Beauty And Her Boss. Jennifer Faye
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of my own.”
“And that would be?”
“I need to speak with my father at least once a day—”
“That’s fine.”
“Would you reconsider letting me visit him? He will miss me.”
This separation was to punish her father—not her. He’d cost Deacon and now the man had to pay a price—even if it wasn’t dictated by a judge. Her father would learn not to take Gabrielle for granted.
“He should have thought of that before he allowed you to pay the price for his actions. Our arrangement will hold. You will stay here and work for three months.”
Deacon knew what it was like to be alone. Both of his parents had passed on and he had no siblings. Other than Mrs. Kupps, the housekeeper, he was alone in this big rambling estate—except now Gabrielle was here. And somehow her mere presence seemed to make this place a little more appealing and less like a prison.
“My father didn’t make me do anything. I volunteered.” Her indignation came through loud and clear.
“Now that everything is settled, I’ll let you get to work.” Deacon disconnected the call.
Something told him this was going to be a very, very long three months. But it definitely wouldn’t be boring.
THIS DEFINITELY WASN’T her best first day on the job.
In fact, it ranked right up there as one of the worst.
And the day wasn’t over yet.
A loud crack of thunder shook the windows at the same time as lightning lit up the sky around the guesthouse. Gabrielle rushed to close the French doors. Somehow the weather seemed rather fitting.
She had one more piece of business before she curled up with a book and escaped from reality. She had to file her first report with QTR.
Gaby sat down at the granite kitchen bar and opened her laptop. She stared at a blank screen with the cursor blinking at her...mocking her. What would she say? She didn’t even know what format to use. Did they expect her to tell a story or stick to bullet points?
Sure, she’d earned a bachelor’s degree in journalism, but with a downturn in the economy, she hadn’t been able to land a position in publishing, so she’d returned to school. She’d gone on to get a second degree in library science. Books had always been her first love.
And as much as she loved words, right now they wouldn’t come to her. She typed a couple of words, but they didn’t sound right. She deleted them.
This is ridiculous. It’s not an article for the public to read. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just needs to be the facts. So start writing.
The man has closed himself completely off from others. Is it the result of guilt? Or something else?
As she pressed Enter to begin the next point, the landline rang. That was odd. She hadn’t given anyone that phone number. Her father had her cell phone number.
She picked up the phone. “Hello.”
“Did you find everything you need?” Not a greeting. Just straight to the point.
“Yes, I did.”
“I wasn’t sure what you like to eat, so I had Mrs. Kupps prepare you a plate of pasta, a tossed salad and some fresh baked bread. You will find it in your kitchen.”
Outside the storm raged on with thunder and howling wind. Gaby did her best to ignore it. “Thank you.” Had he called purely out of courtesy? Or was this his way of checking up on her? Perhaps this was her opportunity to flush him out of the shadows. “Will you be joining me?”
“No.” His voice was firm and without hesitation. He was certainly a stubborn man. “In the future, you can let Mrs. Kupps know what you eat and don’t eat, so that she can plan the menu appropriately.”
“I—I can do that.” She hesitated. “The guesthouse is nice.” There was some sort of grunt on his end of the phone. She wasn’t sure what it was supposed to mean, so she ignored it. “What time would you like to get started in the morning?”
“I start before the sun is up. You can start by eight. Will that be a problem?”
“No. Not at all.” She was used to opening the library at eight each morning. “I have a few things that I’d like to go over with you. Shall we meet in my office?”
“I thought you understood that this arrangement is to be by phone or email. I don’t do one-on-one meetings—”
“But—”
“There are no exceptions. Good night.”
And with that terse conclusion, he’d hung up on her. She stared at the phone. She could not believe that this man was so stubborn. Working for him was going to be difficult, but trying to get information about the accident from him was going to be downright impossible—unless she could get past this wall between them. And she hadn’t come this far to give up.
Gaby hung up the phone and turned her attention back to the report for QTR. She’d lost her concentration after speaking with Deacon. She was back to staring at the blinking cursor and wondering what she should write.
QTR had assured her that before anything was published, they would get her approval. She wouldn’t have agreed to the arrangement otherwise. After all, she didn’t want them getting the facts wrong.
Although at this point, there wouldn’t be much to write about the elusive Mr. Santoro. Giving herself the freedom to write about anything she’d learned so far, she resumed typing.
His estate in in disarray with overgrown vegetation. Was it always this way?
He’s run off multiple assistants. What has happened? Has he fired them? If so, for what?
Locked door between the office and the rest of the house. What is he hiding?
The man lacks social niceties. Has he always been this way? Or is this a new thing?
It certainly wasn’t a stellar first report. Would they be upset that it contained more questions than answers? Or would they appreciate her train of thought and look forward to the answers?
Accepting that it was the best she could do now, she proofread the email. Gabrielle pressed Send and closed her personal laptop.
She moved to the French doors and stared at the sky—the storm had now moved away. She opened the doors, enjoying the fresh scent of rain in the air. In the distance, the lightning provided a beautiful show. Was Mr. Santoro staring at the sky, too? She instinctively glanced in the direction of the main house, but she couldn’t see it as it sat farther back than the guesthouse.
Still, she couldn’t stop thinking about her mysterious boss. There had to be a way to break through the man’s wall. She would find it, one way or the other.
TWO DAYS...
Forty-eight hours...
Two thousand, eight hundred and eighty minutes...
One hundred seventy-two thousand and eight hundred seconds...
No matter how Gaby stated it, that was how long she’d been at the Santoro estate and how long she’d gone without laying eyes on her new boss. It was weird. Beyond weird. What would that be? Bizarre?
Gaby sighed. Whatever you called it, she wasn’t comfortable with this arrangement. Not that her accommodations weren’t comfortable. In fact, they were quite luxurious. And unlike the estate’s grounds, the guest suite was immaculate, thanks to Mr. Santoro’s housekeeper, Mrs. Kupps. The