Read the book: «Beauty And Her Boss»

ISBN: 978-1-474-07736-1

BEAUTY AND HER BOSS

© 2018 Jennifer F. Stroka

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

EPILOGUE

Extract

PROLOGUE

“THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING.”

Gabrielle Dupré frowned as she perched on the edge of a hard, black plastic chair. The room was small with gray walls. Outside the little room, there was the buzz of voices and phones ringing. But inside the room, a tense silence hung in the air like a dense fog. This was a place she’d never been in her life—a police station. How had things spiraled so far out of control? Her head pounded and her stomach churned.

After being here for more than two hours, the situation wasn’t looking good. Not good at all. She’d just played her final card and she’d been praying ever since that it would pay off.

“Don’t worry, daughter.” Her father stared at her from across a black nondescript table. “Everything will be all right.”

“All right?” She struggled not to shout in frustration. “Things are so far from all right.” With each word, her voice crept up in volume. Realizing that losing her cool right now would not help their cause, she paused and swallowed hard. “Father, do you know how much trouble you’re in?”

“Gaby, don’t you understand? If I got word out about that monster, then it was worth it.” His voice was filled with conviction. “Sometimes a man has to do what he has to do.”

“And sometimes he needs to think before he acts,” she said in a heated whisper. Anger pulsed through her veins, but it wasn’t her father that she was upset with—it was herself.

Her father reached out and patted her hand. “You’ll see. This will all work out.”

She blamed herself for not being there to reason with her father. And to stop him from acting rashly. For the past six months, she’d been working two jobs to pay their outstanding bills but she was still losing financial ground. Things were so bad she was considering taking on a third job. With her father’s health declining and him now in a wheelchair, it was up to her to make ends meet.

And through it all, she’d made sure to be there for her father every single day. He had been grieving ever since her aunt’s deadly car accident almost four months ago. And it didn’t help that the police had failed to release the truth about the accident. Although, that didn’t stop the gossip sites from pointing fingers, including the magazine she’d recently started doing an admin job for, QTR. By way of some unnamed source, they were accusing an award-winning movie star, Deacon Santoro, of being at fault.

Gaby was still trying to figure out the how and why of her father’s actions. “So you’ve been sneaking off to Deacon Santoro’s estate all week?”

His gaze narrowed. “I wasn’t sneaking. I didn’t want to bother you so I took the bus.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “I thought you had a girlfriend that you weren’t ready to tell me about. If I’d have known what you were up to, I would have stopped you.”

With her father’s elbows resting on the table, he leaned toward her. His bloodshot eyes pleaded with her. “Don’t you want the truth?”

“Of course I do. How could you question that? I loved her, too. She was like a second mother to me. But there are better ways to get to the truth. You shouldn’t have staged a loud, disruptive protest in front of the man’s house and accosted his staff.”

Her father expelled a heavy sigh as he leaned back in his wheelchair. “Nothing else has worked. I’ve made phone call after phone call to the authorities. All I get is the runaround. They keep saying the accident report will be released as soon as the investigation has been completed.”

Gaby couldn’t believe what she was about to say, but someone had to reason with her father. With her mother and now her aunt gone, the responsibility landed squarely on Gabrielle’s straining shoulders.

“Do you even realize how much power Mr. Santoro wields?”

Her father’s bushy, gray eyebrows drew together. “Why do you think I went there? The police aren’t helping us get the truth because he bought them off.”

Gaby shushed her father. “Don’t say those things.”

“So I thought the media might help. After all, they’d do anything for a big headline.”

“You certainly got their attention.” Sadly, she didn’t think this tactic was going to work, but she sure hoped she was wrong because the not knowing was eating at her, too. “There were so many reporters standing outside the police station that I had to be escorted through the back entrance.”

Her father’s tired face, with its two days’ worth of stubble, lifted into a satisfied smile. “It’s working. You’ll see.”

Her father had a bad habit of acting first and thinking later. And she was left with the task of cleaning up his messes. But this was his first and, if she had any say in it, his last arrest. “And is it worth you going to jail or paying a stiff fine that will financially wipe us out?”

Before her father could answer, the door swung open. A tall police officer with salt-and-pepper hair stepped just inside the room. “We’ve contacted the complainant.”

“And...” Gaby knew this was the time for restraint but there was so much on the line.

The officer shook his head. “He refused to meet with you.”

That was not what she’d wanted to hear. She was hoping to plead with the man and hopefully get him to drop the charges. Her father was not physically well and punishing him would not help anyone, least of all Deacon Santoro. “Surely there has to be some way I can speak with him.”

The officer cleared his throat. “I was about to tell you that he’s on the phone. You may speak with him at my desk.”

That was all the invitation she needed. In a heartbeat, she was on her feet and rushing out the door. She didn’t so much as pause to assure her father that she’d straighten out this mess—because in all honesty, she wasn’t sure she could fix things this time. But she was willing to do anything to protect her father—even from his own misguided sense of justice.

The police officer led her to his desk, where he handed over the receiver. Before she got a word out, the officer was called away to help with an unruly arrestee, who appeared intoxicated and quite belligerent.

Turning her back to the scene, Gaby said, “Hello.”

“I am not dropping the charges.” Deacon Santoro didn’t even so much as utter a greeting, friendly or otherwise.

And yet his voice caught her attention. It was deep and rich, like a fine bourbon. She didn’t need to verify who she was speaking to. After watching each and every one of his movies countless times, she would recognize Deacon’s voice anywhere.

“I would really appreciate if we could talk this out.”

“I’ve done all of the talking that I intend to do.” His sexy voice was short and clipped. “Now, I’ve spoken to you. That is all I agreed to. I must go—”

“Wait!”

“This is a waste of time. Your father is guilty. He will have to take it up with the judge.”

With each syllable the man spoke, her body betrayed her by being drawn in by the deep timbre of his voice. Logic dictated that he was the absolute last person she should be fantasizing about, but there was another more primal part of her that wanted to hear his voice again.

Gaby gave herself a swift mental jerk. She had to stay on point. Her father’s future was depending on her getting this right.

“But he didn’t do anything serious—”

“I’d call stalking a serious charge.”

“Stalking?” This was the first she’d heard of this allegation. She couldn’t help but wonder what else her father had failed to tell her.

“Yes. He’s been making harassing phone calls, skulking outside my residence with binoculars and hounding my entire staff.”

“I’m sorry. He hasn’t been himself lately. He wouldn’t hurt a soul. If you knew him—”

“I don’t. And I don’t plan to. None of this is my problem.”

Mr. Santoro was right on that point, but would it hurt him to be a little generous? Perhaps she needed to explain the situation better. “My father, he isn’t young. And his health is failing.”

“Again, not my problem.”

This man wasn’t going to give an inch. His stirring voice ceased to affect her as she went into protective mode. “Listen, Mr. Santoro, I am sorry for the trouble my father has caused you, but pressing charges against him won’t fix anything. Surely there has to be another way to work this out.”

“Your father should have thought of all of this before he decided to cause trouble for me.”

Why did this man have to act as though he was the innocent party here? If it weren’t for his actions on that fateful night, her father wouldn’t have bothered him. Angry accusations bubbled up within her and hovered at the back of her throat. It would be so easy to lose her cool—to tell this man exactly what she thought of him, which wasn’t much.

What good would that do her? Yes, it’d temporarily make her feel better.

But in the long term, would it do anything to help her father? Definitely not.

Gaby’s jaw muscles clenched. Her back teeth ground together.

“If that’s all, I must go.”

“It’s not all.” He wasn’t getting off that easy. “My father was doing what he thought was best for my aunt.”

“What does your aunt have to do with this? Or was she one of those misguided people that he coerced into shouting lies and throwing garbage onto my property?”

Gaby wasn’t going to let this man go on about her father and aunt. Did he really not know who her father was? “My aunt wasn’t outside your house. She—she died in the car accident.”

There was a swift intake of breath as though at last he understood the gravity of the situation. A long silence ensued. Was it possible she’d finally gotten through to him?

Still, she didn’t breathe easy—not yet. In just the short period of time that she’d spoken with this man, she’d learned that he didn’t change his mind easily. And yet, she couldn’t give up.

* * *

Every muscle in his body tensed.

Deacon Santoro didn’t utter a word as he processed this new piece of information. How was this the first he’d heard of the woman in the accident having a family?

He searched his impaired memory for an answer. And then he latched on to the vital information. The police had said the woman had no family—no living parents, no ex-spouses and no children. Just a surviving brother. Deacon had never thought to ask about nieces and nephews.

Deacon swallowed hard. “You’re her niece?”

“Yes. My name’s Gaby.”

“As in Gabrielle?”

“Yes. My aunt was the only one who called me Gabrielle.”

Take care of Gabrielle.

Those words haunted him each night in his short and troubled sleep. Until now, he’d never understood what they meant. He didn’t know anyone named Gabrielle. But suddenly a jagged piece of a memory from the accident came back to him. It wasn’t an image but rather a voice. The woman from the accident had told him to take care of her niece.

And it was his chance to make sure the woman’s final words were fulfilled. The need to help Gabrielle was overwhelming. But how? He needed time to absorb this revelation—to form a viable plan.

Deacon cleared his throat. “I didn’t know she was your aunt. No one told me.”

“Now you can understand my father’s actions. He’s grieving for his younger sister. He isn’t thinking clearly.”

“But that still doesn’t make up for what he’s cost me.” Thanks to her father, another in a string of employees had quit. And thanks to the negative publicity, associates were shying away from doing business with him.

“I will do whatever I can to make this right.”

He applauded her for trying to clean up a mess that wasn’t hers. “How much are you talking about?”

“You want money?” Her voice took on a note of distress.

No. He had enough of his own, but he didn’t want this conversation to end—not until he knew a bit more about this woman. “You did offer to make things right and I lost a lot of money when two promising business ventures fell through thanks to your father’s actions.”

“I—I don’t have any money. Please believe me. I work two jobs to keep us afloat.”

“Us?” The word rolled off his tongue before he could stop it. Suddenly he pictured this woman with a husband and children—her own support system.

“Yes. Me and my father.”

At this point, Deacon should just hang up, but he couldn’t do it. The father may have stepped over the line, but the daughter hadn’t. And those words kept haunting him—take care of Gabrielle.

“What do you have in mind?” he asked.

“I could go outside and talk to the media. I could explain my father’s actions—”

“Don’t. The less said the better.” All the while, he was considering how best to help this woman, who obviously had too much on her plate.

“So if my father and I agree not to say another word, you will see that the charges are dropped?”

“No. Not only has my name been slandered in the news, but my assistant was coming back from lunch when your father’s protest was at its height. She was verbally assaulted and had things thrown at her. She has quit. And the temp agency doesn’t want to send anyone else.”

“Oh.” Gabrielle paused. “I don’t know what you want me to do to make this right.”

“You don’t need to do anything. You did not cause this mess.” Something told him this wasn’t Gabrielle’s first time cleaning up after her father. Perhaps taking care of Gabrielle meant freeing her from being constantly at her father’s beck and call. “Your father must face up to what he’s done.”

“But he’s in no physical condition to go through the legal process—”

“This isn’t your first time fixing things for your father, is it?”

“No.” She quickly added, “But he needs me.”

“Your father, can he cook for himself?”

“Yes, but—”

“Do his own laundry and shopping?”

“Yes, but—”

“You do most everything for him, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I’m his daughter. Now tell me what I can do to remedy things.”

In that moment, Deacon knew what needed to be done. Without giving himself a chance to back out, he said, “There is one thing and it’s nonnegotiable.”

“Name it.”

“Come work for me.”

CHAPTER ONE

Two days later...

WHAT EXACTLY HAD she agreed to?

Gabrielle Dupré’s heart beat faster as she turned into the gated drive of the Santoro estate. Her gaze shifted to the clock on the dash. The drive from Bakersfield had taken more than four hours. She definitely wouldn’t want to deal with that long commute each day. Thankfully Newton, an old friend from the neighborhood, had recently moved back to town and was renting a room from her father and had agreed to keep an eye on him while she worked here at the estate. Newton had changed since she’d last seen him, but he was happy to be there for her father, and they seemed to get on.

Deacon had offered her more money to work here than both of her jobs combined. It also included free room and board. Under different circumstances, she’d be excited about the opportunity. But with her father convinced that Mr. Santoro was the reason her aunt had died, being here felt uncomfortable to say the least.

She swallowed hard and reached out the driver’s side window, pressing a finger to a button on the intercom. She waited for someone to speak to her. However, without a word the gate swept open. She had to admit she was curious to see what awaited her on the other side of the wall. She’d done an internet search, but it hadn’t turned up any pictures of the estate.

Gabrielle eased her father’s vintage red convertible onto the overgrown grounds. It certainly wasn’t the grand estate that she’d been anticipating. Perhaps at one time this place might have been beautiful, but now it was woefully neglected. The grass appeared not to have been cut in ages. The bushes were overgrown and gangly. The flower gardens were overrun with weeds that were strangling out the few remaining flowers.

The internet sites said that Deacon Santoro had become a recluse since he’d been involved in the deadly accident. Apparently for once, the paparazzi hadn’t been totally wrong. There was definitely something amiss on this estate.

The Malibu beach house was a stunning piece of midcentury architecture. Gabrielle slowed the car to a stop to have a better look around. Feeling as though someone was staring at her, she glanced up at the massive white mansion. There was no one standing in any of the windows. But there was a window on the top floor where the sheers moved. Cold fingertips inched down her spine.

Stop it. You’re just being melodramatic. It’s not like this is a haunted mansion.

No matter what she told herself, she couldn’t shake her uneasiness. If it wasn’t for her father, she’d turn around and leave. But a deal was a deal.

When she’d handed in her immediate resignation at the library, they’d refused to accept it. The staff was small and they were all close, like a family. So, she was on sabbatical leave until her deal with Deacon was concluded. She was so grateful to have a job to return to. It was one less thing she had to worry about.

However, when she’d resigned at the tabloid, she’d made the mistake of letting Deacon Santoro’s name cross her lips. That spiked everyone’s interest. She’d been passed up the chain of management until she’d been sitting across from the managing editor. And when the whole sordid truth came tumbling out, the editor had assured her that she didn’t need to quit. In fact, they’d increased her pay.

The editor was putting Gaby on an assignment. The money was most welcome as her father’s mounting medical expense were beyond her means. She had been shocked until it became clear that they wanted her to feed them every bit of dirt she could dig up on Deacon Santoro. She’d initially refused. Finding out the truth about her aunt’s death was one thing. Digging up information about his private life just for sensational headlines was something else.

In the end, they’d all agreed that she would remain on the payroll and submit a daily report with information regarding the deadly accident. After all, if the legal system wouldn’t do anything about it, someone had to seek justice in whatever way possible. And so Gaby had come here not only to protect her father, but also to uncover the truth about the accident and to expose Deacon’s actions to the world.

At the time, the plan had seemed so easy. She’d play along as his assistant and befriend the man, which from the looks of the desolate place wouldn’t be hard. Then she’d get him to open up about the accident. She would prove that he was responsible for her aunt’s death. At last the world would know the truth, just like her father had wanted for so long. And then she could return to her life—a life that was temporarily on pause.

Gabrielle wheeled the car into a parking spot next to a late model gray sedan. She’d arrived early this morning as she’d wanted to make a good impression on Mr. Santoro. She didn’t want to give him any reason to go back on his agreement to drop the charges against her father, and that included keeping her connection with QTR magazine hush-hush.

She climbed out of the car and lifted her head to the blue sky. There was a gusty breeze. The forecasters said there was a storm brewing over the Pacific, although it hadn’t reached them yet. But there was an ominous tension in the air.

She turned to head inside, but she wasn’t sure where to go. There was yet another fence surrounding the building. There were numerous gates but no signs indicating where each led.

A movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Her gaze strayed across the outline of a figure in the distance.

“Excuse me,” Gabrielle called out as she rushed forward.

The man’s back was to her.

She called out again.

The man straightened from where he was bent over a rosebush. He was wearing jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt and a ball cap. He didn’t turn around. Did he hear her?

“Hey, could you tell me where to go?” Not about to continue screaming across the grounds, she started down to a set of stained concrete steps leading to the garden.

By the time she reached the bottom step, the man was gone. Perhaps he hadn’t heard her. He could still be around here somewhere. She started walking around in hopes of spotting him again. However, he was nowhere to be found. How was that possible? He was just here a second ago. She turned around in a circle. Where had he gone so quickly?

She sighed and was about to walk away when she paused to take in her surroundings. She stood on the edge of an expansive rose garden with a winding footpath. Unlike the rest of the overgrown yard, this section was neat and tidy. She found this shocking. What made this garden so special? It was just one more question that she had for Mr. Santoro.

Gaby headed back up the steps to the parking area. If worse came to worse, she would try all the gates and open all of the doors she encountered until she found where she belonged. You really would think Mr. Santoro would greet her or at the very least call her.

Time was getting away from her. If she didn’t hurry, she was going to start off this arrangement by being late. Talk about making a bad situation worse. She picked up her pace.

At the top of the steps, she glanced around. On both sides of the parking area were doors. There was the large main house and there were six garage doors with what appeared to be a guesthouse atop them. Would he have put the office in the guesthouse?

Her gaze moved back and forth between the two structures as she tried to make up her mind. Just as she decided to try the main house, a gate swung open. At last, Mr. Santoro had come to greet her.

She rushed toward the door, but she came to a halt when an older woman with white hair and a round, rosy face came hurrying out. The woman was muttering something under her breath and shaking her head, but Gaby wasn’t able to make out what she was saying.

When the woman’s gaze met hers, a smile softened the woman’s face. She had kind eyes and a warm smile. “Ah...hello, dearie. You must be Mr. Santoro’s new assistant.”

Gaby smiled back at the woman. “I am. My name’s Gaby Dupré.”

“Welcome Ms. Dupré. And you can call me Mrs. Kupps. Mr. Santoro, he likes formality.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Kupps.” Gaby held out her hand to the woman. “But please feel free to call me Gaby.”

The woman giggled and placed her hand in Gaby’s for a brief shake. “I’m pleased to meet you, too,” she whispered, “Gaby.”

“Will you be showing me what I need to do?”

The woman shook her head. “Not me, dearie. I wouldn’t have a clue. I’m the housekeeper and cook.”

Gaby was disappointed. Working with Mrs. Kupps would have certainly made her workday interesting. “Do you know who will be showing me what I need to do?”

“I assume that would be Mr. Santoro.”

“Oh, will he be out soon?”

The woman clucked her tongue. “Mr. Santoro does not get out much these days.”

“Not even on his own estate?”

The woman shook her head as a serious look came over her face. “He prefers to stay in his suite of rooms.”

This arrangement was getting stranger by the minute.

“But how will I be able to work with him?”

“He will phone you.”

And then Mrs. Kupps pointed out the way to the office. Gaby made it there with ease. Once inside, she glanced around the office, taking in the white walls and two desks that faced each other from across the room. They were both sparsely set up, but the one to her left looked a bit haphazard, as though the person had been in a rush to get out the door.

The room was adorned with beach decorations and a couple of prints of the ocean. It was pretty, but there was nothing of the man that owned this spacious estate. There were no movie posters, no snapshots of Mr. Santoro with costars and no awards. It was though he’d purposely removed himself from the room. But why?

Gaby moved to one of the desks and placed her purse as well as her pink-and-white tote on the desk chair. Her gaze scanned the desk as she searched for any instructions of what was expected of her or a number that she was supposed to call upon arrival.

Then the phone rang.

* * *

He should have never agreed to bring Gabrielle here.

The decision had been made in haste.

And it was a mistake.

Deacon paced back and forth in his private study. This woman with the honeyed voice was dangerous, as she was poised to be a distraction from the stark reality of his situation. She would make him think about all of the damage that had been done. If only he could remember the accident—remember if he was at fault.

He would need to be on constant guard around her. With her being the niece of the woman who had died in his arms, she would be out to finish what her father started—destroying him.

And then he’d almost been caught by Gabrielle while he was in the rose garden.

It was his oasis. His chance to feel like a normal person, not a man hunted and hounded for the truth—something he didn’t possess. How exactly had she missed the sign that explicitly said Do Not Enter?

Luckily he’d had enough time to make a clean escape. But as her sweet voice called out to him, he’d hesitated. An overwhelming urge came over him to capture a glimpse of the face that went with such a melodious voice.