Sweeter Than Revenge (5 page)

Spluttering with impotent fury, she couldn’t think of anything to say. His sudden, wicked smile and singsong voice struck new terror in her heart, and she braced herself.

“Cheer up, Maria. All is not lost. If you work really, really hard, and do a good job with the drinks and the filing and stuffing envelopes—”

Thinking of what these menial tasks would do to her manicure, she scowled.

“—then maybe one day in, say, a year or two from now, you can actually work with a client. Wouldn’t that be exciting?”

Enraged, she kept quiet, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a tantrum.

“In the meantime, you can assist me. And right now I’d love an espresso. Black, if you don’t mind.”

“I’m not bringing you coffee! There must be something else I can do!”

“If only you’d come to the meeting on time. We could have tried to figure something out when we were dividing up the work.” He shook his head and shrugged with exaggerated regret. “Too late now. Anyway, you might as well assist me since it’ll be a while—at least a year—before you’re even allowed to speak to a client.” He stood.

Did he think he would get away with this? Treating her like a second-class citizen when she was the boss’s daughter! Refusing to work with her! Forcing her to make coffee and stuff envelopes!

Furious, she marched up to him and jabbed her index finger in his face. “We’ll just see about this.” Whirling around, she stalked toward the door. “Daddy? Daddy!”

Before she reached it, the door swung open and her father poked his head in. Had he been listening on the other side? She didn’t know and didn’t care. All she knew was that he wouldn’t force her to do menial work and would straighten this whole mess out right away.

The edges of Ellis’s eyes crinkled, as if he wanted to smile but didn’t dare, and he shot a glance at David over her shoulder. “Did you call me, Sugar?”

“Yes. You will not believethe assignment David has just given me and I—”

“Has he promised you to a client as a sex slave?”

“What?No, but—”

“Well, you let me know when he does. Until then, you do what he says.” He winked at her and then disappeared, shutting the door behind him.

Impotent and humiliated, Maria stared after him, willing him to come back and rescue her the way he usually did. But the door stubbornly remained shut.

“Poor Maria.”

Slowly, with dread, she turned to face David. All traces of amusement were gone now and his eyes were cold and flat. Soulless. Pitiless.

“It’s no fun not to get what you want, is it?” he asked.

That did it. Choking on her fury and indignation, Maria whirled, grabbed her purse and stomped out, dimly aware of his low chuckle behind her. She stalked down the hall, with no destination in mind and no clue what to do next. The one thing she knew was that she’d jump out the nearest window and gladly plunge twenty-nine stories to her death before she’d serve espresso to David Hunt. After a few minutes of loitering outside the women’s bathroom, the cool hand of reason returned and an idea came to her.

She went back to the receptionist’s desk. “Jane,” she said sweetly, “can you print out a copy of David’s schedule for me? I’ll need it since we’ll be working very closely with each other.”

“Actually, Linda’s his secretary,” Jane told her. “But I do know he’s got that meeting at ten-thirty with Anastasia Buckingham.”

Maria’s heart leaped. “Anastasia Buckingham?The writer?”

“That’s her. She’s a big new client and—”

Just like that, a brilliant plan came, fully formed, to Maria. She knew what she had to do, and she was going to do it. Sometimes a woman had to grab the bull by the horns and shape her own destiny. This was one of those times.

“Jane,” she said. “I’ve got a little errand to run.”

“But what if David needs you—”

Too late. Maria was already at the glass doors leading to the lobby. “I’ll be back.” She hopped into the elevator and punched the button, scheming all the way.

Chapter 5

After Maria stormed out of the conference room, David stayed there for a while, doing some paperwork and savoring the delightful feeling of satisfaction. He’d introduced the pampered princess to the first in what was sure to be a string of stinging defeats, and all was right with his world.

He checked his watch and realized it was almost time for his meeting. Gathering up his pens and files, he left the conference room, surveyed his kingdom, noting that everyone he saw bustled with purpose and energy—no sign of Maria—and went into his corner office. Dumping the files on his glass desk, he ignored the insistent blinking of the red message light on his phone and stood at the wall of windows overlooking the Ohio River, which was a murky aqua today. The sky had turned a hot, bright gray that promised a shower soon. Notwithstanding his momentary triumph, the coming turbulence perfectly matched his swirling emotions.

Because every second he spent with Maria felt like it took years off his life. Seeing her devastated him every single time. Simple as that. Even now, he wished he could touch her. Even now, his gut coiled with a need for her body that he could never dare indulge. Even now, he wished she’d explain why she’d married Harper. All that—his feelings, her motivations, his need to know what’d happened—was irrelevant, of course. She’d done it, and he was here to punish her for it. End of story.

He had to put a lid on everything else and get a hold on himself.

If only he knew how.

He cursed, thumping his palm on the glass.

“That bad, eh?”

At the sound of that voice, David’s thoughts scattered. Wheeling around, he saw Ellis, looking concerned, standing in the doorway.

“Not so bad,” David lied, dropping into his chair.

Ellis slid his hands into his pockets and meandered closer. “Don’t let Maria wear you down, son. We’re just getting started.”

“I know.”

“She needs to learn how to make her way in the real world. You’re the man to teach her, and you have my full support. But we can’t expect her to like it. She’s going to fight us, kicking and screaming.”

David nodded, feeling grim. “She’s a fighter, all right.”

Ellis studied him with a level, considering gaze. “You admire that about her, don’t you?”

David quickly looked away before Ellis saw anything else he shouldn’t. “Yes,” he said, the word tasting sour and vinegary on his tongue.

A long silence followed, during which David used every ounce of his self-control not to fidget under Ellis’s knowing stare. Finally, Ellis either gave up trying to read his mind or got bored, he couldn’t tell which.

“Is Anastasia Buckingham still coming in?” Ellis asked.

“Yeah.”

“Getting Essex House’s business is a huge coup for us, even if they’ve only hired us to babysit their biggest pain-in-the-ass author. I’ve been courting that publisher for longer than I care to admit, and we need to hit a home run with Anastasia. If we do, they’ll hire us for some of their other authors.”

“I understand.”

“She’s a, ah…” Obviously trying to find the right word, Ellis flapped a hand, floundering. “Well, she’s a nightmare. No use sugarcoating it. All the in-house publicists at Essex have refused to work with her anymore. They hate her guts.”

“I see.”

“She’s written Blue Endearment,and now she thinks she’s this big literary—” Ellis made quotation marks with his fingers “—author. She hates it when anyone mentions that she got her start writing erotic novels.”

“I saw that in the notes,” David said, trying not to laugh. “So she’s repudiating her Downtown Divaseries? She’s not proud of Harlem Hoochieand Hip-Hop Hottie?” He reached inside his briefcase on the floor next to his desk, pulled out a purple paperback and flipped it on the desk. The cover artwork showed a woman undulating between two men who both had their arms draped around her.

Ellis shot him a quelling glance. “Apparently not.”

“Wonder why?”

Ellis crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

“Sorry,” David said, choking off his grin.

“As I was saying,” Ellis continued. “Anastasia thinks she’s an artistenow. She wants to win the National Book Award with Blue Endearment. I think she’s living in a fantasy world, but we need to keep her happy. If she’s happy, Essex House is happy. If Essex House is happy, we get paid. Capisci?”

“Oh, I understand. Don’t you worry. We’re researching everything we can find about Ms. Anna Buckley.”

“Anastasia Buckingham. She hates her humble roots.”

“I know,” David told him. “I also know what she eats for breakfast and what size shoe she wears. We’ve got it covered.”

“And remember. She never goes anywhere alone. She’s always got her entourage with her.”

“No problem.”

“You know,” Ellis said in a casual tone that didn’t fool David for a minute, “Maria reads these silly little novels all the time. It’s your decision to make, of course, but you might want to—”

Horrified, David held up a hand to stop him. The last thing—the very last thing—he needed was to spend any more time with the bane of his existence. “Excuse me, but did you or did you not put me in charge of this office, Ellis? If you think I can’t do the job, then—”

Ellis beat a hasty retreat. “I know, I know.”

“—maybe you should just say so right now.”

“No need to be so testy, David. You can do what you want. But Maria might be helpful on this one. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Maria can start out as a peon, same as everyone else—”

The desk phone beeped, interrupting them. Jane’s chirpy voice came across the line. “David? Anastasia Buckingham’s here.”

The men’s gazes locked across the desk. Adrenaline surged through David’s blood and he felt reenergized. David smiled and, seeing the smile, Ellis chuckled.

“I’ll have her eating out of the palm of my hand in no time,” David told Ellis. “You wait and see.”

“So nice to meet you, ah, Anastasia.”

With difficulty, David extracted his hand from the dagger-clawed vise grip of the firm’s newest and biggest client. He thought he’d known what to expect, but this haughty, purple-wearing, diamond-dripping Amazon was not it.

“And you,” Anastasia Buckingham said.

Her low, modulated voice fully enunciated every syllable—every letter—in an overblown, pretentious way that reminded him of a fledgling network news anchor. The faint British accent puzzled him, because he’d read her bio—actually, he’d read most everything ever written about her—and knew she’d grown up in Queens before moving to Cincinnati several years ago. She apparently spent some time in the English countryside every now and then, but still. How one acquired a British accent on this side of the pond, he couldn’t imagine.

They studied each other with polite interest and David wondered when he’d ever been eye-level with a woman while standing; even though she wore heels, she had to be a good six-one in her bare feet. Square and broad, she had shoulders as wide as David’s and a jutting bosom that no doubt entered every room five seconds before the rest of her did. She was one of those fortunate black women whose smooth skin refused to age, therefore making her look to be about forty-five although he knew she was sixty-eight.

She wore an expensive suit in a color best left to Barney and grape Kool-Aid. On her head towered a sleek, poufy black wig like the ones Diana Ross and the Supremes wore circa 1965. He did his level best not to stare, but his gaze crept back to it again and again. Around her neck sat a string of gumball-sized pearls. Diamonds glittered on her hands, wrists and ears, and the cloying, heavy scent of flowers—as if she’d put every fragrant flower known to humankind in a blender and liberally spritzed herself with the results—clung to her skin.

Peeling his gaze away from her, he turned to her companion, an itty-bitty, thirty-something man in unrelieved black. David had more than half a mind to call the people at Guinness so they could kill two birds with one stone and verify the world’s tallest woman and shortest man at the same time. The top of the guy’s head just hit the level of Anastasia’s bosom, and his longish blond hair was slicked and swirled into what David’s father would have called a swoobob. And the man’s fragrance of choice was some overwhelming musky scent that no doubt left a trail behind the man for miles.

David held out his hand. “I’m David Hunt.”

The man stared, expressionless, at him through watery-blue eyes. He neither took David’s hand nor answered. Just when David had started to wonder if he had some sort of developmental disability, Anastasia spoke.

“This is Uri.” She put a protective hand on the man’s shoulder.

Was this the thing to do now? Just give first names when introducing people? Cher, Madonna, Oprah and…Uri? Whoever he was, he must be new, because David had memorized the names of everyone on Anastasia’s staff: Jorge the masseuse; Alma the chef; Rita the hair, er, wig stylist—the list went on and on. But who was this guy?

“Ah, Uri, did you say?” David asked carefully.

She waved an impatient hand. “Uri. My astrologer. I don’t do anything without him.”

Smiling as if this was a perfectly normal proposition, David sent up a silent prayer for patience, and that the planets were all in alignment and doing whatever it was they were supposed to be doing. This was just wonderful. Why didn’t Anastasia go ahead and bring in the rest of her staff? Then they’d be able to make plans according to the alignment of the planets andher best hair and nail days, too.

Reminding himself that even if she was a little eccentric, she was still one of the firm’s most important clients, he kept his game smile plastered on his face. He led them back to his office where they all sat.

“Would you like something to drink, Anastasia?” he asked, reaching for the phone.

She brightened. “A Scotch on the rocks would be fine. Single malt, if you have it.”

His smile faltered and his eyes darted involuntarily to his desk clock: 10:38. In the morning. For the first time in his life, he regretted the lack of liquor in the office. No doubt he’dbe the one needing a strong drink before this little appointment was over.

“I’m so sorry. We just have coffee, tea or soda. My assistant can make espresso.” He prayed the last was true, since he’d been waiting over an hour for that espresso he’d asked Maria for, and there was still no sign of it.

Anastasia and Uri exchanged quick, horrified looks, as though he’d offered them a shot of spinach juice. Her nostrils flared and David felt himself losing ground with every molecule of carbon dioxide she expelled through her disapproving nose.

“Lovely,”she said.

David pressed a button on his phone. “Jane? Any sign of Maria?”

“I’m not sure if she’s back yet, David,” Jane answered.

Back?

“Oh, wait. Here she comes. Maria? Here’s David.”

“Hello?” Maria said.

“Uh, Maria,” David said, wondering what the heck was going on, “can you bring us three espressos, please?”

“Happy to,” Maria answered in a sweet singsong that aroused suspicions he didn’t have time to explore right now. “One minute.”

“Well,” David said, turning away from the phone.

Anastasia stared at him, one heavily penciled black brow raised in an expression that clearly said that she was waiting for him to impress her, and it damn well better be good.

David patted the cover of Blue Endearment,which sat on the edge of his desk. It depicted a grainy half picture of a running girl with braids, chickens scattering at her feet. “The art department certainly gave you a pretty cover.”

Her nose crinkled, as if the cover stank and she meant to avoid breathing in the air around it. “It’s terrible. A cover like that wouldn’t sell toilet paper in a loo. I don’t see how those…swineat Essex House expect me to earn out my advance when they give me a cover like that.”

“That’s why Essex House hired us,” David said, infusing his voice with a cheery confidence he didn’t remotely feel.

A nasty, sinking sensation had squirmed to life in his gut, telling him that this perpetually dissatisfied woman could be presented with a silver platter loaded with a million dollars—tax free—and she’d wonder why she hadn’t been supplied with a Louis Vuitton briefcase with which to carry it home.

“We’re going to schedule your book tour, and all the radio and TV interviews—”

“Darling,” she said in her affected British accent. Leaning forward, she draped one diamond-laden hand across his desk and fixed him with her piercing glare. “See that you do. I want there to be a copy of Blue Endearmenton every nightstand in America by the end of the year. I want to be number one on the New York Timeslist for a hundred weeks. I want to make The DaVinci Codelook like a miserable failure. I want every literary award you can think of. I want Leno, Letterman and Oprah. Are we clear?”

Oh, yeah, he was clear. He’d been saddled with a miserable tyrant who wanted world domination and wouldn’t be happy with anything short of that. No matter what he did, or how he broke his back for her, this woman would never be satisfied. She would make him jump through untold hoops in a fruitless quest to make her happy, and he’d jump.