The Color of Love

Chapter Eighteen

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.

Emily effortlessly changed everything. From the very first meeting, Emily had seen a part of her no one except Henrietta had ever perceived—her vulnerabilities and her fears—and none of that made her feel diminished or discounted. She didn’t always have to pretend she didn’t hurt, didn’t need comfort, didn’t need someone else to be strong, if just for a few moments. Emily allowed her to be human and didn’t reject her for it. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be out of Martin’s domain, beyond his circle of malicious power, and somewhere, anywhere, with Emily.

“Ms. Winfield,” a cool male voice said from behind her.

Steeling herself for the next round, Derian turned and saw a man she didn’t know, but whom she recognized from his perfectly cut hair, dark gray Armani suit, monochromatic shirt and tie, and diamonds glinting in the square gold cufflinks, as one of the sleek corporate sharks regularly following in Martin’s wake.

“Yes.”

“I’m Anthony Marconi, Mr. Winfield’s executive assistant. I’m afraid Mr. Winfield wasn’t expecting you. He’s presently involved in back-to-back Internet conferences.”

“I won’t be long. I’ll wait until he’s in between.” She grinned. “Bathroom break or the like.”

Anthony’s expression remained pleasantly remote. His eyes, however, were annoyed. “Perhaps we could find a mutually agreeable time for you to return. His schedule is somewhat freer tomorrow.”

“I’ll wait.”

“If you’ll come with me,” he said, looking as if he’d swallowed a fishbone, “I’ll show you to the executive lounge.”

“Thank you.”

The lounge, five times the size of the ICU waiting room where she’d spent most of the last week, was furnished with a deep navy carpet, leather furniture, a full bar, a coffee station, and a pool table. Anthony left her to her own devices and, after pouring coffee from a silver carafe into a bone china cup, settled into a chair to listen to an audiobook. She considered calling Emily, but Emily was at work and she didn’t want to pull her into this place even by talking about it.

Close to an hour later, Anthony reappeared. “He has five minutes.”

“More than enough time.” Derian pocketed her phone and left the china cup on the table beside the sofa. She followed Anthony past a series of offices with closed doors to the end of the hall where another admin, male again, sat in an alcove in front of a set of enormous walnut double doors with gleaming brass handles. Anthony slid a security card through an unobtrusive card reader off to one side and, at the discreet sound of a faint buzz, held the door open for her. Martin’s office was a suite of rooms larger than many apartments with layers of plush oriental carpets, multiple seating areas, a flagship desk in one corner with views of Manhattan on two sides, and an array of computer monitors on one wall. Anthony slipped out behind them and the doors closed, leaving them alone.

Martin looked up as she crossed the expanse of carpet but didn’t bother to rise.

Derian stopped a few feet from his desk but chose not to sit, preferring to look down at him. She hadn’t seen him in three years, but he hadn’t changed at all. His hair was still jet-black, his face tight and youthful appearing, and even sitting, she could tell he was in shape. He had a passion for handball and played several times a week with his assistants. He still wore his suit jacket, even at his desk, with his tie only minimally loosened. A mantle of power shimmered around him.

“I’m in the middle of a busy morning,” Martin said coolly. “I have businesses to run, after all.”

“Then I’ll get right to the point,” Derian said just as coolly. “I’m taking over the agency until Henrietta is back on her feet. I want you to call Donatella and tell her to vacate the office.”

Martin laughed and leaned back in his high–backed leather chair. “Putting aside the fact you have absolutely no experience, we both know that kind of work would strain your…capabilities.”

“Business is just a sophisticated game,” Derian said, echoing one of Martin’s favorite sayings, “and one thing I’m very, very good at is winning games.”

“So I’m given to understand. Why would you even want to attempt this one?”

“Because that’s what Henrietta wants.” She took a chance, knowing her aunt would never leave any eventuality uncovered. “She’s made sure I have a holding interest in the company. It’s in the paperwork somewhere, and you probably already know that.”

“What I know,” Martin said, an edge creeping into his voice, “is that you haven’t bothered with the business or anything else for years. Henrietta’s return is uncertain, and your pretending to be in charge for a week or two is a foolish exercise.”

“I’ll be here for as long as necessary, and there are plenty of experienced people already present at the agency who know how to do their jobs. Emily May is a senior agent and has worked closely with Henrietta for years. Should I need to consult with anyone, she’ll be available.”

“Emily May’s employment status is uncertain”—he waved a hand—“and given that, the board decided someone with more experience and long-term investment in the enterprise was needed.” He smiled, his lips a thin line. “I’m afraid you and Ms. May have a great deal in common. Neither of you is fit to helm the agency.”

Derian slid her hands into her pockets and strolled to the windows, putting her back to him. His easy dismissal of Emily, as if she was already headed back to Singapore, infuriated her more than his expected ridicule of her own abilities. “I haven’t been very interested in the business, you’re absolutely right. But I find that I suddenly have a new appreciation for Winfield Enterprises. Up until now, I’ve been happy for Aud to represent me at board meetings, but now I find I’d rather do that myself. Of course, it’s possible I might not always be in agreement with your position when it comes time to vote.”

She didn’t have to turn to feel a wave of anger wash over her. She couldn’t block him in a vote, but he wouldn’t be happy if she took a position against him, especially if she sided with other board members who might disagree with some of his plans. He wouldn’t risk that.

“You’ve got a month, if you last that long,” he said. “However, the board has asked for an audit, which will be ongoing. Donatella will oversee that.”

“Just make sure Donatella’s out of my office before I arrive.”

She turned and walked out without bothering to say good-bye.