The Color of Love (20 page)

“I don’t think so. But I hope to find out.”
Derian couldn’t help but inject an invitation into her voice. God, when was the
last time just being near a woman made her tremble?

Almost as if Emily realized their flirtations
had crossed the border into seduction, she colored and looked away. “The nurses
told me she’s better.”

Derian accepted Emily’s silent request for a
time-out. “She had a good night. She’s a little bit more alert, but I’m not
entirely certain she’ll remember we’ve been here. They’ve got her pretty doped
up.”

“Probably just as well. Who would want to
remember this part of it?” Her tone was tinged with uncharacteristic bitterness.

“Hey.” Derian slipped her palm around Emily’s
elbow and drew her closer. “How are you doing?”

Emily lightly rested her fingertips on
Derian’s arm, the brief contact electric. “I’m okay. Really.”

“I should let you go in.”

“I know.” Emily sighed. “I don’t want to stay
away from the agency too long, but I needed to see her.”

“I’ll keep you updated during the day.”

“Thanks.”

“How are things going over there?”

“I’m afraid rebellion might be fomenting. No
one feels comfortable or particularly secure without Henrietta or someone else
they trust in charge. And then with all the changes—” She grimaced. “Somehow,
in less than twenty-four hours, Donatella has redirected the entire focus of
the agency, at least in theory. How well everyone is going to accept her
mandates is another question.”

“I talked to Aud about it,” Derian said.

“Oh, Derian.” Emily was grateful, relieved,
but concerned too. She hadn’t wanted to draw Derian into a situation she’d
clearly wanted to avoid. “I’m so sorry all of this has spilled over onto you.”

Derian lifted a shoulder. “Maybe it’s time.”

“You ought to be able to pick the timing of
your battles yourself.”

“I’m not sure life works that way. Sometimes
the battles come to us, and until they do, we don’t know where we stand.”

“Well I don’t expect you to go to battle for
us.”

“So far I can’t say I have. I don’t know much
more today than I did yesterday. Donatella is my father’s choice, and exactly
what his agenda might be, Aud probably knows, but, well—”

Emily doubted Derian wanted to create
difficulties with Aud over something she’d never wanted to get involved in.
Especially if they were in the process of reconnecting. “I’ll do my best to
keep everyone calm. I’m sure this will all be straightened out before long.”

“I promised Henrietta I’d do my best to help,
and so far I haven’t done much.”

Emily took Derian’s hand. “That is so very
untrue. Just your being here means everything.”

“Your faith in me is a little scary.”

Emily smiled. “Don’t worry, I don’t expect
miracles.”

“What do you expect?”

“Only that you do what feels right.”

At the moment, kissing Emily again was the
only thing on Derian’s mind, and she was pretty sure, under the circumstances,
that probably wasn’t the right move. All the same, she savored the heat of
Emily’s hand in hers. “I’ll do my best.”

Emily’s gaze held hers, as warm as an
embrace. “That’s more than enough.”

Derian’s chest filled with a sensation she
couldn’t immediately place. Finally she recognized it. Emily’s certainty filled
her with pride, and she’d do anything not to disappoint her. All she had to do
was figure out where to start.

*

“You’re awake.” Derian grinned broadly and
leaned down to kiss Henrietta’s cheek. The light tentative touch of Henrietta’s
answering caress on her cheek lifted her heart almost as much as the clear
recognition and familiar sharpness in Henrietta’s eyes.

“You look better than the last time I saw
you,” Henrietta said slowly, her raspy voice fainter than usual but clear.

Derian chuckled. “As a matter of fact, so do
you.”

“What is this place?”

“Intermediate care.” Derian pulled a chair
close to the bed. “They tell me you made it out of the ICU in record time.”

“Too long for me.”

“I think a day and a half, most of which you
were sleeping, is a record.”

“Who can sleep with all that constant noise,
perpetual lights, and interruptions every five seconds.”

Derian folded her arms on the low rail
encircling Henrietta’s bed and leaned her chin on her arms. The nurses had said
the first twenty-four hours were the most crucial, and she’d spent most of the
past day prowling the halls outside the ICU, visiting as often as they would
let her in. Emily had been there twice, and each time she’d seen her, the acid
in her belly had calmed. Aud had called. Martin had not come. “I bet the nurses
in the ICU miss you.”

“Ha. How long have I been here?” Henrietta
sounded irritated and a lot like her old self, even if the volume of her voice
was considerably reduced. “I can’t seem to keep track of time.”

“You’ve been in the hospital about three
days. Your surgery was a little over two days ago.”

“What day is it?”

“It’s Thursday.”

Henrietta’s brows drew down. “Thursday. I
have a very full calendar today. Who’s taking care of that?”

“I wondered when that was coming,” Derian
mused.

“Don’t get smart.”

Derian grinned. “Vonnie and Emily have things
totally under control.”

Since that was the truth as far as
Henrietta’s calendar, she didn’t mind obfuscating just a little bit. Telling
Henrietta that Donatella had moved into her office was the last thing she was going
to do.

“They won’t give me a phone,” Henrietta
fussed. “So I need you to give Vonnie a few messages.”

“No deal. HW,” Derian said, “you’re just
going to have to let them take care of the agency for a while. You’re not ready
to start working.”

“I’m hardly working, lying here,” Henrietta
said, but her voice was flagging and she looked tired.

“Trust me,” Derian said, vowing again to keep
her word, “everything at the agency is under control. Emily, Vonnie, and I will
make sure of it.”

Henrietta’s eyes closed for an instant, then
slowly opened. “Sorry, I know you never wanted…”

“It’s okay,” Derian murmured. “I’m not sure I
ever really knew what I wanted.”

Henrietta drifted off to sleep and Derian
leaned back in the chair, listening to her breathe. HW wasn’t out of the woods
by a long shot, and the staff had made it pretty clear she wouldn’t be ready to
take on any kind of work-related activity for an indefinite period of time. The
longer Donatella was at the helm of the agency, the harder it would be to reverse
whatever destructive mandates she put in place. Emily needed to be in charge,
just as HW had directed. Martin would oppose that on principle. Aud had said
without Henrietta’s backing, and considering Emily’s nonresident status, the
chances of Emily taking charge were slim.

The first order of business, then, was to do
something about that. She needed to think like HW—what was the goal, and what
was the most direct route to success. She’d need to spend more time at the
agency, and with Emily, to find out. She closed her eyes and smiled. Not a bad
plan at all.

At eight o’clock in the morning, the streets were
teeming with taxis, people, delivery trucks, and the occasional unwary traveler
who hadn’t any idea that driving in New York City would be like navigating in
an unknown universe at warp speed. The temperature was much more springlike,
the sky was an unusually clear blue, and Derian opted to walk to Midtown,
enjoying the bright sky and keeping her mind a careful blank. Anticipating what
was to come would only sour a perfectly good morning that had started with
memories of an even better evening. When she thought of Emily, she had a
completely irrational urge to whistle. Next thing she knew, she’d be skipping.
She laughed softly, wondering if she looked as crazy to the passersby as she
felt. This was a crazy she liked, and seeing Martin, however unpleasant, would
be no worse this time than it ever had been before. Funny, how coming
face-to-face with his disdain never got easier, despite how much time had
passed. Ridiculous, really, to be bothered by it after all this time.

She strolled into the lobby of the Winfield
Building, an ultra-sleek glass and steel structure that took up half of one
block and had absolutely no redeeming architectural features. Martin probably
thought the gleam and polish and imposing façade bespoke power, which she
suspected was the only thing that really mattered to him. When she thought of
all the incredibly beautiful buildings she had seen throughout the world, unforgettable
testaments to human creativity and art, she was reminded again how shallow his
vision really was.

She didn’t know the guard at the desk
commanding the center of the foyer, placed there to disrupt the flow toward the
elevators on either side of the marble-floored lobby beyond and facilitate more
intense surveillance. He watched her with bored disregard as employees with
badges prominently displayed passed by. He was probably forty, well on his way
to middle-aged seed from too many hours sitting behind that desk, his thick,
ruddy neck bulging slightly over his buttoned collar. His tie appeared on the
verge of strangling him. He wore a faux-military type uniform as would befit
Martin’s vision of his company having the importance of a small country, making
him the king.

“Help you?”

“I’m on my way to see Mr. Winfield. I know
the way.”

“Just a minute.” The guard turned to a
computer, pulled up a screen she couldn’t see, and said, “Name?”

“Derian Winfield.”

He typed, scanned the monitor for a long moment,
and slowly turned back to look at her. “You’re not on the list,” he said, a
little uncertainty in his flat voice now.

“No, I’m not. Martin’s offices still on
sixty-five?”

“Look, I’m not supposed to let anyone up
who’s not on the admit list or daily appointment schedule.”

“I’m his daughter,” Derian said, the words
sounding foreign and ill-fitting.

“Uh, I better call up.”

“I’ll just go up and speak directly to his
secretary. If anyone mentions it, you can just tell them I didn’t give you a
choice.”

“Right, well, I’m sure there won’t be any
problem.”

She smiled. “Absolutely not.”

He pointed to the left. “Last elevator.”

“Have a nice day.”

As she turned away, she heard him mutter,
“Yeah, you too.”

Maybe she would. Nothing like starting the
day with unpleasantries. At least then it could only get better.

The elevator opened onto an expansive
maroon-carpeted foyer as big as some hotel lobbies, filled with comfortable
seating areas and an unobstructed view of midtown Manhattan through the
floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite wall. She wondered how many buildings
Martin had had to buy and demolish in order to maintain that view. A
thirtysomething blonde sat behind a black U-shaped desk, her hair drawn back in
a sleek French braid, her dove-gray suit jacket doing nothing to conceal her
voluptuous figure. She smiled at Derian in a practiced, wholly impersonal way.

“Good morning. How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Martin.”

Her expression never changed. “I’m afraid Mr.
Winfield has no meetings scheduled this morning. You must have mistaken the
date of your appointment. If you give me your name, I’ll check to see the
correct date.”

“I don’t have an appointment, but he’ll see
me.” Derian held out her hand. “I’m Derian Winfield.”

Color rushed to the blonde’s face and she
rose hastily, leaning across the wide desk to extend her hand. Derian was
right, she had a killer body underneath her expensive, professionally stylish
suit. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m Victoria, let me get Mr. Winfield’s admin. I
didn’t…I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”

“No,” Derian said, returning the handshake,
“we haven’t.” There was a time she might have added she would’ve remembered
meeting such a beautiful woman, because she certainly would have. Flirting with
women was second nature, but as attractive as the woman was, Derian hadn’t any
interest in playing. She released her hand. “The admin?”

“Oh! Of course.” Victoria reached for a
phone, punched in an extension, and a second later said, “Anthony, Derian
Winfield is here to see Martin.” Her flush deepened and she partially turned
away. “What? No, why would I…” She glanced at Derian, her expression mortified.
“I’m terribly sorry. Do you have identification?”

Derian laughed. “It’s okay.” She reached
inside her coat pocket, brought out her passport, and showed Victoria her
photo.

“Yes, of course,” she said into the phone. A
second later she hung up, looking relieved and chagrined. “He will be out
shortly.”

“That’s fine, thank you.”

Derian walked to the bank of windows and
thought about how much she detested these little displays of dominance.
Everyone jockeying for their small bit of power. Her name had been all she
needed growing up to give her that power, and as soon as she’d recognized that
everyone she knew was subtly trying to maneuver for even more, she hadn’t
wanted any of it. Henrietta had been the only one who didn’t care about
appearances or the standing on the social register or the best seat in the
banquet hall. Even though Derian had done everything possible to escape the
Winfield net, no matter how far she traveled, how vigorously she worked to
dissociate herself from her family mystique, she hadn’t been able to shake the
celebrity that had nothing to do with her. As she learned very early in life,
people were attracted to her for her money and her family name, and the
presumed influence and prestige that came with both, making every relationship
suspect. And sadly, she was rarely wrong. Keeping people at a distance became a
self-protective habit, until Emily. She smiled to herself. Emily was completely
unimpressed by her status, despite admitting her penchant for following
celebrity news with some dedication. What for Emily provided entertainment, for
others provided a foundation for a relationship—exactly what Derian rigorously
avoided.