once. “Enjoy your vacation, Joseph.”
The younger man pushed to his feet. His cousin had just unceremoniously dismissed him. “I will.” That said, he turned on his heels and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Joseph liked that he'd become part of the family-owned company, but it wasn't easy with Diego as his boss. Diego worked nonstop and expected everyone else to do the same.
He walked down carpeted hallway to the elevator in the luxury office building. Joseph wanted to tell Diego that he didn't need to set up another company. What he needed was a woman to make him aware that there was a world and life beyond ColeDiz International Ltd.
Diego stared blankly, focusing on the space where his cousin had been, his mind working overtime in anticipation of setting up a new venture. Despite being a brilliant corporate attorney, Joseph was not a risk taker. He didn't want to get into farming when in fact it was farming that afforded him his opulent lifestyle, much to the delight of his social-climbing girlfriend. Now, if Joseph worked as hard as he played there would be no doubt he would become CEO if or when Diego decided to relinquish the title and the responsibilities that went along with running the company. Their great-grandfathers, Samuel Cole and José Luis Diaz, for whom Joseph was named, were farmers. Farming had made the Coles one of the wealthiest, if not the wealthiest, black family in the States.
Reaching for his fork, he speared a chunk of fresh pineapple. He ate slowly, finishing his breakfast, which included freshly squeezed orange juice, sliced pineapple and black coffee. He'd just touched the napkin to his mouth when the intercom rang.
Recognizing the extension on the display, Diego pressed a button on the telephone console. “Yes, Caitlin.”
“Good morning, Diego. I have someone in my office I want you to meet. Her name is Vivienne Neal and I believe she would be perfect for the position as your personal assistant. Are you available to meet with her now?”
He wanted to tell the head of human resources that she'd said the same thing about the other two candidates, but held his tongue because Caitlin had him on speaker. “Yes.”
“I'm faxing you her résumé as we speak and I'll bring her around in about fifteen minutes.”
Once he'd taken over control of ColeDiz, his respect for his father increased appreciably. He didn't know how Timothy Cole-Thomas had managed both business and social obligations without them overlapping until Timothy disclosed that his stay-at-home wife, Nichola, had become his social secretary and personal assistant. Nichola checked with his personal secretary every day to make certain dinner meetings, fund-raisers or family get-togethers did not conflict. Unlike his father, Diego didn't have a wife, so he'd decided to hire a personal assistant.
He cleared the table of his breakfast, slipped on his suit jacket and tightened his tie. Removing the pages from the tray of the fax machine, he'd glanced over Vivienne Neal's résumé, Googled her name and was standing behind his desk when Caitlin escorted her into his office. Caitlin nodded, smiling, and closed the door behind her.
Vivienne felt her heart stop, her breath catching in her chest for several seconds before she was able to breathe normally. She'd used Alicia's computer to bring up what she could on ColeDiz International Ltd., but uncovered very little about the company's CEO. The Coles, like many wealthy families, kept a low profile. Their names appeared in the press only when linked to a business deal or charitable event. They also were fortunate to have lived their lives relatively free of gossip and scandal.
The man standing with his back to floor-to-ceiling windows spanning the width of the expansive room appeared to have been carved out of stone. He was tall, broad-shouldered and it'd only taken a single glance to recognize the exquisite cut and fabric of his suit. However, it wasn't his clothes that drew her rapt attention, but his face.
He rounded the desk and she saw up close the lean, angular sable-brown face with large, deep-set dark eyes that glowed with confidence under black sweeping eyebrows. Chiseled cheekbones, a straight nose with slightly flaring nostrils and a strong, firm mouth and cleft chin completed the undeniably male image that was Diego Samuel Cole-Thomas.
Diego approached, right hand extended. “Good morning, Ms. Neal.”
Vivienne felt a slight shock race up her arm when Diego's hand captured hers. She inclined her head. “Mr. Thomas.”
“It's not Thomas, but Cole-Thomas.”
Vivienne's eyebrows lifted slightly with his terse response. Oh, that's what you're all about? she mused. Mr. Cole-Thomas was the personification of an egotist. She inclined her head again, the gesture conveying her apology. “I stand corrected, Mr. Cole-Thomas.”
A slight frown appeared between Diego's eyes. Vivienne Neal's body language said one thing and her facetious apology another. It was apparent the woman applying for the position as his personal assistant was not only beautiful and tastefully dressed, but also not easily intimidated, which meant she wouldn't dissolve into tears the way her predecessor had. Cupping her elbow, he led her into the anteroom where he held informal meetings. Instead of sitting at the round table, he directed her to sit in a tan leather chair, seated her, then sat in a matching facing chair.
Diego forced himself not to stare at the long shapely legs under the pencil skirt that was part of a navy-blue linen suit that Vivienne had paired with a white silk blouse and stylish blue-and-white spectator pumps. Aside from the pearl studs in her ears, her only other jewelry accessory was a gold band with three rows of diamonds on the middle finger of her right hand. While it was impossible to ascertain the length of her hair, which she'd pinned up in a French twist, it'd only taken a single glance to conclude that Vivienne Neal was no ordinary personal assistant, possessing the style and elegance of a wealthy woman.
“Aunque no conocí a su marido, me gustaría extender mis condolencias sobre su muerte prematura.”
“Gracias, Señor Cole-Tomas.” Vivienne replied fluidly in the same language.
She wondered if Diego had offered his condolences on the death of her husband in Spanish to confirm that she was as fluent as her résumé indicated, having held a position translating financial contracts with a leading international investment firm.
A hint of a smile parted her lips. “Did I pass the test?”
Diego crossed one leg over the opposite knee and pressed his forefinger alongside his face, in a gesture that reminded her of a famous image of Malcolm X. “At least I know you understand Spanish.”
Vivienne felt a shiver of annoyance snake its way up her spine. She wanted to tell Diego Cole-Thomas that she didn't need the position as much as she needed a diversion, something to keep her mind occupied. With the proceeds from the sale of the house in Connecticut and as sole beneficiary of Sean's life insurance, it wasn't necessary for her to secure immediate employment.
Even before they were married, she'd told her fiancé that she had no intention of living year-round in the nation's capital. But that didn't stop Sean from spending a great deal of his time in Georgetown, because he'd believed that she would eventually change her mind and live with him in D.C. when the House was in session. Vivienne had proven him wrong, including the period leading up to his untimely death.
Her accountant recommended that she hold on to the Georgetown property, so she'd rented it fully furnished to a couple who wanted to use the first floor for their architectural and interior design business and the two upper floors as personal living space.
She'd dropped out of sight for six months, playing the role of a grieving widow. The police still
