the officer assigned to the case informed her it would remain open.
Vivienne blinked once. “I understand, speak and write Spanish. I'm also fluent in French and Italian.” There was just a hint of boastfulness in her tone.
She glared at the arrogant man who seemed to challenge her without saying a word. If he wanted a personal assistant who was fluent in Spanish, then she was it. But, if he thought he was going to intimidate her with veiled challenges to her competence, then she wasn't the one for the job.
However, she was forced to admit that everything about Diego exuded power and breeding, from his well-groomed hair to the soles on his imported shoes. A slight frown touched her brow. It could've been the light, but there was something very wrong with his socks. Realization dawned. He was wearing one blue and one brown sock with his dark blue pin-striped suit and black leather wing tips.
“Are you aware that you're wearing two different color socks?”
Diego lowered his leg, lifted the hem of his trousers and stared at his feet. “The laundry service must have mismatched them.”
“You're color-blind.” Her question was a statement.
“Yes.”
“Do you see red and green?”
“Yes,” Diego admitted. “It's the blues and yellows I have a problem differentiating.”
The seconds ticked off as he continued to regard the woman who sat separated from him by less than five feet. There was something about Vivienne Neal he liked—and it had nothing to do with her face or body. She was professional and straightforward, and he doubted if another prospective employee would've pointed out the fact that his socks were mismatched.
“You're more than qualified for the position, given your education and work experience,” Diego said quietly, in the drawling cadence of one who'd grown up in the South. “But the fact remains that I've hired two personal assistants with similar credentials and I've had to let them go.”
Vivienne smiled for the first time. The expression shocked Diego as he sat up straighter. Her smile was as sensual as the rest of her. “Perhaps the third time will be the charm.”
Diego nodded, praying she had more going for her than her pretty face and killer body. “Let's hope you're right, Ms. Neal. Our human resources department will contact you with my decision once they verify your references.” Rising from his chair, he extended his hand and pulled Vivienne gently to her feet. What could pass for a smile softened his mouth. “Thanks for the heads-up on my socks.”
She gave him an open, warm smile for the first time. “You're welcome.”
He released her hand. “Someone from security will escort you to your car.”
Vivienne walked to the door, feeling the heat from Diego's gaze behind her. Even if she hadn't impressed him, she knew her résumé had. And, it wasn't until she was seated in her rental car, driving back to Alicia's house that she admitted to herself that she wanted the position as Diego Cole-Thomas's personal assistant—not because she viewed the position as a challenge, but because the man with whom she would work was the real challenge.
Diego lost track of time as he rested his feet on the corner of his desk, staring out the wall of glass facing the West Palm Beach skyline. Twice he'd reached for the telephone receiver and both times he'd stopped himself. He didn't know what it was, but there was something so inexplicably seductive about Vivienne Neal—a sensuality he'd never encountered in any woman whom he'd met or been involved with.
She was well-spoken, appropriately dressed for an interview and conducted herself professionally. However, she had exhibited a haughtiness when he'd questioned her about her ability to read, write and speak Spanish, and he'd been forthcoming when he told Vivienne that she was overqualified. However, he didn't need her to translate contracts, because there were attorneys and paraprofessionals on staff who were well versed in languages and legal terms to do that. What he needed from Vivienne was strictly personal.
Lowering his feet, he swung around, picked up the telephone receiver and tapped an extension. It was rare that Diego made direct contact with any of his managers. He usually left that task to Lourdes Wallace, his secretary, or as she preferred—executive assistant.
“Human Resources, Caitlin Novak speaking.”
The corners of Diego's mouth inched upward. Within three months of taking over as CEO, he'd instituted subtle changes that he'd believed were a long time coming. At a staff meeting the employees were informed that whenever they answered the telephone they were to identify their department and themselves, giving their full names. An incident involving a representative from an overseas bank, who was placed on hold indefinitely, had become the impetus for the mandate.
“Caitlin, this is Diego. I want you to contact Ms. Neal and let her know that she's hired.”
A slight gasp came through the earpiece. “But, I haven't checked her references.”
“You can check her references later. I need her for this weekend. I want you to messenger an official offer letter. Also, make arrangements to have her clothes and whatever else she'll need delivered to my house.”
There came a pause before Caitlin spoke again. “Is there anything else, Diego?”
“I can't think of anything right now. Thank you, Caitlin.”
“You're welcome.”
It was done. He'd hired the widow of one of Washington's rising political stars to become his personal assistant. Now, he had to make one more call—this to confirm if Vivienne Neal was qualified to function as his personal hostess, also.
Diego dialed a number that went directly to voice mail. “Jacob, this is Diego. I need you to find out what you can on a Vivienne Kay Neal Gregory. She happens to be Sean Gregory's widow. Please get back to me before Friday. Later.”
He hung up feeling more relaxed than he had in months. It wouldn't take weeks or even days to find out whether Vivienne Neal was suited for the position as his personal assistant. However, she would be put to the test this upcoming weekend. Face, body, intelligence and experience aside—he would let her go as quickly as the two before her.
Chapter 2
“Don't believe him, Blair!” Vivienne screamed at the television. “Todd Manning lied to you before and he'll do it again,” she said, continuing her rant.
A basket filled with clothes she'd taken out of the dryer and folded sat at her feet. It'd been more than a decade since she'd watched her soap operas. All My Children and One Life to Live, as well as life in Pine Valley and Landview had seemingly stood still. The principal characters hadn't aged, while their children were now adults with children of their own.
In a way, her life had paralleled a soap opera. She'd known the moment she saw Sean Gregory that she would one day become his wife. Perhaps it was because Sean was her brother's college roommate, or maybe it was because everyone claimed they were so well suited to each other.
They became engaged a week following his law school graduation and married a year before he threw his hat into the political ring, winning the seat his father had vacated in the previous election when he retired due to failing health. The elder Gregory lived long enough to witness his son being sworn in
