Project: Runaway Heiress (4 page)

She was no stranger to fine dining, of course. She’d grown up at country clubs and taken international vacations with her parents. She even knew a few world-renowned master chefs and restaurateurs personally.

But she wasn’t with her family now, and hadn’t lived that way for several years; she’d been too busy working her fingers to the bone and building her own company the old-fashioned way.

She was also supposed to be from more of a blue-collar upbringing, not a secret, runaway heiress. Which meant she shouldn’t be familiar with seven-course meals, real silverware or places like this, where appetizers started at fifty dollars a plate.

The good news was that she wouldn’t embarrass herself by not knowing which fork to use. The bad news was that she needed to act awed and out of her element enough not to draw suspicion. From anyone, but especially Nigel.

Passing beneath the dark green awning lined with sparkling lights, he led her past potted topiaries and through the wide French doors at the restaurant’s entrance.

A tuxedoed maître d’ met them immediately, and as soon as Nigel gave his name, they were led across the main dining area, weaving around tables filled with other well-dressed customers who were talking and laughing and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying their expensive meals.

At the rear of the restaurant, the maître d’ paused, waving to a medium-size table set for four where another man was already seated.

Rounding the table, Nigel held a chair out for her while the other man rose. He was young—mid to late twenties, Lily would guess—with dark hair and an expensive suit. Most likely a Vincenze, even one of his own designs, since that’s where he was currently working.

“Mr. Statham,” the designer greeted Nigel, holding out his hand.

Nigel waited until she was seated to reach across the table and shake.

“Thank you for meeting with me.”

Nigel inclined his head and introduced them. “Lillian, this is Harrison Klein. Mr. Klein, this is my assistant, Lillian George.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Harrison said, taking her hand next.

When they were all seated, a waiter brought leather-bound menus and took their drink orders. True to his word, Nigel ordered a dry martini. He even made a point of asking for it “shaken, not stirred,” then turned to her with a humorous and entirely too distracting wink.

Soon after they placed the rest of their orders, their salads and entrées arrived, and they made general small talk while they ate. Nigel asked questions about Klein’s schooling and experience and his time at Vincenze.

It was odd to be sitting at a table with another designer and the CEO of one of the biggest labels in the United Kingdom—and soon possibly the United States—without adding to the discussion. So many times, she had to bite her tongue to keep from asking questions of her own or inserting her two cents here and there into the conversation.

In order to avoid saying something she shouldn’t, she stayed busy sipping her wine, toying with the stem of her glass, studying the lines of each of their outfits. Mentally she deconstructed them, laying out patterns, cutting material and sewing them back up.

Finally, they were finished with their meals and the table was cleared. Nigel declined the dessert menu for all of them, but asked for coffee.

And then he held out a hand to the other man. “Your portfolio?”

Harrison’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously, but he leaned over and retrieved his portfolio from the floor beside his chair. He passed it to Nigel, then sat back and waited quietly.

Lily found her pulse kicking up just a fraction. This was such an important, nerve-racking moment for any designer. She still wondered why someone who already had a job at a successful design corporation would be interested in moving.

She had gone an entirely different route, striking out on her own to establish a personal label and company instead of taking a job elsewhere and working her way up the ladder.

In a lot of ways, that would have been easier. It might have taken her longer to form her own label and have her own storefront, but she certainly would have learned from the best and maybe avoided some of the pitfalls she’d encountered while barreling ahead with her one-woman—and then three-woman, thank goodness—show.

The tension at the table thickened as Nigel studied the portfolio carefully, page by page. Sitting beside him, Lily could see each design clearly, and couldn’t resist drinking them in.

After several long minutes, Nigel closed the portfolio and passed it back. “Very nice, Harrison, thank you.”

From the other man’s expression, Lily could tell he’d been hoping for a far more exuberant response. She almost felt sorry for him.

“We’d best call it an evening,” Nigel continued, “but we have your résumé and contact information, and will be in touch.”

Klein’s face fell, but he recovered quickly. “I appreciate that. Thank you very much,” he said, holding out his hand.

The two men shook, putting a clear end to the dinner meeting. But Lily couldn’t resist tossing in a quick, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like another martini?”

Nigel raised a brow in her direction, one corner of his mouth twitching in mirth.

“No, thank you. I’ve had quite enough to drink. I think it would be best if we call it a night, especially considering our early morning meetings.”

Biting back her personal amusement, she nodded. The three of them rose, said their goodbyes and headed out of the restaurant. It took a few minutes for Nigel’s car to arrive, but they were silent until they were closed inside and the vehicle was slowly moving again.

“So,” Nigel began, shifting on the wide leather seat to face her more fully. “What did you think?”

Somewhat startled by the question, Lily swallowed. “About what?”

“Klein,” he intoned. “The interview. His designs.”

What a loaded set of questions, she thought. She had opinions, to be sure. But as his personal assistant, should she be spouting them off? And what if she said too much, revealed herself as being too knowledgeable for such a low-level position?

“It’s all right. You can speak freely,” he said, almost as though he’d read her mind. “I want your honest opinion. It doesn’t mean I’ll listen, but I’m curious all the same. And it won’t have an impact on your position at Ashdown Abbey one way or the other, I promise.”

Hoping he was as good as his word, she gave a gentle shrug. “He’s talented, that’s for certain.”

“But...”

“No buts,” she corrected quickly. “He’s clearly very talented.”

Nigel kept his gaze locked on her, laser eyes drilling into her like those of a practiced interrogator.

“Fine,” she breathed on a soft sigh. “He’s very talented,
but...
I don’t think his designs are at all suitable for Ashdown Abbey.”

“Why not?” he asked in a low voice.

“Ashdown Abbey is known for its high-end business attire, even though you’ve recently branched out into casual and sportswear. But Klein’s aesthetic leans more toward urban hip. I can see why he’s done well at Vincenze—they’ve got a strong market in New York and Los Angeles with urban street and activewear. But Ashdown Abbey is a British company, known for clothes that are a bit more professional and clean-cut.”

She paused for a moment, wondering if she’d said too much or maybe overstepped her bounds.

“Unless you’re planning to move in that direction,” she added, just to be safe.

Long seconds ticked by while Nigel simply stared at her, not a single thought readable on his face. Then one side of his mouth lifted, the hazel-green of his eyes growing brighter.

“No, we have no plans to move in that direction for the time being,” he agreed. “Your assessment is spot-on, you know. Exactly what I was thinking while I flipped through his designs.”

For a moment, Lily sat in stunned silence, both surprised and delighted by his reaction. She so easily could have screwed up.

With a long mental sigh of relief, she reminded herself that she was supposed to be poised and self-assured. She’d lobbied for the job as his PA by making it clear she knew her stuff. As long as she didn’t let anything slip about her true identity or reason for being there, why shouldn’t she let a little of her background show?

“Maybe you’ll be glad you hired me, after all,” she quipped.

He gave her a look. A sharp, penetrating look that nearly made her shrink back inside her shell of insecurity.

And then he spoke, his deep voice and spine-tingling accent almost making her melt into the seams of the supple leather seat.

“I think I already am.”

Four

T
hough she insisted it wasn’t necessary, Nigel walked Lillian to the front door of her flat. It was the least he could do after eating up her evening with Ashdown Abbey business.

He hadn’t actually needed her to accompany him to the restaurant this evening. Past personal assistants had certainly attended business functions such as that, but most had taken place during normal working hours. He’d never before requested that his assistant go to dinner with him—even a business dinner.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d made the request of Lillian. Perhaps he’d hoped to test her mettle because she was so new on the job. They’d had a mere handful of hours together at the office, during which she’d impressed him very much. But he’d wanted to see her outside of the office, in a more critical corporate situation, to see how she handled herself in the real world, when faced with real Ashdown Abbey business associates.

But that was only what he was telling himself. Or what he’d tell others, should he be asked.

The truth lay somewhere closer to him simply not being ready to say goodbye to her company just yet.

She was quite attractive. Something he probably shouldn’t have noticed...but then, he was human and male, and it was rather difficult to miss.

The package she put together intrigued him, and he’d decided to find a way to study her a bit more closely and for a while longer.

Coercing her into going to dinner with him might not have been the wisest decision he’d ever made as an employer toward an employee, but it had been quite enlightening.

Lillian George, it turned out, was not only beautiful but smart, as well. In the car, she’d been witty and charming. Though she’d started out nervous—at least by his impression—she’d quickly loosened up and even begun to tease him with her notion of creating a plan for their escape from a boring dinner meeting.

Then, at dinner itself, she’d been nearly the perfect companion. Quiet and unassuming, yet brilliant at making small talk and knowing when to speak and when to remain silent. Definitely an excellent performance from his personal assistant.

Not for the first time, though, he wondered what she might be like over a dinner that had nothing to do with business.

His mind shouldn’t be wandering in that direction, he knew, but once the thought filled his head, he couldn’t seem to be rid of it. It would have been nice to focus his full attention on her throughout the meal, and to feel the same from her. To talk about something other than Ashdown Abbey and potential new designs or designers, and to chat about the personal instead of business.

How long had it been since he’d taken a woman to dinner or out on the town?

Not since Caroline, for certain.

And a beautiful woman who had nothing to do with his family’s company...?

Well, Caroline definitely didn’t qualify there. She hadn’t been involved with Ashdown Abbey when they’d first met, but she
had
been an American model eager to sleep her way to the lead in their runway shows and ad campaigns—preferably in the U.K. so that she could go “international.”

And the random models he was often seen with at fashion-industry functions simply didn’t count.

But then, neither did tonight. Not really. Though a part of him wished it could.

They made their way down the narrow hall of her building, coming to a stop in front of the door to her flat. She fit her key into the lock and turned it, but didn’t open the door. Instead, she turned back round to face him, the knob still in her hand, one arm twisted behind her.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I had a very nice time tonight.”

“Even though I forced you to come along as part of your role as my assistant?” he couldn’t help but inquire.

She smiled gently at him. “Even though. I appreciated the chance to sit in on one of your meetings. I know how important something like that is. And I appreciate that you let me voice my opinion on Harrison Klein’s work. You certainly didn’t have to ask when I’ve only been working for you a single day.”

“That’s
why
I asked,” he told her. “I wanted to know what you were made of, and that seemed a fast way to find out.”

“So I passed your little test?” she asked, tipping her head slightly to one side.

“With flying colors,” he said without hesitation.

“I guess that means I still have a job and should go ahead and show up in the morning.”

“Most definitely. Keep up the good work, and I may just promote you to VP of the company.”

“I’m sure the current vice president would be delighted to hear that.”

Nigel shrugged. “Eh. It’s my uncle. But he’s a grumpy old sod and should probably be retiring soon, anyway.”

Lillian laughed, the sound light with only a hint of nerves.

Were they the nerves of an executive secretary having a frank discussion with her new boss? Or of a woman standing much too close to a man in an empty hallway?

Knowing he was skating dangerously near the line that separated personal from professional, Nigel straightened and cleared his throat.

“Well,” he murmured. “I should let you go inside and get to bed, since I know you have to be at work early tomorrow. Thank you again for your company this evening.”

“Thank you for a delicious meal. It was a treat to be able to sit at Trattoria and order more than tap water with a slice of lemon.”

He chuckled at that. It hadn’t occurred to him that his restaurant of choice might be that far out of the realm of normalcy for Lillian. But now that he thought about it, Trattoria was almost certainly too pricey for an assistant’s salary. Even an executive assistant’s.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Good night, then.”

Placing his hands on her upper arms, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. Quick and entirely innocent...but one he found himself wishing could be longer and much
less
innocent.

* * *

Juliet Zaccaro paced the length of the living room in the loft apartment she shared with her two sisters.

“I don’t know what you’re so worried about,” her youngest sister, Zoe, said from where she sat in the corner of the sofa.

She was curled up, nonchalant and bored. More concerned with her latest manicure than their middle sister’s well-being.

“How can you say that?” Juliet all but snapped. “Lily has been missing for a week.”

“She left a note,” Zoe returned. “She told us not to worry about her, and not to look for her. Obviously, she knows what she’s doing and needs some time away.”

Zoe might have been speaking the truth, but that didn’t mean Juliet had to like it. Or agree.

“I don’t care,” she said, crossing her arms beneath her breasts and pausing in her pacing to tap her foot angrily. “This isn’t like her. What if something is wrong?”

“If something was wrong, Lily would tell us,” was Zoe’s bored and yet utterly confident reply. “She’s never exactly been shy about asking for help before.”

Juliet’s brows pulled together in a frown. She really hated it when Zoe—the youngest, flightiest, most self-absorbed of the Zaccaro sisters—was also the sensible one.

“Well, it can’t hurt to look for her.
Ask
her face-to-face if everything is okay.”

Absently, she twisted the gold-and-diamond engagement ring on her left ring finger around and around. Where in heaven’s name could Lily have gone?
Why
would she run off like this? It wasn’t in her sister’s nature at all to disappear without a word...or to disappear after leaving only a brief, cryptic note.

Juliet might have been the oldest of the Zaccaro girls and stereotypically the responsible one, taking her role as big sister seriously, but Lily was no empty-headed blonde slacker. She’d started her own fashion line that had evolved into her own company. She’d been successful enough and dogged enough to bring Juliet and Zoe in as partners to help her run the company with her.

These were not the actions of someone who would wake up one morning and decide she wanted to be a beachcomber instead. Not when there was so much going on at Zaccaro Fashions right now, so many balls in the air that Lily was juggling almost single-handedly.

Juliet and Zoe helped where they could, but...well, Zoe tended to be easily distracted, and they never knew if she would show up clearheaded and raring to go or call from Las Vegas to say she’d met a guy and would be back in a couple of weeks.

And Juliet was nearly ready to yank her hair out. In addition to overseeing handbag and accessory design for Zaccaro Fashions, she had her wedding to plan. And her moody, sometimes demanding fiancé to keep happy... She hadn’t told her sister yet, but Paul had begun pressuring her—strongly—to move back to Connecticut after their honeymoon. He’d seemed fine with her life in New York when he’d proposed. She’d been here more than a year already, and he’d acted as though he was supportive of her new career direction and would be more than willing to move down to be closer to her.

Then she’d said yes, accepted his proposal and things had slowly started to change. It bothered her. Concerned her, even. But the date had been set, the venue reserved, a caterer hired, flowers chosen... How could she back out now just because her feet were getting a little chilly?

As she kept telling herself, multiple times a day, it would pass. Dragging her thoughts back to the matter at hand, she stalked across the hardwood floor to the kitchen island and slid open the drawer where they kept everyday odds and ends. Pencils and pens, paper clips, a pair of scissors and the thick borough of Manhattan phone directory.

She pulled it out and flipped to the yellow, paid-advertisement section, looking for listings for private detectives or investigators or whatever they were called. Maybe one of them could figure out what had happened to Lily, because she was sure staggering around in the dark. She had no idea where to begin looking for her sister, or even who to call to ask about her possible whereabouts.

As she got closer to the
P
s, the directory fell open, and she noticed a stiff business card stuck between the tissue-thin pages. Plucking it out, she turned it over and read the black print on a plain white background.

McCormack Investigations

Corporate. Private.

She had no idea where the card had come from, but judging by the corresponding ad on the page in front of her, it was probably one of the numbers she’d have called, anyway.

Taking the card with her, she marched back across the living room, casting an annoyed glance at Zoe, whose attention had been drawn to the latest issue of
Elle.

“I’ll be in my room,” Juliet muttered through her teeth.

Tipping her head over the back of the sofa, Zoe watched her go. With an exaggerated sigh, she closed the magazine and tossed it on the coffee table.

“Okay. I think I’ll go over to the studio to work for a while. Let me know if you want to go out for dinner.”

Even if they made plans, chances were Zoe would change her mind and zip off to some club at the last minute, leaving Juliet to her own devices.

She waited until Zoe was gone and she was alone to pull out her cell phone and dial the number for McCormack Investigations. It took her a few minutes to convince the receptionist that her problem was a serious one and that time was of the essence, though she didn’t go into a lot of detail.

The woman collected her name and contact information, promising to pass her message along and get back to her as soon as possible.

Juliet would have preferred being put on the phone with one of the company’s investigators immediately or being told she could come in first thing in the morning to meet with someone in person. But she knew her dilemma wasn’t exactly an emergency—at least not yet.

And please, God, don’t let it become one.
The idea of something happening to her sister made Juliet’s blood run cold.

So she agreed to stay by the phone and told herself not to panic, not to let her imagination race out of control.

She should go over to the studio with Zoe and try to get some work done. Keep her mind off Lily and the phone in her hand that refused to ring, even after five whole minutes of waiting.

Instead, she resumed pacing a path through the middle of the living-room area. Which was much easier without Zoe in the way, distracting her with her sensible arguments and assurances that Lily was just fine.

Step. Step. Step.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Turn.

Step. Step. Step.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Five minutes turned into ten. Ten into twenty.

She stopped. Worried her thumbnail. Tapped her foot. Went back to pacing.

At thirty minutes and counting, she let out a huff of breath and dropped into the center of the sofa, the cushion wheezing at the sudden addition of her weight.

When her cell phone pealed, she jumped and let out a startled yip. She’d been concentrating so hard on making the stupid thing ring that when it finally did, it scared the bejesus out of her.

Heart pounding for more reasons than one, she brought it to her ear and whispered, “Hello?”

“Ms. Zaccaro?”

“Yes.”

“This is Reid McCormack from McCormack Investigations. I have here that your sister is missing and you’d like help tracking her down.”

“Yes,” she said again.

“You understand, don’t you, that she’s an adult and is allowed to leave town without telling anyone where she’s going,” the man on the other end of the line intoned.

Through gritted teeth, Juliet responded, “Yes.”

“And if she left a note...she did leave a note, correct?”

Hoping she didn’t end up with a cracked molar after this conversation, she ground out yet another, “Yes.”

“If she left a note, then she really can’t be considered missing. The police would tell you to wait and hope you hear from her. And that you can’t file a missing-persons report unless there are actual signs of foul play.”

Feeling deflated and more frustrated than ever, Juliet dropped her head and murmured a dejected, “I understand.”

A beat passed before Reid McCormack spoke again.