The Color of Love Read Free Page A

to return to Singapore…she couldn’t. She’d never find
the kind of job there she had here, and even if she could, she’d never earn the
same. The cost of living was even worse than New York City, and with Pam’s
expenses…she’d never manage.
    “I don’t want you to worry.” Henrietta
laughed shortly, her voice catching as she coughed. She drank from a glass on
her desk and grimaced impatiently. “I know that’s a ridiculous thing to say,
but we’ve worked our way through miles of red tape more than once.
Unfortunately, this time we have to deal with multiple agencies, federal at
that, and it might take some time.”
    “I—” Emily cleared her throat. “I’ll do
anything necessary. I love this job, you know that.”
    Henrietta’s expression softened. “Of course I
do. You also happen to be very good at it. We’ve never really talked about it,
but someday, I expect you’ll have a much larger role in the company.”
    “I can’t imagine being anywhere else, doing
anything else.”
    “Well, I don’t plan on retiring anytime
soon,” Henrietta said, “and there’s time for us to talk about that when this
visa business is straightened out. We need to get you that green card and be
done with it.”
    Emily sighed. “Believe me, I know.”
    “Well, I’ve set up a meeting with our
attorneys for the end of the week. We’ll talk about all of it then.”
    “Thank you.” Emily swallowed around the lump
in her throat. She wouldn’t panic. They had time to straighten it all out.
She’d keep her job, she’d be able to take care of Pam. Her plans would all be
fine.
    “Emily,” Henrietta said, rising from behind
her desk and starting toward her. “You don’t need to worry. I’m not going to
let—” She stopped abruptly, one hand reaching for the side of her desk. Her
expression registered surprise and then she gasped, “Oh.”
    “I’m sorry? What?” Emily said. “Henrietta?
Henrietta!”
    Emily jumped up as Henrietta Winfield slumped
to the floor.

Chapter Two

    Derian tossed the keys to the Maserati to the
uniformed attendant who raced from beneath the portico of the Hôtel de Paris to
intercept her before she had even turned off the engine. With a wave of thanks
she strode up the wide red-carpeted stairs and into the lobby of the grand
hotel. Despite the enormity of the space with its polished marble floors, high
decorative arched ceilings, plush carpets, and many seating areas carefully
designed for privacy as well as comfort, the decibel level was higher than
usual. Early crowds already filled the streets, cafés,
and hotels for the upcoming race. She cut her way rapidly through the milling
people to the single bank of elevators in the rear that led to the exclusive
racecourse suites. She punched in the security code and within seconds was
whisked to her level and the doors to the elevator slid silently open. The
hallway was a stark contrast to the bustling lobby—quietly proclaiming
confidentiality and discretion even though all of the suites along the wide
hallway were undoubtedly in use. Grand Prix time was synonymous with party time
in Monte Carlo, and the race was only three days away.
    She inserted her entrance card at the Garnier
suite and walked into a party well in progress. A wall of sound accosted her,
dozens of voices laughing, calling to one another, conversing animatedly. The
drapes had been pulled back from the floor-to-ceiling French doors opening onto
one of the balconies overlooking Casino Square and the course, and the
late-afternoon sun streamed into the room, bathing the faces of the partygoers
in soft golden light. The beautiful people glowed with good health, good
fortune, and bonhomie.
    Derian wondered if their appearance of
happiness was as false as what she sometimes felt, and just as quickly pushed
the thought aside. Such slivers of dissatisfaction only plagued her when she
was weary, and she’d had a long night at the gaming tables. She’d been winning,
as she