The Color of Love

Chapter Five

Emily thought about leaving. She’d been at the hospital for twelve hours, and she was bone weary. The waiting, the worrying, the remembering had taken her back, and the old sorrow had surged anew. At first glance, this bustling, careworn city hospital seemed crude and unpolished compared to the luxury and near-grand-hotel opulence of Mount Elizabeth’s, but as she’d discovered after a few days’ vigil, hospitals were all the same beneath the veneer of civility—impersonal, often cold places. And wasn’t she just getting morose, when she’d long ago set that all aside. She gave herself a mental shake. She’d be fine after she slept. Maybe had a cup of tea and a package of those cookies she kept for emergencies.

The idea of curling up under a blanket on the sofa by the big front window of her third-floor apartment filled her with longing, but Derian had asked her to wait. Or at least, implied that she wanted her to. Really, would it be so rude to leave? Surely Derian Winfield was just being polite. And when had she started thinking of her as Derian, as if they were actually friends? How could they be anything but strangers—they’d met exactly once before. She remembered the moment quite clearly, when obviously Derian hadn’t.

To be fair, she had been so much younger then, not just in years, but in so many other ways. A newly minted master’s degree, the first few months on the job as a real employee, pulling down a paycheck, and not just an intern on temporary assignment—she’d made it, realized the dream that had seemed so far away only a few years before. Here she was, in the land of opportunity where she actually had carved out the life she wanted for herself—researching, studying, making contacts, pushing to be noticed.

Emily smiled, remembering the first emails she’d sent to Henrietta Winfield, someone who had no idea who she was and probably wouldn’t even be bothered to read the message. But Henrietta had read it, and had even emailed her back. Emily had been a college student then, an undergraduate at Harvard, double-majoring in English and creative writing, filling her résumé with everything she could think of that might make her more marketable in a world that could be viciously competitive behind the sedate and cultured façade. Positions in literary agencies were few and coveted, often passed along to those who had some kind of in—a friend or relation who knew someone who was part of the age-old world of New York publishing. She’d taken a chance and decided the only way to make an impression on someone who undoubtedly received hundreds of hopeful applications and queries every year was to demonstrate she understood what truly mattered. She hadn’t written to Henrietta about her qualifications or her potential value as an employee or even her desires and aspirations. She’d written instead about one of her favorite books from an author Henrietta had shepherded from obscurity to NY Times best-seller status, and what the book had meant to her and why. How better to make a connection than to share the same passion?

She hadn’t really expected a reply, but then it had come. Henrietta Winfield had actually emailed her. With the door open a tiny crack, she’d subtly, or so she’d thought, slipped her foot into it, and volunteered to do anything that would keep her in Henrietta’s sight. And so it had begun, a relationship that eventually flowered into a job and most surprisingly, wonderfully of all, into friendship.

When she’d gone to work for Henrietta, she’d quickly become immersed in the other side of the literary agency, the politics of acquisition and promotion and selling. She’d been trained to recognize good writing, poignant themes, popular tropes, but she hadn’t any experience negotiating the volatile waters of selling the manuscript to a publisher. Where were the best places to position a contemporary romance, a time-travel paranormal, a family saga? What was hot, and even more importantly, what would be hot next year? What were reasonable contract terms to expect for a first-time author, and what were the key items to be hammered out to the best advantage for her author clients? Those first few months she’d worked side by side with Henrietta and Ron, who’d been senior to her then and had graciously tutored her.

Part of her rapid-fire indoctrination had been in the art of networking, one of the things she’d liked the least at first. She preferred the quiet of her office and the solitude of her desk, immersed in manuscripts or making phone calls to authors—even contract review was better than face-to-face schmoozing with strangers. But she’d gone to the meetings and receptions, because Henrietta insisted she needed to. And there, at one of those very first too noisy, too crowded, and too false-friendly congregations, she’d first met Derian Winfield.

Even with dozens of people between them, Emily had recognized her right away. Derian was hard not to recognize. A few inches taller than most of the women, she’d stood out from the crowd precisely because she stood apart. She’d worn a suit, the dark jacket and pants well cut, not flashy, but superbly fit to her lanky form. Her hair had been fashionably layered to collar length, expertly setting off her chiseled features and accentuating the clean, crisp lines of her neck and shoulders. But it’d been her expression that had really defined her separateness. Unlike everyone else, she wasn’t smiling, she didn’t appear to be drinking the amber liquid in the short glass she held in her left hand, and she wasn’t talking to anyone.

“Come,” Henrietta had said, taking Emily’s elbow. “I’d like you to meet my niece.”

Henrietta had pulled her through the crowd, kissed Derian’s cheek, and introduced them. Derian’s expression had softened when she’d seen Henrietta coming, and after a few murmured words Emily couldn’t hear, she’d glanced briefly in Emily’s direction, nodded to her, and said something polite and totally impersonal.

After downing the rest of her drink with one swift tilt of her wrist, Derian had growled, “I think I’ve done my duty here tonight.” She’d kissed Henrietta once again and disappeared into the crowd. Henrietta had looked after her with a faint smile and shake of her head before firmly pulling Emily off to the next group of people she wanted her to meet.

How young she’d been then, and how fiercely Henrietta had championed her. Emily struggled with the sadness welling inside. The doctors had said Henrietta would be well again, and that was what she must cling to. Despite everything, she hadn’t given up on hope.

“I thought you might have left,” Derian said from the doorway.

Emily started, feeling heat rise to her face. How did Derian sense so much, when others thought they knew her but rarely did? “Oh. How is she?”

“Sleeping. Probably conserving her strength to start ordering everyone around the next time she wakes up.”

“I would never say I agree with you, but…” Emily laughed. “I thought about leaving, only I might be too tired to move.”

Derian wanted to ask her what she’d been thinking about a moment before. She’d had the strangest expression on her face, half dreamlike, with a little smile that was sad in a way. But she didn’t know Emily well enough to ask something quite that personal, and that constraint irritated her. She must be tired too. She’d never once in her life asked a woman what she’d been thinking. Had she never really cared enough to know? Aud had been the only one she’d cared about, and they’d always talked so much she’d never had to ask. The pain of their separation hit her out of nowhere, and she shrugged off the past. The past was history, the future merely chance. All that mattered was now, and she’d been determined to live it to the max since she’d walked out on what was left of her family. “Well, I’m sorry you’re exhausted, but very glad you’re still here. I owe you dinner, remember?”

Emily shook her head. “You definitely do not. And you’ve got to be even more exhausted than me. I’ve only been sitting here all day.”

“Right. Sitting vigil when no one else did.” Derian held out a hand. “I owe you for that. I owe you for more than that too. You took care of all the paperwork, didn’t you?”

Emily stood, avoiding Derian’s hand. She couldn’t keep touching her. It wasn’t appropriate, and besides that, it was upsetting. She wasn’t used to all the feelings Derian kindled without the least bit of effort and, undoubtedly, unintentionally. “No, Vonnie helped. I don’t deserve all the credit.”

Derian nodded. “I’ll call her and thank her too. But first, food.”

“You’re very stubborn, aren’t you?” The words were out before she could pull them back. She was usually so much more cautious when she first met someone, and here she was saying everything that came into her head. “I didn’t mean—”

Derian laughed. “That’s a mild way of putting it. Most people might phrase it differently. But yes, once I set my mind on something, I’m kind of hard to dissuade. What’s your favorite food?”

“Cookies,” Emily said instantly.

Derian laughed again, a deep sound that rumbled in her chest and seemed to enclose Emily like a warm cloak wrapped around her shoulders. The image struck her as belonging to someone else. When had she ever been so frivolous? All the same, she couldn’t help but smile.

“Besides dessert,” Derian said.

“Who said it was dessert?” Emily said.

“All right, I’ll admit to an occasional meal of ice cream myself, but not tonight. What would you like?”

“Almost anything—you choose.”

Derian looked down at herself. “I could use a shower and a change of clothes. Would it be asking too much for you to stop by my apartment with me for a quick pit stop? I promise, it won’t be more than fifteen minutes, and that will give me a chance to call and get reservations. I’ll have you seated at a table in less than forty-five minutes.”

“You can do that in New York City?”

“Trust me.” Derian grinned and Emily suspected that grin took her a long way in the world—part charm, part devil, part sex.

And now she had the perfect opportunity to beg off dinner. She could simply say she was too tired to wait, and too disheveled herself. But she wasn’t, really. She’d often gone all day at work and then out to an event in the same clothes, and she really had only been sitting most of the day. Derian wouldn’t know that, though. Faced with the perfect opportunity to escape, she had to admit she didn’t want to. She wanted to go to dinner with Derian Winfield. She wanted to hear her laugh again. She wanted to do something different, something out of her ordinary routine, and wasn’t that odd. She could think about all of that later. “I don’t mind a little wait at all. And you don’t have to rush.”

“I won’t be rushing. I’m used to quick changes.” Derian picked up Emily’s coat from where she had laid it on the chair beside her and held it out for her. “Anyone you need to call? Change plans or anything?”

“No,” Emily said casually as she let Derian help her on with her coat, something she couldn’t ever remember anyone doing before. The gesture was unexpected and unexpectedly delightful. “They’ll call us, right? If there’s any…problem?”

Derian rested her hands for an instant on Emily’s shoulders after the coat settled onto them. “They have my number. But it’s going to be all right. It has to be, right?”

Emily leaned against her for the briefest of seconds. They shared the same affection for Henrietta, and Derian had to be even more worried. “Of course. Henrietta is probably even more stubborn than you.”

“You’re absolutely right.” Derian slipped her hand down to Emily’s elbow, leading her out into the hall. She liked the contact, the intimacy of that passing touch. “I’m sure I inherited all my bad traits from her.”

“I actually think it might be catching—the stubbornness, at least. I’ve gotten a lot more persistent myself, since coming to work with her.”

Derian reached out to press the button to the elevator, but the doors opened and she halted abruptly. “Aud!”

A willowy blonde with a stylish Tumi bag slung over one shoulder launched herself into Derian’s arms. “Dere. I can’t believe you got here first.”

Emily hastily stepped back, but not before she registered the unbridled excitement in the blonde’s eyes as she kissed Derian soundly on the lips.

“Why didn’t you call me when you got in!” Aud scolded, one precisely etched brow arched in exasperation.

Derian slid an arm around the blonde’s waist, her expression lighter than Emily had seen since she’d arrived at the hospital. “I tried. Did you check your voice mail?”

“Actually, no. I just got off a plane an hour ago and headed straight over here. I wasn’t in the mood for business messages. Sorry.”

“You never were very good at that anyhow. For a lawyer, you’re really hard to get a hold of.”

“Self-protection.” The blonde glanced at Emily and held out her hand. “Sorry for being so rude. I’m Audrey Ames.”

“Emily May, one of Henrietta’s agents.” She drew back farther. “I should probably go—”

“Aud, Emily is a friend,” Derian said, tightening her grip on Emily’s elbow so she didn’t bolt the next time the elevator opened. “Henrietta is stable, and we were about to sneak out for some dinner.”

“That’s great news,” Aud said. “Do they know what happened?”

“Looks like her heart. She might need surgery, but the verdict is open there,” Derian said.

“Oh. I tried to reach your father, but he wasn’t returning my calls.”

“Not surprising. He’s been here, but I think he just came by for a sit rep.” Derian’s expression darkened. “You know how that is.”

Audrey sighed, her expression sympathetic. “Derian, you’re going to have to make peace someday.”

“I don’t know why,” Derian said lightly, although her tone held no humor.

“Your head’s as hard as ever, I see.” Audrey sighed. “I’m going to peek in on HW before I touch base with the family.”

“Right. Have at it. We’ll catch up tomorrow?”

Audrey leaned close and kissed Derian’s cheek. “Absolutely. You’ll be at the apartment?”

Derian nodded.

Aud sketched a wave and strode away.

“If you’d rather wait for her,” Emily said, “I completely understand.”

Derian regarded her quizzically. “You seem to think I’m going to let you break this date with me, but it’s not going to happen. We’re going to dinner.”

Emily’s lips parted. “I don’t believe we mentioned anything about a date.”

“All right, I stand corrected.” Derian grinned. “But we’re still having dinner.”

“As long as we understand each other.”

“For the moment, we’re in agreement.” Derian held the elevator door open for her. “Dinner. No date.”