Chapter 14
Diane had been worried about someone catching her Friday night in her own car, sprawled over another woman — one who worked for her — after what was probably the most scorching sex she could remember having.
She had no idea that all hell would break loose Monday morning when she got back to the office.
She arrived at seven with an unusual calm, feeling relaxed, confident that the week ahead — intense as she knew it would be — was hers to control.
That confidence blew up in her face the moment she turned down the hallway and spotted Frances Hartwell settled comfortably in Gianna's chair, the department secretary's chair, long legs crossed, eyes fixed on a small tablet, barely bigger than a phone.
"Ah, Diane," the woman said, raising her dark eyes and offering an empty smile. "I hope you don't mind me using this desk for a few hours."
The Cobra gave her a sharp-toothed smile and tilted her head to one side.
"Always taking up space that isn't yours," Diane said, barely lifting an eyebrow, "but don't worry — sit wherever you need to."
She took a few steps toward her office door, desperate to get through it, when Frances's dry voice stopped her.
"I've called a meeting at nine with your team and Clara Fitzgerald's." Diane caught the poison in her tone. "There's so much that needs to change."
Diane clenched her jaw for a beat, then released it before turning around.
"You're here as a consultant, Frances, so I'm glad you're actually doing your job for once in your life.
" She retraced her steps and leaned slightly over the desk.
"But be careful — I'm not twenty anymore.
I'm twice the bitch I used to be." She waved her hand as if she'd said nothing worth noting. "See you later."
She punctuated that last line with the faintest curl of her lips, leaving Frances somewhere between confused and furious.
Diane locked herself in her office and went straight to the window, losing herself in the pedestrians moving along the street below, cut off from the chaos churning inside her.
Frances was like a twisted version of one of those movies with an unexpected twist where one of the main characters ends up dead — and in this version, Diane seemed to be the one who got away.
A long time ago, on a melancholy afternoon when loneliness was cutting into her for real, Diane had thought the time had come to leave her position at Whitestone.
By that point, she had achieved exactly what she'd set out to do and had, along the way, managed to build up a modest fortune — nothing in the billions, no safety deposit boxes, but more than enough to live comfortably for the rest of her life.
She had a good house in Brentwood and a small cabin up at Big Bear Lake she barely visited, but both properties were hers, paid off, and she didn't owe anyone a thing.
Then she remembered how people had always wondered why that stern-faced, sharp-eyed woman had never made it to the top of the firm.
Some simply didn't get it; others chalked it up to failure, as if Diane hadn't been capable of climbing that high.
Nothing could have been further from the truth.
Diane Carter had never wanted the top prize because that wasn't her place — barking orders without a clue what she was doing wasn't her style.
She wanted to be the one making the decisions, moving the pieces, landing the contracts.
She had won so many awards over the years that she'd had to dedicate three full shelves just to hold them, and she was certain she never would have pulled that off if she'd been running any company as its CEO.
That was why she hadn't left — because she felt she still had a lot left to do.
There was a difference between choosing to walk away on her own terms and letting the past show up with sharpened claws trying to rip her from the place she'd fought so hard to build.
"Over my dead body," she whispered to herself, and sat down at her desk to get to work.
At nine o'clock she walked into the conference room with Tatiana at her heels, more like an escort than an assistant, and took a seat right next to Clara.
Frances hadn't arrived yet — only Tanya, Harper, and the insufferable pretty boy Adam Foster.
Cassidy was there too, and she hadn't even glanced up when Diane walked in.
"Looks like we're waiting on the queen," Diane murmured to Clara as she opened the folder in front of her.
"I don't know her as well as you do, but she definitely seems to love the drama."
Diane wanted to roll her eyes.
"More like the circus." She drummed her fingers on the table. "Frances Hartwell is nothing but a clown."
The sound of footsteps made Diane drop her gaze back to the folder — nothing short of a gun to her head would give Frances the satisfaction of seeing her look up when she walked in.
"Good morning, everyone," the woman said with a warm smile, gesturing around the room. "What a great team we have here."
Everyone smiled. Diane didn't move, her expression as composed and cool as ever.
"Well, I don't want to take up too much of your time." Frances lowered herself gracefully into the chair at the head of the table. "I know you all have work to do, so let's get started."
She cleared her throat and tapped a finger on the papers in front of her.
"Please open the folder I've put together for you.
" Everyone did. "Inside you'll find the key areas I'll be reviewing in each department.
Clara," she called out, composing a friendly smile, "I thought I'd start with marketing, because I expect it won't take me more than three days to confirm you're doing a wonderful job over there — I'll likely have only a few recommendations. "
"Take all the time you need, Frances," Clara replied, giving a small nod before returning her eyes to the folder. "We'll work through this together — my team is too busy to take this on themselves."
Frances's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Clara's tone didn't seem loaded with anything, but the answer had felt a little pointed. She didn't let it slow her down, and this time she looked at Diane.
"The business development department, however, looks like it'll require considerably more work from me.
" She didn't bother hiding her satisfaction.
"I've been doing some reviewing, and the management there has become — how do I put it?
" She pressed a finger to her chin in mock thought. "Outdated. Yes, that's the word."
Silence dropped over the room, broken only by a sharp breath from Tanya Baker.
Diane crossed one leg over the other with a slow elegance and kept her eyes down, for two reasons.
The first was that she wasn't about to fall into the idiotic game of someone who was, apparently, her sworn enemy.
The second had a name: Cassidy Collins. Out of the corner of her eye she'd caught that green gaze settle on her and stay there, as if asking: why the hell aren't you saying anything?
Fair enough — everyone who knew her knew that Diane would've had the walls of the room in flames within seconds of a stranger who'd just walked into the company telling her she'd gone stale.
But she was better than that, and she was going to prove it.
"Of course, Frances," she replied with an icy exhale. "It'll be a pleasure to have you in my department. I've always found it fascinating when people call outdated the things they simply don't understand yet."
Cassidy tilted a smile, and Diane could finally see her face straight on — some invisible force had turned her head just in time to catch that expression, and it pressed something tight inside her chest.
Frances looked like an infuriated cartoon character, the kind artists draw with steam shooting from their ears, but she said nothing more. Playing the tantrum card would make her look bitter, and she was not — of course she wasn't.
The meeting dragged on a few more minutes while the consultant outlined several points she considered important and fielded a few questions.
"I assume there are no further questions," Frances announced as she stood, cutting off anything the room might have raised. "Have a good day, and if you need anything from me, I'm always available."
Frances said her goodbyes with the same smile that seemed tattooed on her face, except this time there was something sour underneath it.
From Diane's perspective, the consultant had come across as a complete embarrassment in front of everyone — though her judgment wasn't entirely reliable, given that the revulsion she felt toward that woman had a way of clouding it.
"Clara, come by my office at two," Diane said in her usual cutting tone.
"Once in a while you could come by mine," Clara shot back as they filed out of the room.
Diane didn't answer. She walked down the hallway with her chin up until she reached her office door, Tatiana beside her.
"Forward me the notes you took," she said, meeting her assistant's eyes. "And find out if there's anything new."
Tatiana nodded, and the gleam in her eyes told Diane she was absolutely delighted to play the part of a bargain-bin private detective.
Diane was just about to settle into her chair when three sharp knocks at the door sent a jolt through her that left her momentarily breathless — she recognized that rhythm, like a signal between the two of them. She had to clear her throat, not entirely sure her voice would come out right.
"Come in," she said, cool and flat.
Cassidy closed the door behind her and walked with steady steps toward the woman whose body she now knew quite well. She stopped in front of her and tilted her head.
"You're going to let someone walk all over you just like that?" She caught the dangerous look on Diane's face and didn't care. "I had to look twice to make sure I had the right person in that room."
The wings of Diane's nose flared several times.
"Think carefully about what you say next, Collins." The veins along her neck were visible enough that Cassidy ran her tongue along her lips. "Watch that mouth."
Cassidy clicked her tongue and shook her head.
"That's it? That's all you've got?"
It had been a long time since anyone had shut Diane up or left her at a loss for words — but ever since Cassidy walked into Whitestone, it happened with some regularity.
Most of the time she'd managed to handle it, but there had been a couple of moments — this being one of them — where she'd had absolutely no idea what to do. Embarrassing.
Cassidy raised her hand, brought it to Diane's face, and squeezed her cheeks hard enough to feel her teeth against her fingers.
"That's not the Diane I know," she murmured. "Don't let her humiliate you again."
She let go abruptly and then caught her lips.
She kissed her with anger — because she was furious — because for months Diane hadn't just made every day hell for her, she'd also turned on the charm — note the irony — with the staff, even with Samuel Barnes, a respected partner.
And yet here came this Frances woman, calling her out in front of the people who worked for her, and all Diane did was spit out a line that belonged on some self-help blog.
Diane felt the girl's tongue strike hers, the familiar heat — and then an unexpected dampness between her thighs.
Cassidy always kissed her like it was the last time, like Diane was some kind of goddess she'd have the misfortune of never seeing again and had to make the most of every second she could press against her mouth.
"I don't know what you're going to do, but if you need help, I'm here." Cassidy dragged her thumb along the underside of Diane's lower lip, looking at her with open want.
She turned and walked to the door, slipping out of the office.
Diane stood in the same spot for what felt like forever, barely blinking, barely breathing.
Then, all at once, a truth hit her with full force and made her understand one of the reasons this girl drew her in so completely: who had the nerve to walk into her office and get in her face like that?
But more than that — who, besides Clara Fitzgerald, actually gave a damn about Diane and went out of their way to make sure she knew it?
She already knew the answer. There was no need to say it out loud.
She dropped into her chair with a long exhale and let her head fall back against the headrest. She was so completely screwed.