The Color of Love (29 page)

“How did she take it?” Emily asked, amazed at
how easily she could talk about something that mattered not at all while
everything that did slipped away.

Derian grinned and poured wine from the open
bottle on Emily’s kitchen island into the glasses Emily’d left on the counter.
She handed one to Emily. “I told her she’d had enough time with the numbers.
I’d gone over the books myself in the last couple of days, and there was
nothing there to find. Winfield’s bottom line was far more than acceptable.”

“That’s great news.” Emily sipped the wine,
found it tasteless.

Derian leaned against the counter, drinking
wine and looking completely composed, not bothered in the least that she’d soon
be leaving. “I don’t think she expected me to understand any of the numbers,
but when I made it clear that I did, she pretty much ran out of ammunition. Her
slings and arrows bounced off at that point.”

“I owe you a great debt,” Emily said.

Derian shook her head. “No, you don’t. If I’d
been in the picture all along, my father probably wouldn’t have tried to take
over as soon as Henrietta gave him an opening.”

“Nevertheless, everyone at the agency
appreciates everything you’ve done.”

“I’ve enjoyed it. Working with you was a
special bonus.” Derian set her glass down. “Henrietta has agreed, at least for
now, not to fight her rehab regimen. It’ll be a few weeks before she can even
work part-time. I’ll be back—”

“We’ll be fine,” Emily said. “You’ve
interrupted your schedule, your life, for all of us, not just Henrietta. You’ve
done enough.”

Emily tried to slip by her to hide in the
kitchen. Just putting a counter between them would help, but she didn’t make
it. Derian pulled her closer until she was almost standing between Derian’s
legs. She couldn’t be this close to her and not put her hands on her. She
clenched her fists at her sides. Please, she needed a little bit of distance,
just so she could think again.

“There’s something else I wanted to talk to
you about,” Derian said.

Business, that would be good. If they could
just get back to business. “Oh?”

“I think I found a solution to all our
problems,” Derian said. “Your visa, keeping Martin away from the agency, and
taking care of the long term.”

“It sounds like a miracle cure,” Emily said.

“It might be,” Derian said, laughing. “I
think you and I should get married.”

Emily stared, the cold enveloping her
completely.

“It’s perfect, really,” Derian said, reaching
back for her wineglass. “No one could argue about succession. You’d be a
permanent resident, you’d be an insider—family, and you’d be the logical one to
take over after Henrietta.”

“And what would you get out of it?” Emily
asked, thankfully having recovered her powers of language. Her mind seemed to
be working although she’d lost all feeling below her shoulders. She was
actually numb. “Besides annoying your father, that is.”

Derian frowned. “My father? What does he have
to do with this?”

Emily managed to extract herself and backed
up until they were no longer in contact. That helped bring some sensation back
into her body, and what followed was anger. No, not anger, fury. “I can’t
imagine he’d be very happy to discover that you’d outsmarted him at one of his
own games. He’s wanted to dismantle the agency or, at least, take control of
it, and since you’d never shown any interest in it, he had the perfect opening.
And then you outsmart him by marrying someone who, I imagine, he wouldn’t
approve of, and making it impossible for him. You win.”

Derian frowned. “It’s not about winning some
game with my father.”

“Isn’t it? Then what is it about? This
arrangement you’re suggesting.”

“It’s a sensible solution,” Derian said,
caught off guard by Emily’s accusations. She wasn’t trying to get back at her
father. “I was trying to help you and Henrietta.”

“Help? By committing yourself to a marriage
of convenience.” Emily felt just a little bit crazy. “God, I’ve become a
character in one of my manuscripts.”

“Marriage of—no, that’s not what I’m
suggesting.”

“Then what are you suggesting, Derian? We’ve
had the marriage conversation already, remember? You’re not interested in
marriage. It doesn’t fit with your lifestyle. Why would you do this?”

“Because—” Derian stumbled over the swirl of
emotions tangled in her head, thrown by Emily’s anger, struggling to sort out
feelings she’d never faced before. Trying to see the future she’d never
envisioned. “I want you to be able to stay—isn’t that what you want?”

“For Henrietta. For the agency.” Emily
nodded, the numbness receding. Only her heart remained frozen. Not for her. Of
course, not for her. Derian didn’t love her. She took a deep breath. “I
appreciate your offer. It’s very kind of you.”

Derian’s brows drew down. “Kind? It’s not
about being kind—”

“Yes, that’s exactly what it is. That,
perhaps, and some misplaced guilt about not being here sooner.”

“Guilt.” A muscle in Derian’s jaw tightened.
“Because I ran out on my family, you mean. Because I didn’t fulfill the
Winfield legacy.”

“Before we say things we might regret,” Emily
said very carefully, fighting desperately for solid ground while a tornado of
hurt and self-recrimination whirled inside her, “I think we need to reassess
exactly what we’re doing.”

“Reassess,” Derian said, her eyes narrowing.
“That sounds like a business proposition.”

“Yes, well, we’re talking about business,
aren’t we?”

“Not exactl—”

“And I think it would be best if we keep our
relationship on professional terms from now on.” There, she’d done it, what she
should have done from the beginning—erected some boundaries in her relationship
with Derian, for her own self-preservation.

“And if I don’t agree?” Derian’s eyes were
molten.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”

“You’re wrong about that,” Derian said on her
way out the door. “I’m no longer part of the Winfield Agency as of right now,
so our professional relationship, if that’s what you’d like to call what we’ve
been doing, is officially over.”

Emily slumped against the counter, staring at
the closed door and trying to convince herself she’d just made the only
decision she could. She believed that, she really did, but doing the smart
thing didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. How far would she have to go to silence the
craving for the sound of Derian’s voice and the touch of her hands? She had no
clue, but she at least knew where to go first.

Derian only knew one way to handle confusion and
anger and disappointment—she moved on to the next stop on the revolving stage
of her life. Head down, cutting her way through the early evening sidewalk
strollers with the ease of years of handling casino and racetrack crowds, she
pulled up the number on her phone of her favorite travel agent, one of several
kept on retainer by the corporation to handle all the upper-level management
travel needs, including hers.

“Monica? Derian Winfield.”

“Yes, Ms. Winfield. How can I be of
assistance?”

“I need to be in Rio by this time tomorrow.”

“Just a moment.” Monica sounded as if the
peremptory request was just another ordinary item in a day’s work, which Derian
guessed it was. She imagined Monica must go everywhere with a mobile, because
no matter what time of day or night she called her, Monica always took care of
her.

“I can get you on a direct flight from DC at
six ten a.m. You’ll fly the corporate jet to Reagan National. Shall I send a
car for you at four?”

Derian hesitated. She needed to go—she’d been
putting off Antonio, her business manager, for weeks. If he said she needed to
put in an appearance to woo some nervous investors before the next leg of the
circuit, she believed him. She had nothing pressing at the agency—nothing she
couldn’t have Vonnie delegate with a quick phone call. After all, Emily could
have been doing her job all along, and she’d planned to have Emily step in
while she was away. At the moment, talking to Emily and pretending everything
was business as usual felt like more than she could handle. She ruthlessly
pushed aside the quicksilver flash of pain when she imagined Emily at the
office, looking beautiful and sexy as only she could in casual business
clothes. Looking beautiful and sexy no matter where she was or what she was
doing. “Yes, have me picked up at the Dakota.”

“Very good—shall I arrange a wake-up call
when the driver is en route?”

“That would be fine.” She didn’t have much to
pack. Once she’d left, the Dakota staff would take care of disposing of the few
things in her kitchen, sending any clothes she left behind out to be laundered,
and cleaning the place.

“I’ll reserve your usual suite at the Copa?”

Suddenly weary just thinking about the
high-octane world she’d be jumping back into the next night, Derian sighed.
Maybe the nonstop parties masquerading as business meetings would be just what
she needed to quench the seething unrest souring her stomach. “Sure. Thanks.”

“Of course, Ms. Winfield. Have a good
flight.”

“Good night.” Derian shoved her phone into
her pants pocket and tried not to think about the hash she’d made of the night.
Since kicking herself was a physical impossibility, she’d just keep walking
until she burned off some of the anger. Nothing had turned out the way she’d
expected, and she still couldn’t figure out where things had gone so wrong. She
mentally replayed the conversation with Emily—hell, all their
conversations—wondering how she’d misread the signals so completely. One minute
they’d been closer than she’d ever been with anyone, not just physically, but
in every way, and the next she’d felt like she’d been talking to a stranger.
Emily had actually suggested Derian’s proposal was meant to manipulate Emily
into doing something just so Derian could gain an advantage over Martin. Pain
knifed through her chest. That Emily could imagine Derian was like him—a manipulator,
someone who used people as weapons against one another—hurt far more than all
the insults Martin had ever hurled her way.

Martin was the last person in the world she
wanted to be like, and if that was how Emily saw her, a game player on the grandest
of scales, then she’d been a fool to think Emily would want…anything…with her.
She couldn’t even claim her tarnished reputation, deserved or not, was at fault
for Emily’s impression of her. She’d revealed more of herself to Emily than to
anyone in her life, even Aud, and that hadn’t been enough to matter. She
slowed, let out a deep breath. She should have known she couldn’t change who
she was like she changed her clothes, no matter how much she might’ve wanted
to. She
had
been
living off her inheritance and her name, she
was
a player, just as Emily had intimated, and wanting to be someone else didn’t
erase that. Wanting Emily to see her as more than that wasn’t enough to make it
so.

And feeling sorry for herself was just
another form of self-indulgence. Emily had seen what she’d momentarily
forgotten—she’d chosen her path a long time ago. She hadn’t wanted the Winfield
legacy and had made herself into the woman everyone thought her to be.

Derian stopped at the corner and glanced
around. Nothing looked familiar. She checked the street signs and couldn’t
decipher which direction they were telling her to go. A cold sheet of panic
sliced between her shoulder blades. She’d done this before. Countless times
when she’d been very young. Found herself in a place she hadn’t expected to be
where everything looked foreign, as if she had stepped through an invisible
curtain into another universe. Alone, and unable to find the way home.

But she wasn’t ten anymore. She took a
breath, pulled out her phone, and punched in a number.

“Hey, Dere,” Aud said, sounding
uncharacteristically subdued when she answered. “Is this a friendly call or
business? Because I’m wrapping up for the day and I’ve had business up to my
a—”

“I’m a little bit lost.” Derian laughed
wryly. In more ways than one. “Turned around. Street signs say…um, West Third
and Mercer. And I could use a drink.”

A beat of silence. Then Aud’s brisk voice.
“I’m closing my computer right now. I’ll grab a cab and be there in ten
minutes. Is there a bar somewhere that you can see?”

Derian scanned the streets, stepping out of
the way of a vendor pushing a cart full of T-shirts toward the open van pulled
up to the curb. “There’s one on the corner, neighborhood-looking place. Tony
D’s.”

“I’ll find it. Ten minutes. Okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

The tavern, lit only by the neon beer signs
hanging on the walls at irregular intervals, was a single room about the size
of Derian’s living room at the Dakota. A big plate-glass window looked out on
the sidewalk, a scarred bar down one side, a handful of small mismatched tables
pushed against the opposite wall. A sign pointing to restrooms in an alcove at
the back. A few men and women occupied stools at the bar, most hunched over
their glasses in silent communion. Derian found a seat at the far end and
ordered a draft. The sharp yeasty bite felt good going down. The last of the
panic washed away as she finished it off and signaled for another. Right now,
she was tired of thinking about who she was and how much of her father might be
in her.

The barkeep slid a bowl of nuts in front of
her.

“Thanks.” She wasn’t hungry, but she ate them
automatically, the same way she drank the beer.

Aud slid onto the stool beside her. “How far
ahead of me are you?”

Derian shot her a sideways glance. “Not very.
This is my second.”

Aud waved to the bartender. “Dry martini, two
olives.” She grabbed a handful of nuts, turned sideways until her knees rested
against Derian’s thigh, and ran a hand down Derian’s back. “So, how the hell
did you end up here?”