Chapter 12 #2
"I've done some preliminary research." Frances gestured delicately with her hands. "And while some departments have adapted to the new era, others, unfortunately, are refusing to do so."
Those dark eyes bored into Diane again, and an imperceptible curl of Frances's lips took shape — a very personal promise, delivering on what she'd sworn years ago: I'm going to destroy you, Diane Carter. I promise you that.
"Change is necessary, and my role here is to help manage it." She wrapped up her speech. "Thank you, everyone."
Fresh applause followed, and Frances smiled gratefully, slowly tilting her head to give the moment more weight.
She hadn't changed at all — except for the extra lines on her face and eyes that looked even more poisonous than they used to.
But she was the same woman. Apparently warm.
Projecting closeness and trust. Diane had fallen for it once — but before Frances Hartwell could stab her in the back, she'd already had four snipers aimed at her face.
She'd seen it coming. The moves, the secret meetings designed purely to discredit her.
The reason? Frances had been at the company for three years when Diane walked in with no experience, but the woman wasn't performing — personal problems were bleeding into her work.
Then the partners noticed that sharp young woman with fresh ideas who in less than three months had made necessary changes and had promising projects already in hand.
Frances saw the noose tightening around her own neck, and her only idea was to start stealing Diane's work while faking a friendship that had never actually existed, all while putting together a plan worthy of a bad movie — accusing her of things as absurd as they were ridiculous.
Frances ended up on the street, apparently drowning in debt and in a pretty miserable situation, while Diane Carter not only stepped into her role but months later found herself in the chair that had been promised to Hartwell for years.
"We'll begin with the finance department," Ethan announced, opening a folder on the table.
"Once Frances has worked through that, she'll move directly into business development and marketing.
" The president turned to Diane now. "Big changes are coming.
You and Clara are going to be working closely with our new consultant. "
The thirty minutes that followed that last sentence, Diane lived through as though she were in another dimension entirely.
She heard Ethan Brooks's muffled voice and Melissa's, punctuated by occasional applause or laughter, but she took in none of it — because her brain was stuck in a loop with the only thing that mattered: that Hartwell bitch was about to sink her claws into her department, and Diane knew with absolute certainty that her primary goal was to take her head.
When the meeting ended, she made her way to the elevator with a familiar pressure at the base of her skull.
The kind that made her thirsty and made her wish she could have a gin and tonic at ten-thirty in the morning.
She exhaled, disgusted, because she already knew that from this moment on she'd be fighting a war she hadn't even known existed.
And just when she thought the day couldn't get any worse, she heard the laugh before she saw her.
Cassidy had a folder in one hand and had pressed the other over her mouth to muffle a burst of laughter she apparently couldn't contain.
Across from her, Samuel Barnes watched her with those doe eyes that Diane would be very happy to rip out — and she couldn't believe the sheer nerve of those two.
It was Samuel who greeted her first when he saw her coming down the hall.
"Good morning, Diane."
"Samuel." She didn't want to look at her, but her eyes moved on their own toward Cassidy's face, and Cassidy gave her a smile that Diane knew was meant only for her. "Collins."
The greeting was what it always was — brief, clipped — and neither of them reacted, because that was just Diane's insufferable personality.
But what really got under the Cobra's skin was that they picked right back up as if nothing had happened, as if it weren't utterly maddening that a man like him would look at a girl like Cassidy that way.
She was so irritated that her chest ached, the hum of the heating system grated on her, and the low buzz of voices made her want to leave the building entirely.
"Find Clara and tell her I need her in my office," she bit out, making Gianna — the department's secretary — go wide-eyed with alarm.
"Clara's not in today — she took the day off," the young woman managed to say steadily. "Do you need me to—"
"Tatiana," Diane hissed, and she strode into her office, slamming the door behind her.
In under a minute, her assistant appeared with the iPad in hand and a serious expression.
"Today is Clara's nephew's surgery," Tatiana reminded her, and Diane closed her eyes hard. She'd forgotten. "He should be going into the OR right about now, so I don't think it's a good time to reach her. I'm scheduling you a call with her at noon."
Diane couldn't remember the last time she'd had a day this bad — a day when so many things piled on at once: Frances Hartwell, Samuel Barnes, and the fact that she was being a terrible person to the only one who deserved every good thing in the world.
She drew a breath and held it for three seconds, then released it slowly.
It didn't work, and she knew she was about two minutes from setting everything on fire.
"Have Collins report here in ten minutes." Tatiana nodded. "Leave me alone."
Her assistant left with purpose, and Diane heard her issuing quiet instructions. She was almost certainly asking Gianna to guard the door, even if it killed her.
She took off her watch, set it on her desk, and moved to the window.
In late November, Southern California still held onto its pleasant weather — cool mornings, slightly colder nights.
Today the view gave her a group of older women all dressed in matching light pink jackets with a logo she couldn't quite make out from up here.
They were animated, talking among themselves, settled into the certainty that the hard-work years were behind them and now there was only the fun left.
She thought about her mother. How long had it been since she'd seen a photo of her?
She'd lost count. But she was certain that Beatriz Carter was still wearing custom-made clothes, visiting spas, and sleeping in cold face masks to keep the Botox in place.
She turned her neck, and the glass of the bookcase reflected the image of an attractive woman — tall, dark-haired, eyes as blue as the Arctic Ocean.
An exact copy of her mother. But without that absurd submissiveness her mother had tried to inject into her, and without that devotion to things that made no sense.
Three knocks at the door told her she'd once again gone past the five minutes she allowed herself to step away from reality.
"Come in," she said as she moved toward her desk, picked up the watch, and put it on calmly. She didn't sit. She rounded the desk and leaned against the edge.
"You wanted to see me?" Cassidy asked, stepping inside and keeping a careful distance.
Diane let her gaze move across the girl's face and remembered the first time she'd seen her.
That uncomfortable pressure in her chest that had made her blink several times.
Then her attempts to deny to herself that she was attracted to her.
And finally, the exact moment she'd stopped fighting her own heart every time it sped up when she felt the warmth of those green eyes on her.
She was beautiful — full of life, with flawless skin and a mouth that tasted like sin.
Which explained the jealousy she'd never felt for anyone else in her life, the kind she'd apparently spent forty-five years saving up for Cassidy Collins.
"Looks like you were having a good time out there." The words came out of her mouth laced with acid.
Cassidy furrowed her brow.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, genuinely confused.
Diane's dry, humorless laugh was the first warning shot.
"Things seem to be going really well between you and Barnes." Her voice carried a slight tremor that had nothing to do with nerves. It was anger.
Cassidy didn't move, and when her body went still like that, it wasn't from fear.
She was exhausted by this topic — for months she'd put up with Diane's accusatory comments about the nature of her relationship with her mentor.
They'd even had two actual arguments about it.
But Diane never seemed to understand, and the subject always came back up in moments of high tension, or like now, when she happened to spot her talking to him.
"I'm going to take that as jealousy, Diane," Cassidy said, tilting her head. "And that really doesn't suit you."