Beauty And Her Boss. Jennifer Faye

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СКАЧАТЬ had cost him more than just bad press, a mess in his yard and upset employees—her father had stirred up the paparazzi. Once again, there were news reports on television and the internet. His phone—with its private number—was now receiving calls from journalists wanting “the truth.”

      The little sleep he did get was once again riddled with nightmares—fiery, jagged dreams. But when he woke up, the images blurred and the memories receded to the back of his mind. With each dream, he hoped he’d be able to latch on to the elusive truth of what happened on that deadly night. But try as he might, his memory had holes the size of craters and images blurred as if in a dense fog.

      The doctors had warned him that the memories might never come back to him. That was not the answer he’d wanted to hear. He needed the truth—even if it meant he was responsible for taking another person’s life. Trying to live with the unknown was a torture that had him knotted up inside.

      “If you would just tell me where to meet you, we can sit down and go over what is expected of me.” Gabrielle’s voice cut through his thoughts.

      “That won’t be necessary.”

      “Of course it is.”

      He could hear the confusion in her voice. She wasn’t the first assistant that had been uncomfortable with his distant style of management, but it was the way it had to be. He didn’t need anyone eyeing him with pity. He didn’t deserve anyone feeling sorry for him. It was best for him to keep to the shadows. The accident had left permanent scars on him both inside and out. His career as an actor was over. And he was now struggling to find a new position for himself in the background of Hollywood.

      He cleared his throat. “All of your instructions are on your computer. The password is capital B-e-a-c-h.”

      “Will you be stopping by the office later?”

      “No.”

      “I don’t understand—”

      “We will conduct our business via the phone or preferably by email.”

      “But what if I have papers for you to sign? Or mail. I’m assuming that I’ll be receiving your business correspondence.”

      “You will. And if you check next to the interior door, there is a mail slot. Drop whatever correspondence needs my attention in there and I’ll get to it.”

      “But that doesn’t seem very efficient. I don’t mind bringing it to you—”

      “No!” His voice vibrated with emotion. He clenched his jaw and swallowed hard. He didn’t want to have to explain himself. After all, he was the boss. In a calmer voice, he said, “This is the arrangement. If you don’t like it, you are free to leave. Our deal will be null and void.”

      “And my father?”

      “He will face the judge and pay for the trouble he caused.”

      “No. I can do this.” Her words were right, but her voice lacked conviction.

      In all honesty, if she quit, he didn’t know what he’d do for help. The temp agencies had blacklisted him after he’d gone through a dozen temps in the past couple of months. But he’d make do, one way or the other. He always had in the past. “You’re sure?”

      “I am.”

      “Then I will let you review the document that I’ve emailed you. It should explain everything including the fact that I work late into the night, but I don’t expect you to. However, I will have work waiting for you each morning.” When sleep evaded him, he found it best to keep his mind busy. It kept the frustration and worries of the unknown at bay.

      “Does anyone else work in the office?” she asked.

      “No.”

      She didn’t immediately respond.

      He hadn’t considered that she wouldn’t like working alone. It had been one of his requirements through the temp agencies, but Gabrielle hadn’t given him time to get in to specifics when they’d spoken on the phone. Maybe this was his way out—even if the voice inside his head kept saying that he needed to watch out for her.

      He cleared his throat. “If working alone is going to be a problem, we could end this now.”

      The silence on her end continued. He really wished he could look into her eyes. For the first time, he found communicating via the phone frustrating.

      “No. It won’t be a problem.” Her voice sounded confident. “But I have a stipulation 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.

       CHAPTER TWO

      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 СКАЧАТЬ