The Dirty Secret Read Free

fixing the fashion faux pas.
    “You’re wearing no jewelry,” Donna Edith said. “So no strong religious affiliation, and no boyfriends, either.” She paused, as if she’d asked a question.
    Vessa shook her head. “Nothing that ever lasted beyond final curtain.”
    “What a shame,” Donna Edith said with no sincerity at all. “Your eyes are painted like opals, and your hair is dyed three different colors, meant to draw attention away from the girl behind the artifice, yes?” The woman’s tone turned gentle. “But the world becomes a very lonely place if you can’t let people see who you really are.”
    The sunlight faded from the room, stripping the mauve walls of their pink and purple, leaving only gray behind. Vessa twisted the strap of her bag between her fingers and looked at the floor, tears pricking hot in her eyes.
    “Does your father know you are here?”
    “Not yet.” Vessa raised her chin and the tears receded. “But he’ll be pleased.”
    “And your stepmother? Will she?”
    Vessa took a deep shaky breath. “Not so much.”
    “From what your mother told me of the situation, I gather you’d like to be financially solvent before your father’s wife discovers you are here.”
    “In all the fairy tales, no one mentions that the evil stepmother is the one paying the bills.”
    “Of course not.” Donna Edith laid the drawing on the table. “But I think you’re delightful, and I know exactly where I’m going to place you.”
    * * *
    Killian tapped the stylus icon and drew another line across the top of the digital drawing, then took off his glasses. The lenses weren’t blurry, he discovered—his eyes were. He rolled his head on his neck, listening to the vertebrae pop one by one.
    “I’ve called a budget meeting for two o’clock tomorrow,” the accounts manager said, dropping an expense report printout on top of his keyboard. “The entire company needs to be there.”
    “I’ve got a project review scheduled with the contractors then,” Killian said.
    The accountant shrugged. “You’ll have to change it.”
    “You want me to skip a meeting called by our investors, just so you can read aloud the email we all got yesterday? My name isn’t even on this.”
    “Take it up with Bergman if you don’t like it.”
    From the next workspace came the noise of crumpling and the rattle of a paper wad hitting a metal trashcan. The accountant sniffed and walked off. Killian glanced at the expense report and circled a column of numbers with a highlighter pen.
    His cell phone rang. When he saw the number he snatched it from his desk and stood up.
    “This is Fitzroy,” he answered, keeping his tone calm and professional. He crossed the architecture firm’s design room in long strides and stepped into the empty boardroom.
    “Killian, Donna Edith here.”
    A thrill ran down his spine at her voice, a schoolboy’s response to the sexy teacher. “Good morning,” he said, closing the door.
    She didn’t return the greeting. “I have someone I’d like you to meet.”
    “Will she take the job?” he asked.
    “Only you can ask her that. But I believe she is a perfect fit for your situation. She’s an artist who is comfortable with deadlines and working under pressure. She’s also very feminine.”
    “That sounds perfect.” He dropped into a seat at the table, relief sagging his bones. “Thank you. What’s her background?”
    “Theater. She’s a scenic charge artist. That’s the set painter, in layman’s terms.”
    Killian sat up straight. “Interesting.”
    “Wait until you meet her. She’s fascinating. Has an eye for color that is just astounding.”
    On the phone, without the distracting vision of Donna Edith—which had him as awkward as Dustin Hoffman gawking at Anne Bancroft in The Graduate —he was able to detect a hesitation in her voice.
    “But?” he asked. “There’s more?”
    “She’s extremely private, Mr. Fitzroy. Be careful not to pry.”
    “I just need the work