Temping is Hell (21 page)

“Wait, I wasn’t finished,” the woman pressed, annoyed. “I mean, people with MBAs and impressive resumes would kill to have your job, working with him. And you’re… Well, my research shows that you’ve held—briefly—over fifteen jobs since you graduated from Berkeley eight years ago.”

Thomas saw Kate grip the edge of the podium.

“You’ve also apparently got some sealed criminal records, from when you lived in Southern California,” the woman said, and Thomas winced.

How the hell had she gotten ahold of
that
little tidbit? His pricey investigator had only gotten it as a result of digging and a massive bill. Either he was overpaying the P.I., or this woman had been prepped—tipped off.

He’d definitely be talking to that private investigator soon.

Kate’s pale skin turned almost translucent, and guilt grilled him. He’d thought this would be slightly embarrassing for him. He certainly hadn’t been expecting
this
.

Kate closed her eyes for a long minute, then opened them.

“Was there a question in all that?” she finally asked the reporter.

The woman’s responding smile was smug. “I’m just wondering why Thomas Kestrel is holding a big press conference for an executive assistant that he seems to have pulled out of the temp pool, who appears to have a spotty work history, a criminal record, and no real aptitude for the job at hand.” She waited a beat, then went for the knockout punch. “Especially when his last
assistant
was a woman he was planning on marrying… and since he hasn’t hired a personal assistant since her death six years ago.”

God damn it
.

Almost ten years, but of course they’d bring up Elizabeth. And of course, Kate would have to field it, with no prep.

All he was trying to do was dangle a victim in front of a serial killer, so he could whack the guy and get his soul back. Was that really so much to ask?

Now,
this
was happening.

He’d thought he was giving them a puff piece, and here they were, turning it into a character assassination. Kate must hate him. She’d probably break down crying, want to quit, might even come at him swinging. Because he didn’t have enough hysterical women with Maggie around.

Come to think of it, Maggie
wasn’t
around. Which was suspicious enough.

Thomas gritted his teeth. The way his luck was running, Victor probably didn’t even own a TV or read newspapers.

Could this possibly get any worse?

Kate took a deep breath. Then she crossed her arms.

“So what you’re really asking is,” she said slowly, “am I banging my boss because I appear to have no other marketable skills, and he’s got a history of hooking up with his secretaries?”

There was a communal gasp, and Thomas felt his heart stop as his hand reflexively went up to cover his face.

Oh, Jesus Christ on a cracker.

Yup. It could definitely get worse.

Chapter Ninteen

Kate felt fury coursing through her blood stream like Red Bull.

This is all Thomas’s fault
, she thought, as the black-haired newswoman gaped and the rest of the journalists scribbled furiously. She’d told him she wasn’t big on public speaking. She had an internal censor that was on the blink about 90 percent of the time. And what was all that about his last assistant dying?

That
would have been handy for him to tell her before they threw her in front of these lions while wearing a raw meat bikini.

But the newswoman had also brought up Kate’s sealed file, from the dark San Clemente days, catching her off guard—and then had all but said that she was a whore for the rest of the newspapers and news channels to gobble up and spread.

Mom’s going to see this on the six o’clock news
, she thought, and snapped.

“I am not personally involved with Mr. Thomas Kestrel,” Kate said through gritted teeth. “I barely know the guy. I just started working here a few weeks ago. He offered me the gig, and I figured it’s a living.”

“It’s a living?” the woman asked with amusement. “You’re working for one of the richest men in America—in the
world
. A man who has controlling interest in a number of lucrative, glamorous companies that cater to some of the most exclusive clientele in the world.”

“Yeah, but I’ve decided not to hold that against him. A paycheck’s a paycheck.”

Another appreciative chuckle from the crowd. The news reporter’s smile faltered a little. “If you’re so indifferent to the man and the brand, and you’re not personally involved with him, why exactly do you think you got hired?”

“I’ve been a temp for a long time,” Kate replied. “In this economy, it hasn’t been easy getting a permanent job, but I’ve done what I had to, making ends meet. Along the way, I’ve learned a little bit about a lot of things. I can pull together a yearly report, set up databases for just about anything, and fix a copier with a letter opener. And I’ve managed to make a lot of friends. If I don’t know how to do it, I know someone who does.”

“Do you really expect us to believe that a man in Thomas Kestrel’s position is going to hire an administrative MacGyver?”

“Personally, I found it encouraging that a guy like Thomas Kestrel doesn’t care about inflated credentials and ass-kissing,” Kate added. “He hired me because he knows I can do the job. Other people in his position might look for prestigious sycophants, and people like you might think that he’d only hire eye-candy. But I got the job because I have skills and I can handle the job description.”

She allowed herself to smile, a razor-sharp, vindictive grin.

“A job that includes covering what media gets access to him. Good luck with that, by the way.”

The woman blanched.

“That’s all for questions.” With a quick turn on her heel, Kate strode out, ignoring the follow-ups being shouted at her. She stalked past Thomas, the publicist, the stylists, and headed back to the hallway.

Thomas and the publicist hurried to catch up to her as the doors closed behind them.

“Oh my God,” Rhonda hissed, hyperventilating. “That was a
disaster
. How was she not prepped for this? Why did she take the podium at all?”

“Actually, I thought she did fine,” Thomas said, his voice tinged with laughter. “Better than I could have expected.”

“You and I are having a little talk,
boss
,” Kate muttered.

“Sure thing,” Thomas said, and left the publicist behind with a quick word of thanks. She was still sputtering when the elevator doors shut in her face. Thomas hit the button for his top floor office, keying it so it would go direct, without stops. “Listen, I’m sorry about that. It was supposed to be a feature, not an investigation. I didn’t think they’d dig that deep, and I sure as hell didn’t think they’d bring up Elizabeth. Honestly, I thought they’d be more restrained.”

“Yeah,” Kate said. “Because when I think ‘American journalist,’ I automatically think ‘restraint.’”

“I am sorry,” he repeated. “I thought they’d just take the softball, maybe try asking me a few questions. It never occurred to me that there’d be an issue.” He paused a beat. “Criminal record?”

He
would
zero in on that. “Dead fiancée?” she shot back quietly.

The doors slid open with a soft
whoosh
, and he gestured her in. “Come on. I’ll pour you a drink. God knows I need one.”

She followed, loosening her tie. A frickin’
tie
, of all things. She looked like a Nazi press secretary.
Stupid stylist is on my list,
too
, she thought darkly, watching Thomas walk with purpose over to the wet bar. He glanced at her, gesturing to the wall of expensive booze.

“Stoli and cranberry,” she said, sitting on a black couch across from the bar. What the hell. She’d earned it.

He quickly poured her a drink with the proficiency of a bartender, then poured himself something wheat-colored, like a whiskey or Scotch or something—the crystal decanters weren’t labeled. He handed her the glass, and she was surprised when her hand shook as she reached for it. Thomas sat next to her on the couch-thing, at the opposite end.

“I should have told you about Elizabeth.” His voice sounded bitter, self-recriminating.

“Didn’t think about it?” Kate supplied, taking a sip of the drink and coughing. Apparently he’d put in just enough juice to turn the thing pink. Ordinarily, she preferred more cranberry, but she manfully struggled through a few more quick sips. She needed to
numb
.

“There isn’t a day goes by that I don’t think about Elizabeth.”

The raw emotion in his voice had her pausing, gripping the glass.

He took a slow swallow from his own glass, and then started talking, looking out the window. “I met Elizabeth in school. She was a year or two older than me—I went to college young.”

Kate remembered that. She took another tiny, searing sip.

“When I started the company, she volunteered to be my admin because she said I surely needed one,” he said, and the amusement—and pain—in his voice was clear. “It was her support, and her charm and contacts that helped me become what I am. And yeah, I fell in love with her.”

He waited for a second. Kate squirmed uncomfortably; the couch-thing was hard as granite. She also had a tough time processing what he was saying.

So, he’d been in love with his secretary—his best friend, from the sounds of it? And he still thought about her every day?

That was sweet and romantic. And sad.

“We were engaged ten years ago,” he said, his words slow, almost sluggish. “And just after I asked her to marry me… we found out she had cancer. Stage three, fast moving, really advanced. Treatment didn’t look like it would be effective.”

“Oh my God,” Kate breathed, putting her drink down on the coffee table and touching his arm reflexively. “I’m so sorry.”

“I tried everything, looked everywhere. What’s the point of making all that money if you can’t solve a problem like that, right?” His laugh was bitter. “But it just looked like it’d all be over. And that’s when I met this man.”

Thomas’s whole body went tense, taut as a drum. Anger and pain seemed to pulse off him in waves.

“The man who signed you,” Kate realized abruptly.

“Cyril Roman. He said that he could cure Elizabeth. I thought he was full of shit, but I was desperate, and Elizabeth was in so much pain. She begged me.”

“So you signed.”

He winced visibly. “Not at first, and not exactly. I thought he was after my money, or wanted to blackmail me. I thought the supernatural stuff was bullshit. I just wanted results. So I signed a contract that said I’d be his signatory, but that the full benefits of my soul wouldn’t be his for ten years. It was a vesting period.”

“Like stock options.”

He nodded. “The guy must have really wanted to sign me, so he agreed, and he had to prove that he’d save Elizabeth’s life in the meantime. So I signed, and just like that—all of Elizabeth’s tumors went away. Like a miracle.”

Kate realized she was still touching his arm, but also realized it felt natural. She really wanted to hug him, hold him. Help him feel better.

She focused harder on what he was saying.

“For a year, I was the happiest guy alive,” Thomas said, and his voice grew gravelly. “Business was booming, Elizabeth was planning for the wedding, and yeah, I had signed over my soul, but I figured I wasn’t using it and didn’t really need it, anyway. Then things started to change. Cyril wanted kickbacks, which was fine. Elizabeth’s health was more than worth it. But he seemed to show up at weird times, always making it clear that he knew what was going on in our lives. In the meantime, I was starting to dig deeper and I found that Cyril left a swath of destruction whenever he surfaced.”

Thomas winced. “Then, after a year in, the first ‘vesting’ happened—and I got a sense of just how much pain I was going to be in. I got a taste of what I was in for. I think Cyril gave me the glimpse as a way to keep me in line, and also because he was pissed I’d boxed him in on the contract, sort of a ‘play ball, or I’ll make your life a literal hell’ sort of tactic. It backfired. I started looking for a way out while still keeping Elizabeth alive. That’s about when he showed up and mocked me. Said there was no way out. That it’d be better to work with him.”

“And you didn’t,” Kate realized.

Thomas shook his head. “I told him to fuck off. Then…”

“Then he killed Elizabeth?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Thomas said, his voice tight. “The contract prevented him from killing her. I even had the forethought to say if he accelerated the cancer, the contract was void. But it didn’t say anything about preventing her from being in pain.”

Kate swallowed hard against a wave of nausea.

“I’d never seen anything like it,” Thomas mused, his eyes unfocused, and Kate saw he was remembering the horror as if he were watching a movie. “She begged me to just do whatever he said, to stop the pain. And I came close, believe me. Maybe I should have.”

He sounded tortured. Kate couldn’t help herself; she scooted closer, making a little, sympathetic noise, and squeezed his shoulder.

He didn’t seem aware of her touch. “But something in my gut kept telling me no, that it would only make things worse. That’s how I got in contact with Yagi. I found people who actually knew what was going on. I thought I could stand up to Cyril, that I could negotiate my way out.”

He stopped, putting his own drink down, rubbing at his temples.

“What happened?”

“Elizabeth killed herself.” The words were flat, like a stone dropped on sand. “She left a note saying she couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t live with the pain, and she wouldn’t live with a man who would let her stay in pain because of his pride.”

“Oh my God.” Kate felt a surge of sympathy and gave him a half-hug, her arm around his broad shoulders. The look he gave her was bleak as a Siberian winter.

“Since then, I’ve only had one goal,” he said, his voice raw. “Getting my soul back, however I have to.”

They sat in silence for a few long minutes. He leaned almost imperceptibly against her, as if savoring her warmth.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “And at the risk of sounding all
Good Will Hunting
… it wasn’t your fault.”

“At the risk of sounding ungrateful,” he echoed with a sardonic chuckle, “bullshit.”

She frowned, absently stroking his shoulder. “Why didn’t she sign?”

He turned to her, startled. “What?”

“Why did
you
sign? Why didn’t this Cyril guy just offer the deal to her directly?”

Thomas pulled away from her, standing up and pacing back over to the bar. “I had the soul he wanted,” Thomas said. “Something about soul power. Guess mine was considered more valuable.”

“Yeah, yeah. Slim told me it’s like currency. I guess you’re rich there, too,” she said, even as a thought tugged at her.
Something’s not right with this story.
“But he still wound up getting her soul, right? I mean, when you signed her?”

He glared at her.

“I don’t mean to rub salt in your wounds here,” she said, realizing how callous that must have come out, after he’d bared his soul—as it were—about his past.

“I never signed Elizabeth,” he said, his voice sharp as a razor. “She was a good woman, one of the best I’d ever met, and she was so sick… I would never put her soul in that kind of jeopardy.”

Kate stood, too.

“You mean like you jeopardized mine?”

Her quiet words seemed to catch him up short. “That was a different situation entirely…”

It doesn’t matter
, she thought, straightening. “I’m going back to work, boss,” she said, turning toward the doors and walking away.

“
Damn it.
Kate, you can’t—”

“I know that press conference had another reason,” she interrupted, not even looking at him. “I don’t know what, but I’m not an idiot. You wanted to get something accomplished. Maybe it was to see how well I’d handle it; maybe it was to send a message to that Cyril guy, I don’t know. But if you tell me why, I’ll be able to do a lot better job, and I might even be able to
help
you.”

She heard him sigh heavily. “I’m trying to protect you, Kate.”

The worst part was, he sounded like he meant it.

Don’t fall for it
, her head counseled.

He’s a good man
, her heart chimed in, surprising her. But she’d think about that later. For now…

She straightened her shoulders, then turned to look at him. “If you don’t tell me stuff”—she flashed a taut grin—“I wind up saying things like ‘banging my boss’ to the local press. Just sayin’.”

His responding grin was slow, but grateful.

“So… you want to tell me what’s really going on?”

He closed his eyes.

“It was a test, like you said,” he answered. “I threw you into the deep end. And while you didn’t do what I expected, you certainly handled yourself.”

He opened his eyes, his blue gaze piercing her with its intensity.