female-employees pronouncement?

“Lighten up, Vivienne,” he continued, smiling. “You don't have to worry about me trying to seduce you.”

Picking up the towel, she flicked it, deliberately missing him by inches. “I'm going to pay you back for teasing me, and that's a promise.”

His smile grew wider. “There you go issuing challenges again.”

Her smile matched his. “It wasn't a challenge, Diego. It was a promise.”

Diego stared at Vivienne under lowered lids, silently admiring the fullness of her bottom lip, a lip he suddenly wanted to taste to see if it was actually as soft as it looked. And it was the second time in a matter of hours that he'd found himself lusting after a woman who would sleep under his roof for the next six months.

He knew he had to put some distance between himself and his personal assistant or he would violate everything he'd been taught and had come to believe as the head of his family-owned business. With the exception of the family secret that involved his great-grandfather and his young secretary, the succeeding ColeDiz CEOs had lived scandal-free lives.

Everyone remarked about his startling physical resemblance to his maternal great-grandfather, Samuel Claridge Cole, as he was being groomed to take over the reins from his father, Timothy Cole-Thomas. It wasn't his father but his uncle Martin Cole who'd apprised him that his business style was very similar to the approach that his father had taken when he set up the company following the Great War.

His uncle refused to tell him whether he approved or disapproved of his style. He'd been prepared to accept Martin's constructive criticism, and this left him less than confident about the company's direction. Diego knew his style was very different from his father's, but a year after he'd initiated changes and had grown the company to include cotton, soybeans and eventually tea, he felt comfortable not only as the head of ColeDiz International, but also in his own skin as the corporate CEO.

He'd hired Vivienne because of his commitment to service and not-for-profit organizations, and many of his personal contacts were lifelong friends, college buddies and the sons and daughters of other business giants. For him there was no delineation between business and social life. For Diego, socializing was always business-driven, but not necessarily the reverse. He'd made it a rule not to date the daughters or sisters of the men in his social circle.

Hiring Vivienne would serve a twofold purpose. With her as his date and hostess, he wouldn't have to concern himself with female companionship, and just her presence would be enough to indicate he was unavailable.