Unforgettable (2 page)

D
iana stared at her letter of resignation on her computer screen but lacked the guts to print out the damn thing. Quitting would be the right thing to do, the voice in her head assured her. A person with her education, experience and dedication should be able to find employment anywhere.

She moved her mouse to hover over the printer icon.

The other rational voice in her head cut in to stop her.
Don't be stupid. You can't afford to quit. Have you forgotten about the stack of medical bills for your grandmother?
Despair overwhelmed her as a list of responsibilities ran through her mind.
You can't quit until you find another job first.

Resolute, Diana closed the document, checked her watch and stood up from her cluttered desk.

Marcel Taylor wasn't difficult to work with—on the
contrary. Despite his image as a ladies' man, Taylor was as competent as he was charming, intelligent as he was handsome. In her opinion, her employer was the total package: wealthy, attractive, smart, attractive, charismatic and attractive.

She shook her head and cleared her thoughts. Every woman at T&B Entertainment coveted the handsome president. With so many beautiful women adoring him, Mr. Taylor never noticed his plain-Jane secretary, Diana.

At Marcel's door, she took in a deep breath, knocked and entered. “Mr. Taylor…”

She stopped cold at her boss's stunned expression and then glanced uncertainly at Donald Taylor, equally floored to see unguarded emotions on the older man's usual stoic face.

Marcel cleared his throat. “Diana, cancel whatever it is.”

“Yes, sir.” Her gaze swept over him a final time before she backed out of the office. After the door clicked behind her, she replayed the scene in her mind.
Something's going on,
she thought, returning to her desk.
Something big.

“Ahem.”

Diana looked up at the always-stylish Nora grinning down at her with a stack of papers. “Can I help you?”

Nora's coral-colored lips beamed wider. “As a matter of fact, you can. Marcel instructed me to leave these figures with you.” Unceremoniously, she plopped the mound of paper onto the desk. “By the way,” she said, moving toward his office door. “Is he in now?”

“Wait.” Diana stopped Nora before her hand landed on the doorknob. “He's in an important meeting right now.”

“With who?”

Diana's brows arched, her expression clearly saying,
That's none of your business.

Nora turned from Marcel's door and settled her hands on her hips. The ex-model's pose appeared provocative with little effort.

Diana's jealousy proved hard to ignore.

“How long have they been in there?” Nora asked.

Diana stood and removed the stacked reports from her desk and placed them on top of the nearest file cabinet. A few of the items on the top page, however, caught her attention and she lifted the top sheet. “My goodness.”

“I know, I know.” Nora rolled her eyes. “We're a little over budget. But it's not like we're not going to recoup the money from Belinda's CD sales.”

“It's her first CD. There's no guarantee that we're going to recoup much of anything,” Diana said, now picking up the second sheet. “There's no way Mr. Taylor is going to approve most of this stuff. Why does she need a top-of-the-line tour bus? She's only scheduled to do eight cities.”

“It never hurts to ask for things. The most Marcel can say is no.”

Diana placed the papers back and shook her head while she returned to her desk. It wasn't the first time she wondered how Nora got her job. The woman had no experience in the music industry, she constantly put her nose in places it didn't belong and she made it her
business to know where and what the president was doing at all times.

“Any idea what they're discussing?” Nora's attention had drifted back to Taylor's closed door.

Diana glanced at Nora, her irritation just barely concealed. “He canceled your lunch meeting. Did he not tell you?”

“Oh, yes. He told me. I'm curious to know what was so important he had to cancel our date—I mean, our appointment.”

“I don't know.”

Nora's arched brows rose. “I find that hard to believe, Ms.
Efficient.
I bet you know everything that goes on in Marcel's life.” She moved back toward Diana's desk. “Am I right?”

Diana sighed at the woman's diva theatrics. “Ms. Gibson, I wouldn't be good at my job if I betrayed Mr. Taylor's confidence, now, would I?”

Nora's cinnamon gaze raked over Diana, making her self-conscious of her drab clothes and her dowdy, pinned-back hairstyle. Chin high, she reached for the first thing in her in-box.

Nora sashayed to the front of her desk, leaned her hip against it and crossed her arms. “I've only been here a few months. I don't mean to step on anyone's toes, especially yours. I know Marcel thinks the world of you.”

Diana cringed at the familiarity with which Nora said his name and looked up. “Let me guess—you want us to be friends?”

Irritation flashed behind the beautiful woman's eyes and then disappeared. “Why, yes.”

A smile on her face, Diana's hands now zoomed across her keyboard.

“What's so funny?” Nora asked.

“Nothing. It's just that I've had this same conversation with more than half the women working here. I'm going to tell you what I told them. If your attraction to Mr. Taylor is going to hinder you from doing your job, then maybe you should consider seeking employment elsewhere. He has a strict rule about office romances with employees. He doesn't do it.”

Nora pushed away from the desk, but Diana was saved when Marcel's office door jerked open and Donald Taylor rushed out.

In the few seconds it took for him to pass by, Diana caught the same look of anguish chiseled in his strong features.

“Diana,” Taylor called. “Could you come in here?”

She jumped at his gruff voice and quickly grabbed a pen and notepad.

“Well, something's going on,” Nora said.

Diana ignored her and hurried into Taylor's office. Once inside, she closed the door behind her and then glanced around to find her boss by the window.

She eased into a leather chair and waited as he stared out at the city view.

Long seconds ticked into awkward minutes and still she waited. During the silence, she used the time to study his incredible profile.

Working in the entertainment business, Diana had
certainly seen her share of flashy and suave dressers, but no one filled out a suit or commanded attention like Mr. Taylor.

He turned suddenly and caught her gaze. Flustered, she imprisoned every ounce of air that her lungs could hold until he looked away.

“Are your parents still together?” he asked.

Diana blanched, caught off guard by such a personal question. She answered in a low voice, “My mother passed away when I was ten.”

Sympathy softened his gaze. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

“It was a long time ago,” she said, dropping her gaze to the blank page in her notepad. The silence heightened to a deafening decibel but she refused to look up again.

“Did your father every remarry?”

Briefly, she thought about not answering. After all, it wasn't any of his business, but in the end the truth spilled out.

“My parents were never married.”

Another long silence lapsed.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked.”

She chanced a look up and found he'd turned back toward the window. “Is something wrong?”

He was quiet for so long, she assumed he wouldn't answer.

“Yes and no,” he finally said, moving away from the window and over to his desk. “I need you to help me with something.”

“Of course, sir.”

Once he was settled into his chair, their gazes locked
once again. “This matter is not to be discussed with anyone…including Mr. Bassett.”

Startled and then curious, Diana nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Beneath his leveled gaze, a strange and delicious warmth spread throughout her body.

“I need you to help me find my mother.”

The sentence rolled over her head. “Excuse me?”

Marcel shifted in his chair. “Um, my parents are…separated—at the moment.” He reached for a folded piece of paper from the corner of his desk. “She left a note.”

“A note?” she repeated, trying to follow the conversation.

“Yeah.” He drew in a deep breath. “She asked my father not to try and find her because she needs some time to think.”

In the two years Diana had worked for Marcel, it wasn't uncommon for her to lend a hand in his personal life as well as his professional. Those services usually included sending flowers or candy, or purchasing concert tickets and arranging shopping sprees. This was something else entirely.

“I'm not quite sure I'm the one who—”

He held up the letter. “You're perfect.” She frowned.
How long have I been waiting to hear that?

“According to this she's going somewhere in Italy,” he continued. “Since she's always talked about visiting Venice, I think we should start there.”

“But if Camille doesn't want to be found—”

Marcel held up a finger. “Actually, she said she doesn't want my father to find her. I'm not my father.”

“Then maybe you should wait until Camille tries to contact you.” It was the wrong thing to say.

His lips thinned into a straight line. “I don't want to wait. Can you do this for me?”

Again their eyes met and Diana pretended her skin didn't tingle and her breath hadn't hitched, but this time she was the first to look away. “Consider it done.” She stood from her chair.

When she moved toward the door, he moved with her.

“Diana.”

She turned, surprised to find him standing so close. “Do me a favor and don't tell anyone about this.”

She smiled. “Don't worry. I know how to keep a secret.”

M
arcel closed the door and drew in an unsteady breath.
Diana to the rescue.
At least he found comfort in his reliable secretary. Lord knows, she could find a needle in a haystack let alone a little old black woman in Venice, Italy. What would he do if Diana weren't around?

The woman had a way of making him look good. Maybe he should do something for her—send her on a trip or something. He thought for a moment and couldn't remember whether in the past two years she'd ever taken a vacation or even called in sick.

He frowned. Surely, he was mistaken.

Shaking off the thought, he promised himself to look into it later. Right now, he needed to figure out what to do about his parents.

The news of their possible divorce rattled him like nothing before. More questions than answers plagued
him. As usual his father was vague with details, but Donald Taylor kept many things close to his vest.

Instead of returning to his desk, Marcel detoured to the leather sofa at the opposite end and stretched out. Who'd ever heard of getting a divorce after forty years of marriage?

He groaned, closed his eyes, and massaged his temples. For as long as he could remember, his parents, despite their night-and-day personalities, were happy. However, Marcel suspected the real problem was his father's retirement.

A year ago, dear old Dad retired from the law firm of Hughes, Taylor & Hughes and invaded his mother's peaceful world of music and quiet social functions. The man of the house was home and he wanted his wonderful wife to devote all her precious time to him. This undoubtedly drove her crazy.

The last time Marcel talked with her, she wanted his father to take up golf—a nice sport that took hours to play.

It was a bad idea.

Donald Taylor, a frugal man, couldn't see the point in spending so much money to chase a small ball around acres of grass.

Marcel's mother's need for time was likely code for: she wanted a vacation from her husband. Now his father tossed the word
divorce
around more as a threat than anything else—at least he hoped.

A quick knock jarred Marcel from his thoughts, but before he answered, Solomon poked his head inside.

“Is the coast clear?”

“All clear.” Marcel sat up and erased the worry from his face.

“Good,” Solomon answered. “Looks like you survived the surprise attack. Any bombs I should know about?”

“Nah. Just family stuff.”

Solomon nodded and entered the room proudly presenting a magazine to Marcel. “Look who's on the cover of
Rolling Stone.
”

Marcel stared at his picture. A red and white cape donned his shoulders while an oversize gold crown adorned his head. At the bottom in large block letters the cover line asked the question:
THE NEW PRINCE OF HIP-HOP?
?

“Wow,” he said.

“Is that all you can say?” Solomon smiled and flipped the cover around so he could read it again. “You're off the charts, man.”

Suddenly, the first eight notes of “Superfly” filled the room and Marcel dug into his pocket and retrieved his pager. “It's Tee Bo. Are we still passing through Club Secrets tonight?”

“Wouldn't miss it. That cat from WZEZ radio station is deejaying. Word is he's off the chain.”

“Cool.” Marcel typed in his answer and then pocketed the device. “If we're going, then I need to head over to the house and work on a few things first and feed Brandy.” It wasn't the whole truth, but it was a good enough excuse to leave the office.

After gathering his things, Solomon walked Marcel out of his office, continuing to talk to him through the halls
and over to the elevator bay. Marcel couldn't concentrate and resigned himself to just smile and nod.

When the elevator arrived, Solomon pounded Marcel's back. “Well, I'll catch you at the club later.”

“You bet.” He smiled and then stepped into the empty compartment. Thankful for the solitude, he pressed the button for the lobby.

“Hold the elevator,” a voice called out a second before a slender hand jutted between the sliding doors and stopped them from closing.

When they opened again, the lovely Nora Gibson appeared. “Mind if I ride down with you?” she asked in a tone thick with seduction.

A broad smile galloped across Marcel's face at the not-so-hidden innuendo. “Of course not, Ms. Gibson.”

She lit up and stepped inside and the clean scent of Glow perfume tickled his nose.

The doors closed.

“Which floor?” he asked.

“The lobby is fine.” She moved closer and crowded his personal space. “You're a hard man to catch.”

He stepped back. “Is that right?”

“Yeah.” She stepped forward. “You know, if I didn't know better I'd think you were avoiding me.”

“That's not true.”

“All right. Then you're avoiding being
alone
with me.”

The elevator slowed to a stop on the seventh floor.

Nora eased away as the door slid open and revealed Diana.

Marcel sighed with relief. “Diana,” he said, immedi
ately feeling guilty for doing nothing wrong. “Going down?”

Diana's gaze darted between him and Nora. For a brief second, she looked dubious about joining them.

“The lobby, please,” she said, stepping inside and planting herself between them.

While a deafening silence filled the small space, Marcel chanced a side glance at his secretary. Her eyes cut away before their gazes met, and he had the distinct impression that she was angry. He frowned, disturbed by the notion.

His gaze shifted to Nora and received a wide smile and a secretive wink. He looked away and struggled not to roll his eyes, but his attention quickly returned to Diana.

“Heading out for lunch?” he asked.

She glanced at him. “Who, me?”

He smiled and rocked on the balls of his feet. “Yes, you.”

“I'm taking the rest of the day off. I told you yesterday I have a few personal matters to take care of this afternoon.”

“Oh.” He had forgotten. “So about that project—”

“I'm already on it,” she assured him.

The elevator finally arrived at its destination and Diana was the first to bolt through the doors.

He frowned as he looked after her and then followed.

“Marcel?” Nora touched his arm and reclaimed his attention. “I still need to talk with you.”

“Sure. Just, uh, make an appointment with Diana. I'm
sure she can get you on my schedule.” He extracted his arm and moved away.

Heading out the door, Marcel realized he was rushing to catch up with Diana. A part of him wanted to clear the air about Nora. He didn't want Diana to think he'd violated his personal rule about dating women in the workplace.

He exited the tall silver and glass building, instantly relieved to find Diana standing alone out front. “Waiting for someone?”

“My ride,” she answered without looking at him.

“Is something wrong with your car?”

“In the shop.” She continued to be short.

“Engine trouble?”

“Brakes.”

Her tone bothered him. “I can give you a lift, if you'd like.”

“No, thanks.” Her eyes never wavered from the driveway. Was she praying for her ride to hurry and rescue her from his company?

“Diana, is something wrong? Have I done something to upset you?”

That finally won her attention. “Sorry, I'm just a little preoccupied.” Her eyes shifted from him again and a small smile hugged her lips. “There he is.”

Marcel casually turned toward a black Lexus. As it coasted up the drive, he focused on the tall slender man behind the steering wheel. “Boyfriend?” he asked.

The car rolled to a stop in front of them and Diana reached for the passenger's door without answering his question.

To his surprise, the driver opened his door and got out. “You're Marcel Taylor.” The man with delicate features ogled.

“I was the last time I checked.” He smiled.
I would never have thought Diana liked pretty boys.

When the driver rushed around the car to offer his hand, Marcel witnessed a flash of irritation crossing Diana's face before she crammed herself into the car.

“I'm Timothy Banks. I love T&B Records. You guys have the best acts in the biz. I've been dying to meet you ever since, well, since Di told me she worked for you.” He held out his hand.

“Is that right?” Accepting the offered hand, Marcel looked down at her and found he liked the nickname. “Have you and
Di
been friends long?”

Diana glanced up from the passenger window. “Tim, we're running late.”

Tim glanced at his watch. “We have plenty of time.”

Her eyes hardened and glittered like polished diamonds.

Tim turned back toward Marcel with a crack smile. “We have to go.”

Amused, Marcel nodded, but still wondered at the source of Diana's anger and he had no doubts that she was indeed angry. “I guess I'll see you tomorrow.”

Her smile fluttered weakly as she waited for Tim to return to the driver's seat.

When the car pulled off, Marcel remained rooted by the curb reviewing everything that had just happened. Maybe he did need to do something for Diana…before he lost her.