“Ms. Rittenour. How are you?”
She didn’t even have the courtesy to respond.
“Fetch Dominic.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” I sat down in his chair and fought the urge to breathe in the scent that immediately surrounded me. Picking up a pen, I started to sketch out Penelope Rittenour—as an Afghan hound. The long, gleaming coat…er…hair, the elegant long face…
She’d make a lovely Afghan hound, and she’d probably be more pleasant too. Those were beautiful and very sweet dogs.
“I need to speak to Dominic,” she snapped. “Put him on the phone
now
or I’ll have your fucking job.”
I pulled the receiver away and eyed it narrowly. Then I put it back to my ear. “I’m uncertain as to how you can have me fired simply because Mr. Snow isn’t here at the same time you called, Ms. Rittenour. I’d be happy to take a message though.”
Her hiss of breath was audible. Then, coolly, she said, “Give me his cell phone.”
“Now that would likely get me fired. I’m afraid I can’t pass out personal information without Mr. Snow giving me the authorization first.”
“I’m a close
personal
friend.”
“Then I’m certain you understand that he’s a very private man. Once he tells me it’s okay to give you his cell phone number, I’ll be happy to do so, Ms. Rittenour.” I added a little diamond collar to the dog’s neck and diamond earrings. She had Penelope’s big eyes and thick eyelashes and maybe I was being catty, but I made sure that snide light shown in her eyes. I used to love to do caricatures, but I never had the time anymore. This was fun.
“Dominic is going to hear of your rudeness…what was it,
Aleena
?”
“Yes, Ms. Rittenour. If you like, I’d be happy to call him as soon as we hang up and let him know about our discussion.” I paused and then added, “His home office is set up to record all incoming calls. Shall I play the conversation back for him to ensure he knows everything we discussed?”
There was a long, weighted pause and then she said, “You think you’re smart, don’t you?”
“Of course not, Ms. Rittenour. I’m just trying to be helpful.”
She hung up.
I leaned back, stared at my image of Penelope as an Afghan hound. If I were trying to be accurate, I would have drawn her as a succubus. Out to drain the life out of whatever man she’d set her sights on, and it so happened to be Dominic she’d chosen as her prey. I shouldn't care, not after he was making it clear that, no matter what we'd said, he was going to keep me at arm’s length.
I pulled the sheet of paper free, and then, to be safe, I tugged out the next two and put them in the cross-cut shredder.
That done, I sent a text to Dominic.
Ms. Rittenour called. She would like to speak with you and she’d also like your cellphone number. I’m afraid she’s not happy with me. I wouldn’t give her the number without your permission and that made her angry. Shall I give her the number? Please advise.
I double-checked to make sure the phone call had been recorded. I’d told a white lie. He didn’t record
all
calls. I think it was illegal to record things without permission, but he did get a lot of business calls—those he
did
get permission for and it was simply because he didn’t like forgetting details.
I suspected he also had less than pleasant phone calls. Perhaps calls like mine, where people tried to levy threats against him, although I don’t know who’d be stupid enough to threaten a man like Dominic. Blackmail, maybe. The ability to record anybody that stupid would be useful.
I’d never asked. I hoped he wouldn’t be mad, but if he was…
I sighed.
His response came back before I made it back to my desk.
Don’t worry about Penelope. I’ll get back with her when I see her or she can call the office and leave a message here. And no, please don’t give her my number. You did the right thing. Thank you.
Biting my lip, I considered it a moment and then sent him one more message.
She tells me that she going to have me fired since I didn’t give her the number. She’ll be sure to tell you how rude I was. She was even more pissed off when I mentioned that you have your phone set up to record incoming calls. I might have told a little white lie there. I’m sorry.
This time, the response was immediate.
Good thinking and don’t be sorry. Don’t worry, either. You’re not fired, Aleena. Why don’t you take the day off? You could probably use a break. You’ve done nothing but work all week. Take the day off. Go see Molly. Go shopping. I’ll deal with Penelope.
I blew out a relieved breath. If he’d been angry, he would have said something. He was holding back, but he wasn't being rude.
I responded with a quick thank you and then studied my pile of work. I could always put in a few hours tomorrow, but I really could use a break. I had been working a lot lately.
Chapter 12
Dominic
“Really, Dominic. You let your
employee
talk that way to friends?”
I looked up over the rim of my wineglass toward my mother. Slowly, I put it down and then got up, heading over the bar. I poured myself a double of Macallan. It was twenty-one years old and I brought it to my nose, breathed it in and forced my shoulders to relax for a moment as I took one small sip.
“Dominic…”
At my mother’s chiding voice, I turned to face her.
Mom was sitting next to Penelope and I had to fight not to clench my jaw at the sight of her. They'd both been there waiting when I arrived and I’d almost left.
My mother had set this up. I had no doubt about it.
I looked back at Penelope to answer her question even though it was probably meant to be rhetorical. “Well, my mother talks to my employees in a far worse manner,” I said, shrugging. “All Aleena did was follow my instructions and not give out my personal information without my permission.”
I took a small sip of scotch as my mother’s face went red, then white. While she struggled to come up with a response, I added, “Should I discipline her for it, Mother?”
Her eyes widened and, for a moment, I thought she was going to choke on her drink.
Penelope, unaware of the double meaning, laid a hand on my mother’s arm. “Jacqueline, I’m sure the girl didn’t mean to be so rude,” she said, a gentle—and completely false—smile on her face.
“She wasn’t.” Tired of the bullshit, I headed back to the table and eyed the remains of the dinner. Étienne, my mother’s chef, had prepared a wonderful meal. He always did. But it had tasted like sawdust and it now sat like a rock in my stomach. Slumping in the chair, I eyed Penelope for a moment. I was too pissed off at my mother’s obvious machinations, and Penelope’s manipulations, to care if she decided to fuck with
Trouver L'Amour
. If she did, I’d just deal with it. It wasn’t like I didn’t know how to play the game too. I was sure most people wouldn't have a problem seeing Penelope as a conniving jealous bitch.
When Penelope started to argue, I cut her off. “I listened to your phone call, Penelope. You called, demanded to speak with me and she said she couldn’t put me on the phone. You told her to either do it or you’d have her
fucking
job. She said she couldn’t get me on the phone since I wasn’t there and, rightly, it wasn’t likely she could be fired over that. Then you demanded my phone number and when she wouldn’t give it to you, you yelled at her
again
.”
With a cold smile, I added, “She texted me right away to let me know you’d called and asked if she should give you my number.”
“Tattling on me, is she?” Penelope’s cheeks were pale, save for two red spots riding high on her cheeks.
Now it was my mother’s turn to reach over and pat Penelope’s hand. “Simply covering herself. That’s what girls…”
My gaze left Penelope and went straight to my mother.
Jacqueline cleared her throat. “That’s what a professional is supposed to do in this case, Penelope. Check with her superior and make sure she’d taken the right steps. Isn’t that right, Dominic?”
“Yes.”
Penelope continued to stare at me. “Then why didn’t she contact me back with your phone number?”
“Because I told her not to.” I tossed the rest of my Macallan back and debated on another. I wanted it. Almost craved it. And because I did, I deliberately pushed the glass away. Self-control. Denial. Always.
“But I…” She licked her lips and, for the first time that evening, she looked uncertain. Her gaze fell away and she stared at the window that faced out over the elegance of the gardens. They were lit with small white bulbs threaded through the trees and carefully placed lights on the ground. “Dominic, I wanted to speak with you.”
“Then you could have called the office or left a message. I’m a busy man, Penelope. I don’t have time for idle chit-chat. Surely you know that.”
My mother’s laugh, light and practiced, broke the strained silence. “Of course you’re a busy man. Penelope, Dominic…this is all such a silly matter, and over a new personal assistant.” Her gaze darted to me and then away. “I’m sure Aleena is doing the best she can and she handled the matter as she felt was best, yes?”
“Of course.” Penelope gave me a tremulous smile.
I didn’t smile back.
The way Mom acted, you’d think I had.
She clapped her hands. “Wonderful. We won’t speak of it again. Why don’t we retire to the drawing room?”
I managed not to roll my eyes.
The
drawing room
…where she could have another drink without looking like she was tossing it back.
***
“I am sorry, Dominic.”
Mother spoke to me softly as Penelope played the piano.
I didn’t look at her. “Are you?”
“You know I am.” She laid a hand on my arm. “I hate to have anything come between us and this has.”
“Then why are you apologizing to me instead of the woman you insulted?” Now I turned my head and stared at her.
“I…” Her hand fluttered up to her throat, then back down to her drink. Finally, she took a sip of her cognac and sat there, head cocked as she listened to the lovely strains drifting from the piano.
It might have been Beethoven. I liked music well enough, but I’d never focused on it as much as my parents would have liked.
“Lovely,” she called out as Penelope brought the music to a close. “Can you play another?”
Yes, don’t overhear something unpleasant, Penelope
. I smirked and settled more comfortably into the couch, staring up at the mural painted on the ceiling.
“How did I insult her, Dominic? Surely she realizes you’re from different worlds.”
A headache started to pulse behind my brows.
When I didn’t answer, she sighed. “I know you think I’m terribly unfair about classes and money, but she’d
never
fit in here. It’s just not money—”
“She’s not white.”
I said it loud enough that Penelope heard and the music clattered to a halt, a horrified expression on her face. I stood up and strode out of the room. Penelope stared at me and Mom followed.
Fortunately, she was the only one.
“Surely you’re not implying that I…” She made a face like I’d shoved a lemon in her mouth. Then, lowering her voice, she added in a hushed tone, “I certainly have no
issue
with her being…being…
ethnic
.”
“She’s mixed, Mom,” I said, turning to face her. Crossing my arms over my chest, I gave her a hard look. “I believe one of the PC terms is
biracial
. Her mom's black. Her dad is white. She’s from a nice, middle class family out of Iowa. As she pointed out, she wasn’t plucked from one of the zoos here in New York.”
“I hardly implied she
was
!”
She looked so offended that I almost laughed.
Jabbing a finger at her, I said, “If I’d had a white woman there with me, you wouldn’t have felt the need to point out that I could find
exotic
sex anywhere. Yeah, I get that we don’t come from the same world…although…you know what? For all
I
know, my parents
were
middle class and maybe
they
are from Iowa. Or Detroit. For all I know, my real mother was some hooker from Harlem.”
“Dominic!” She jerked her head back, covering her mouth. She looked like I’d slapped her.
Guilt and misery flooded me and I swore. “Fuck…Mom. I’m sorry. I…I don’t want to hurt you, but I want to know more about where I came from and every time you throw class up at me, it reminds me about how little I do know. But that’s not what this is about.”
“Then what is it?” she asked, her voice stiff.
“It’s about the fact that you don’t even see what you are,” I said softly. I looked at her and shrugged. “But I can’t really blame you. I didn’t see it either. I didn’t see what I was. Aleena had to point it out. Just because someone isn't wearing a white hood doesn't mean they aren't racist.”
“I’m not a racist.” Jacqueline St. James-Snow drew her shoulders back and glared down her nose at me, which was saying something since I towered over her.
“Yeah?” I cocked an eyebrow. “Okay. If Penelope was black, would you be so eager to push her at me?”
Her gaze fell away. Almost immediately, her eyes came back and she gave me a polite smile. “Of course. I’ve chosen not to see color.”
“You don’t see color, huh? That’s a load of bullshit. If you don’t see
color
, sounds to me like you’ve chosen not to see
people
of color. But what do I know…I’m just your rich white son. People like us? We’ll never have to deal with people looking past us or through us simply because we’re not white enough. Guess we’re lucky.”
I pushed past her.
“Dominic, wait.”
I shook my head. “It’s late. I’m tired.” I paused, though, and looked back at her. “I do love you, you know. You’re my mother and you have always been there, even when I wasn’t an easy kid. But I need to know who I am. I’m going to find my birth mother.”
She staggered and fell back.
I held out a hand, guilt swamping me.
“Please go,” she whispered.
Slowly, I lowered my hand to my side, clenching it into a fist. Moving back out into the hall, I saw Penelope.