Karl’s military stance barely shifted when he briefly bent his head. “Yes, ma’am.”
BD rolled her eyes, and Karl winked in return. She glanced at her watch. She could still make it if she could keep Shari focused.
Shari stormed up the long curving staircase. “Get a move on, BD. I want to get out of here.”
“If I went any faster I’d knock you over on the way to your bedroom. Where’s the fire?”
Ignoring the question, Shari kicked off her shoes as she went through the door to her bedroom suite, pulling her sequin-spangled knit top over her head at the same time. “Get the red suitcases.”
Nodding her head, disgusted, BD bit back an angry response as she entered Shari’s room-size walk-in closet and looked for the cases. Shari had at least three hundred pairs of shoes lined up in the huge closet. “How many do you need?” She found the luggage stacked at the end of the custom shelves.
Shari’s impatient shout pierced the quiet order of the wardrobe. “Bring all of them. I’ll be over there a month.”
BD raised her head. “A month? But, Mark probably—”
“Never mind Mark. Get a move on.”
With the overnight case tucked under one arm, BD struggled out of the closet holding the large bag in one hand and the folding wardrobe bag in the other. “For crying out loud, Shari, you have enough clothes at the villa to last for weeks—even if you changed twice a day. Why are you taking so much?”
“I’m tired of those rags, if it’s any of your business, which it isn’t.” She pulled on a rust-colored silk skirt. “I need to have something to wear until I go shopping.” She slid a filmy, apricot-hued tank top over her blonde hair. “Zip this up.”
BD sighed. Shari would look stunning in a grocery sack. She felt drab by comparison. She pulled up the zipper. “OK, show me what you want me to pack.”
Maria, Shari’s housekeeper, entered the room. “I called the gardener to move the potted palms, Miss Shari. Is there anything else you’d like me to do?”
Little Maria, as wide as she was tall, ran the household like a Prussian general, doing everything from cooking for one or one hundred to supervising the gardening crew and the maids. Shari couldn’t have survived without her.
Her voice took on a soft, respectful sweetness. Maria never took any guff from her. “No thanks, Maria. You can take a couple of weeks paid vacation after you close up the house.” Shari smiled her dismissal, and the little woman turned to leave.
“Oh, Miss Shari, do you want me to reschedule the painters? They were to begin downstairs day after tomorrow.”
BD shifted from foot to foot and checked her watch again.
Shari paused. “I forgot about that. Have them do the pool house first and then the garage. I’ll be back by the time they’re ready to start inside.”
Maria nodded. “As you wish, Miss Shari. I’ll be in the kitchen clearing out the refrigerator if you need me.”
BD cocked her head. “Didn’t you have the whole place painted a few months ago?”
“And your point would be?”
BD shrugged. “Never mind. Tell me what you want me to pack.”
Thirty minutes later BD went downstairs to have Karl fetch the luggage. He was nowhere to be seen. A strange car was parked just outside the front doors. “Oh God.” She turned in a circle. “Where has Karl gone?” She stared at the car and took a couple of steps toward it.
A dark, muscular man leaned against the back fender of a sedan. His black hair gleamed in the setting sunlight. On BD’s approach he stepped forward. “Miss Grayson?”
“No. Who are you? Where’s Karl? She’s going to have a total meltdown if he left.” Hands on her hips, she peered the length of the driveway and checked her watch again.
“I took over for him.”
“You took—who are you?”
“I’m Rafael Cruz. I came to pick up Miss Grayson. I’ll be driving her to the airport this evening.” He popped open the trunk. “Where’s the luggage?” His muscled arms and shoulders fairly bulged from his black T-shirt.
BD drew a breath, her heart pounding. “Look, I don’t know you. Miss Grayson told Karl to wait. She’s not going to be happy about this.” And somehow it would be BD’s fault.
Shari’s voice echoed around the large foyer and out the door. “BD, where’s Karl? He needs to haul those bags down.” Shari flew through the door then stopped short when she saw Rafael. “It’s about time you got here. I’m practically ready to leave. Come in here, and I’ll show you where to move those palms. Be quick about it.” She turned on her heel and disappeared inside.
Rafael raised his eyebrows and followed Shari through the doors, BD close behind. And what a behind it was.
Shari pointed to two large potted palms. “I want those moved through the back doors onto the deck overlooking the pool. Make sure they’re in the shade. Don’t take long. I’m in a hurry.”
Rafael appeared perplexed for a moment. His dark eyes flashed with humor as a smile flitted across his lips. “Yes, ma’am. At your service.” He hefted one of the heavy pots, seemingly without effort, and carried it to the back doors of the foyer.
BD ran ahead and opened the French doors for him. “Over there.” She pointed to a shady corner.
The muscles in his thighs bulged when he set the pot down and returned for the second palm as Shari trotted up the stairs, shouting, “Get Karl up here. I’m ready to leave!”
Rafael brushed his hands on his pants and grinned at BD. “Where are those suitcases? I don’t want her to blow a gasket.” His white teeth gleamed above a strong cleft chin.
Speechless, BD pointed up the stairs. She stared at his broad back as he took the steps two at a time, grabbed all three bags, and came back down. Before she knew it he had them out the front door.
A split second later Shari hurried down the stairs with a short mink jacket thrown over one shoulder. Where she would wear that in Hawaii, BD had no idea. Shari blew past her and out the door.
“What the hell are you doing? Where’s Karl? Get those bags out of there right now, buster!”
BD ran out the door just in time to see Shari blast Cruz with one of her world-class glares.
Rafael merely smiled. “I’m taking you to the airport, Miss Grayson. Your housekeeper called and said you were in a hurry.”
“Why in the world would I want a gardener’s helper to drive me to the airport? I have my own car and driver.” She turned the same glare on to BD. “Where is Karl? I told him to wait right here.”
BD threw up her hands in a helpless gesture. “I don’t know where he is. This is Rafael Cruz. He’s driving you to the airport.”
Shari pinched up her lips in a furious frown. “Rafael Cruz? Where have I heard that name? Why are you masquerading as a gardener’s helper?”
Rafael flashed a dazzling smile. “I’m not. You assumed I was the helper. You were in such a NASCAR rush to the finish line, I moved your trees. Shall we get on our way?”
Shari stood her ground. “I asked you where I’d heard your name.”
“I’m your pilot. Rafi?” He placed one hand over the other and made a flapping wings motion with his thumbs.
Reacting as if she’d been slapped, Shari jerked her head back. “If you’re my pilot why are you here and not at the airstrip?”
Rafael closed the trunk on the shiny Mercedes sedan. “There wasn’t time to get anyone else. You called less than two hours ago. Shall we go?” He opened the back door and invited them into the car.
Shari put one foot inside, turned, and grabbed BD by the hand. “Come on.”
“No, Shari, I have to—”
Shari tugged. “You have to get in the car. That’s what you have to do. Come on.”
How would she get from the airport back to the Beverly Wilshire Hotel to pick up her car? BD sighed and plopped down on the back seat next to Shari. She’d be glad to see that plane take off.
* * *
Rafael pulled up alongside the shiny commercial jet waiting on the tarmac of the private airport. A uniformed mechanic pushed portable stairs up against the boarding door. An orange logo on the side of the aircraft proclaimed
Cruz Aero
in large bold letters.
BD stared wide-eyed. She leaned forward toward Rafael. “Do you own this airplane?”
“Yep.” He gestured to a large hangar that held commercial aircraft of various sizes. “This one and the other five in the hangar over there.”
“And you’re a pilot too?”
“Chief cook and bottle washer.” His broad shoulders bounced when he chuckled. “Also chief pilot.” He stepped out of the sedan, popped the trunk, and opened the passenger door. “Ladies.”
BD grasped Rafi’s warm hand, his grip firm, his palm callused. His gentle and sensual touch took her by surprise. She swallowed, stepped out onto the asphalt, and waited for Shari to exit the car.
Shari flung the mink jacket to her. “Take this and my makeup bag and put them on the plane.” She slid off the seat and offered her hand to Rafael.
BD approached the stairs of the aircraft. The mechanic smiled. “Evening, miss. Do you have any other luggage?”
“Yes, there are three bags in the trunk of the car. Do you mind getting them?”
He made a small salute with two fingers to the bill of his baseball cap. “Not at all, part of the job. Go on in and make yourself comfortable.”
“Oh, I’m not—” He was already halfway to Rafael’s car, so she shrugged and stomped up the stairs with Shari’s mink and makeup bag. If the woman thought she was flying to Hawaii with her tonight, she was nuts.
The executive jet’s luxurious interior shone with sleek paneling, deep pile carpeting, and indirect lighting. Two first-class reclining seats sat on each side, facing one another, separated by a small table. Against the wall, magazine racks containing the most recent publications were within easy reach of the seats. When she set Shari’s case on one of the tables she noticed today’s
Wall Street Journal
and the latest
Vogue
with Shari’s face on the cover.
BD had read the
Vogue
article that morning at breakfast. The feature story—Grayson Designs. Shari’s parents had been interviewed at the studio soon after Thanksgiving. They talked about the spring collection, the same collection revealed today at the Beverly Wilshire, just in time for Christmas shoppers.
In the article, Whitney and Norah announced their plan to elevate their only daughter, Shari, to Chief Operating Officer of Grayson Designs. After all, Shari had grown up in Grayson’s design studio, workrooms, and business office. She’d been the face of the company since she first modeled the winter line, the summer she turned thirteen.
As Shari’s personal assistant she would move up the ladder with her. BD was to assume management of the international marketing department, where she’d have a private office with her own secretary. Shari, a huge pain in the nether regions, did recognize BD’s value to the future success of the company. Shari had told BD to expect a nice raise and more autonomy.
The mechanic stepped inside with two of Shari’s bags. He opened the clasps on the wardrobe and hung it in a small closet behind the cockpit. He tucked the other bag behind the first passenger seat.
BD made to deplane when Shari and Rafael boarded, the mechanic in their wake with the large suitcase. She stepped back into the cabin to allow him to place the last piece of Shari’s luggage inside.
Rafael guided Shari by the elbow to the first seat on the left side of the craft. “How about a glass of champagne while you wait? It’ll take a few minutes to go through flight check with the tower before we’re clear for departure.”
Without waiting for a reply he stepped over to the glass-lined bar and opened the cork on the bottle chilling on the countertop. He filled two crystal flutes, turned and handed one to Shari. He held the other aloft. “Miss Beatty? Please have a seat and enjoy some champagne. We’ll be underway pronto.”
BD shook her head. “No thanks, I’m just about to—”
Shari turned to face her. “Oh, for crying out loud, stop fidgeting and sit down. One drink won’t kill you.” She took the glass from Rafael’s hand and put it on the table in front of BD. “Sit. Relax.”
With a sigh, BD brushed past Rafael on her way to the table. She leaned toward him. “It’s B period, D period. In pilot talk that’s, Bravo Delta. The last name is James. BD James. Got it?”
He tilted his head. “Your parents had a way with words.” He gave her a dark-eyed wink. “You’ll have to give me the skinny on your name one day.”
“Not likely.” God, she was beginning to sound as rude Shari.
She flopped into her seat and reached for the champagne. She glanced at her watch. She had a little over an hour to make it to Nick’s on time. It would be close.
Shari lifted her glass, took a sip of the ice-cold bubbly, and stared into BD’s eyes.
BD returned her gaze. “What? Talk to me. Why the sudden trip to Oahu? What am I supposed to tell Whitney and Norah? This is really a bad time to be leaving, what with the change of management.”
Shari switched her crossed leg rapidly back and forth. She tilted her chin up. “You won’t have to tell them anything.” A large swallow of champagne followed the statement. “Here, pour me another glass.” She thrust the empty champagne flute in BD’s direction.
Shaking her head, BD took the glass, filled it, and carried it back to Shari. “Drowning in drink, are we?” She placed the champagne on the table. “I have to use the bathroom. Then we’re going to talk. You owe me some answers.”
BD closed the door on the tiny restroom. She placed her hands on the sink and stared at the reflection in the mirror. Her youthful appearance normally pleased her, but tonight dark circles shadowed her turquoise eyes, her skin so pale the freckles sprinkled on her nose appeared more prominent and numerous. Wavy brown hair hung limp, the bounce missing.
What was she doing? Why did she put up with all the endless stress and hours of her job? Why did she allow the job to be a destructive factor in her personal life? One thing for sure—she would put a stop to the way she allowed Shari to treat her. If Maria could command respect from Shari, so could she.
On the small commode with her skirt hiked up around her waist, she leaned forward with elbows on her knees, head in hand. She jerked upright and patted her jacket pocket. Where was that cell phone? She had to call Nick. Just because Shari treated her like a second-class citizen, there was no reason she should treat Nick that way.