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Secret Agenda

Secret Agenda
Rochelle Alers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Many of you have asked about the extended family and friends of the Coles, who were first introduced in Hideaway. My response is Secret Agenda. This latest novel continues the ongoing Hideaway Legacy series, with Diego Cole-Thomas taking center stage in this romance.

Stranger in My Arms provided a glimpse of Diego when he assumed control of ColeDiz International, Ltd. But as CEO of a privately held conglomerate, he takes the company in a new direction with its first stateside venture. However, when his business commitments conflict with his many social obligations, he hires recently widowed Vivienne Neal as his personal assistant. He is awed by her sensual beauty, intelligence and social grace, and Vivienne becomes his stand-in date and constant companion.

But when Vivienne finds herself doing double duty as a personal secretary and social escort to the CEO, who is well-known for his brusque manner and intimidating reputation, she doesn't realize until it's almost too late that she needs him to do more than just satisfy her long-denied sexual passion. Pursued by an assassin who will stop at nothing to retrieve her late husband's little black book, Vivienne must rely on the only man who can protect her from harm and restore her faith in love.

I invite you to join Diego and Vivienne on their journey of passion and intrigue, an adventure that will test their willingness to risk it all.

Yours in romance,

Rochelle Alers

Contents

PART ONE

Diego Cole-Thomas ColeDiz International Ltd.

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

PART TWO

Vivienne Kay Neal

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

PART ONE

Prologue

James McGhie turned the key in the ignition of the stolen car, and put the heat on its highest setting. Despite wearing a pair of his mama's hand-knit woolen gloves, his fingers were beginning to stiffen up from the cold. He knew sitting in a car with the engine running was certain to draw attention, but he wasn't going to risk the freezing weather, because then he would have to explain to Mrs. McGhie why her precious baby boy—as she referred to him—had frostbite. There were some things he told Mama but many more things he didn't. James realized there were hazards to his job, but losing a digit or two was not in his game plan.

He'd sat patiently waiting for his target to reappear, but the frigid D.C. temperature made his wait very uncomfortable. He took a quick glance at his watch. Forty minutes had passed since U.S. Representative Sean Gregory entered the bank across the street from where he sat in an old black sedan.

He sat up straighter, one hand going to the earpiece. “I just spotted him.”

“Where is he, Jimmy?” asked the gravelly voice in his ear.

“He just came out of the bank near the Dupont Circle Metro.”

“Stay with him.”

The man who'd been trained by the country's best intelligence agency peered through a pair of binoculars, his gaze fixed on his target. He'd spent days waiting for the brash young politician to leave his Georgetown town house. The day before, McGhie had gone to the town house but Gregory's housekeeper had told him her employer wasn't feeling well and wasn't receiving visitors. But from the looks of the nattily dressed man sauntering down the street, he appeared to be the picture of health. Everything about him—his cashmere topcoat and expensive, tailored dark suit—reeked of arrogance, and that included his walk.

“He just got into his car,” James whispered into the microphone under his jacket lapel.

“Follow him for a couple of blocks, and then we'll take over.”

He followed the late-model Lexus sedan until a black Ford Crown Victoria smoothly maneuvered in front of his bumper several yards ahead. He'd done what he'd been instructed to do and now the rest was up to the men in the Crown Vic. Personally, he liked the Connecticut congressman. But he couldn't afford to let his personal feelings interfere with completing his assignment.

He'd been instructed to follow Congressman Gregory and report back when he was alone. If the men who were hired to take out Sean Gregory didn't find what they were looking for on him, then it was up to McGhie to break into the congressman's home and search for the little book that could become a huge political scandal.

James sat in a well-worn recliner watching CNN, while enjoying his second beer after several helpings of his mother's delicious lamb stew. He'd stopped off to have dinner with her, leaving with enough plastic containers filled with leftovers to last him for several days, before retreating to his sanctuary—a furnished studio apartment in a middle-class D.C. neighborhood.

He turned up the volume on the remote when the program he had been watching was interrupted for a breaking news story. An obviously grief-stricken Speaker of the House announced that Connecticut Congressman Sean Gregory had succumbed to injuries he'd sustained in a hit-and-run earlier that morning as he'd stepped out of his car only yards from his Georgetown residence.

The camera shifted to a scene outside the town house where the media, police, the crime scene unit and a crowd of onlookers had gathered. The television reporter announced that the late congressman's wife, who'd flown in from Stamford, Connecticut to attend a fund-raiser, was unaware that her husband had been fatally injured until she arrived at their home. A spokesperson for the Gregory family reported Vivienne Gregory was too distraught to talk to the press.

Cursing under his breath, James pressed a button on the remote and turned off the television. Vivienne Gregory's decision to make a visit to D.C. had changed everything. His cell phone rang seconds later and he answered it before the third ring.

“Yeah,” he drawled, dispensing with any pretense of being polite. While he detested the man who'd paid him to do his dirty work, it was his voice that he hated even more.

“He didn't have the book on him, and with the little wife in town it means that you have to figure out another way to get into—”

“I know it changes everything,” he said testily, interrupting the caller on the other line. The man who he took his orders from had messed up—big-time! In his attempt to eliminate the popular congressman they'd forgotten about his wife. They were lucky if Gregory took what he knew to his grave. If not, then whatever Gregory had uncovered was certain to rock Capitol Hill to its venerable core.

The young woman who'd befriended Gregory's chief-of-staff had told James that the congressman carried a small leather-bound notebook at all times—a notebook James's boss suspected contained the names of other congressional members who'd received kickbacks on government contracts in their districts. Another source at the Justice Department revealed that Gregory had requested and had been given immunity if he informed on those “on the take.”

The well-orchestrated hit-and-run had eliminated Sean Gregory, but finding the snitch's little black book was now a priority for James McGhie. After the police completed their investigation, he would have to break into the town house, look for the book and then leave without a trace.

Chapter 1

Six months later…

“You'd be perfect for the position as Diego Cole-Thomas's personal assistant, Viv.”

Vivienne Neal stared intently at her old college roommate, her expression impassive. Alicia Cooney was the only person she let call her Viv. To everyone else she was Vivienne. Suddenly a smile began to curl around Vivienne's mouth, her lips parting and displaying a set of perfectly aligned white teeth. “That's what you said about my last interview, which I'm embarrassed to say was a miserable failure.”

Alicia's eyebrows lifted in surprise. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd seen her friend smile in the two months since Vivienne had moved to Florida. Vivienne's expression softened, revealing her delicate features, cinnamon-brown complexion, a round face with high cheekbones, a delicate chin, sensual mouth and tawny-colored eyes that had a slightly startled look.

“It wasn't because you weren't qualified. The wife of your potential employer saw you as a threat. The difference here is Diego Cole-Thomas doesn't have a wife.”

Vivienne's smiled vanished quickly. “I am not a home wrecker. And if that had been my intent, I certainly wouldn't have been with a man who's more than twice my age.”

“Charles Willingham isn't your average run-of-the-mill, thrice-married, sixty-nine-year-old letch. I heard somewhere that he likes to pinch his female employees' behinds. He gets away with it because if they complain, he either pays them off or he marries them. It helps that he's one of the wealthiest men on Florida's Gold Coast.”

Vivienne waved a hand. “I didn't let him get close enough to touch me and I could care less about his money.”

Alicia rolled her vivid emerald-green eyes upward. “That's because you never had to concern yourself with money, unlike me who grew up dirt-poor. If I hadn't been blessed with brains and this face and body,” she drawled while waving her hand in front of her chest, “I'd still be slinging hash in a diner like my sisters, mother and grandmother. Luckily, I learned early on how to capitalize on my assets,” Alicia continued, so matter-of-factly that Vivienne knew it wasn't a boast.

She smiled again. Alicia had used her brains and her physical assets to her advantage when she attended college on full scholarship and succeeded in marrying a first-round NBA draft pick. Petite, blond, green-eyed Alicia Cooney had caught the eye of Rhames Tyson during freshman orientation, and dated him exclusively throughout college much to the consternation of many of the African-American coeds. A week before graduation, Rhames signed a multimillion-dollar contract with a California pro basketball team, when Alicia informed him that she was pregnant with his child.

Vivienne was Alicia's maid of honor in a wedding that became a media spectacle. But Alicia's Cinderella marriage ended when her husband insisted on driving—although his blood alcohol level exceeded the legal limit—totaling his six-figure import. He also shattered both knees, which ended his pro ball career. Alicia lost the baby and Vivienne invited her friend to stay with her and recuperate from the physical and emotional injuries. Less than a year after exchanging vows, Alicia filed for divorce, moved to Florida and set up an executive staffing agency.

Now, their situations were reversed. After losing Sean, Vivienne decided to list their mausoleum of a house in an exclusive, upscale gated community in Stamford, Connecticut with a real estate agent. She put the contents of the house in storage and moved to West Palm Beach, Florida, to stay with Alicia until she figured out what she wanted to do with her life. Her parents had wanted her to move in with them, but at thirty-one she didn't want to be treated like a child again. She'd fought too hard for her independence to now relinquish it to her overbearing mother.

She ran a hand over her straightened dark-brown hair with reddish highlights. It was longer than it had been in years. Sean had been dead six months and she had to pull herself out of her funk.

“Tell me about Diego Cole-Thomas before I agree to an interview.”

Alicia crossed her bare feet at the ankles as she lay back on the cushioned chaise on the lanai. “I happen to know him better than most of my clients,” she began.

“You've dated him?” Vivienne asked.

“I wish,” Alicia countered. “Unfortunately our interaction has always been professional. His company's HR will usually contact me whenever they're looking to fill a position. I'm surprised they contacted me again, because you'll be the third applicant I've referred to ColeDiz International over the past four months.”

Vivienne's gaze narrowed. “What happened to the other two?”

“One lasted about a week before Diego sent her packing and the other lasted a month before he was terminated. Both were supposed to be on call, but whenever he needed them they either were unavailable or didn't know how to organize his social and business schedule.”

“And, what makes you think I'll be more successful than the other two?”

“You were the wife of a congressman so you're familiar with the demands of a high-powered man. Plus you have a business background and you're also bilingual. The position is for six months and pays extremely well. You won't…” Alicia's words trailed off as she averted her gaze to stare at a tiny lizard crawling up the screen.

“I won't what?” Vivienne asked, leaning forward on her lounger.

“You'll have to make yourself available 24/7. Diego's an international businessman, so if he's up at two in the morning talking to someone on the other side of the world he may need his assistant to be available, too.”

“So, I'd become a live-in personal assistant?”

“Yes,” Alicia said after a long pause. “I'm certain he'll hire you because you're confident and assertive. He fired the first applicant because she locked herself in the ladies' room, and refused to come out after he'd reprimanded her.”

Vivienne knew her friend made a living from the fees clients paid Alicia's placement agency. But lately, Vivienne found herself tired of sleeping late and hanging around the pool bemoaning the turn her life had taken. No one other than her attorney knew at the time of her husband's death that she'd planned to divorce Sean Gregory anyway. She'd told the reporter who'd managed to get around the police barricade that she'd come to Washington to attend a fund-raiser with Sean. But, the truth was she'd come to tell her husband that her attorney had filed documents to end their four-year sham of a marriage.

She sat up. “Set up the interview, Alicia.”

“Yes,” Alicia whispered as she pumped her fist in the air. Her company had grown from placing nannies and au pairs with wealthy couples who were either too lazy or disinclined to care for their own children, to providing executive and support staff for several Florida-based companies, of which ColeDiz International Ltd. was one.

When she'd heard that her friend had lost her husband, she hadn't hesitated when she booked a flight to Connecticut to be with Vivienne. The public viewed Vivienne Gregory as the beautiful grieving widow of one of Washington's young rising stars. But it wasn't the loss of her husband Vivienne grieved most, but that of a marriage that'd ended before it had a chance to begin. She'd been a political widow four years before she legally became one.

Diego Cole-Thomas closed the shades to shut out the blinding rays of the summer sun before taking his seat at a round table in the anteroom of his office with his cousin and confidant. He'd asked Joseph Cole-Wilson Jr. to meet with him over breakfast because he wanted to discuss a venture that was certain to change the family-owned conglomerate forever.

Diego had celebrated his first year as CEO in April, and it'd taken twelve months to gain the complete confidence of his employees, managers and board of directors to move the company in another direction. Diego's great-grandfather, Samuel Claridge Cole, had set up the company in 1925, and more than eighty years later not much had changed. The board of directors was expanded to include nonfamily members, but every CEO was a direct descendant of Samuel Cole. Martin and David, sons of Samuel, held the position before Diego's father Timothy Cole-Thomas took over the helm. He was now the fourth generation and fifth chief executive officer of a company with holdings that included coffee plantations in Mexico, Jamaica, Puerto Rico and Brazil, vacation properties throughout the Caribbean and banana plantations in Belize.

His first action upon assuming control was to become a cotton broker. He paid cash on delivery to a Ugandan cotton grower, making ColeDiz the biggest family-owned agribusiness in the United States.

Ignoring the cup of coffee next to him, Diego stared at Joseph. He knew his cousin was still smarting because he'd requested the eight o'clock meeting the day the corporate attorney was scheduled to begin a two-week vacation with his longtime girlfriend.

“What I want to tell you will not take much of your time.”

“Gracias, primo,” Joseph whispered in Spanish under his breath.

A slight frown was the only indication of Diego's annoyance with his younger cousin for the unsolicited aside. He'd brought the twenty-eight-year-old into the company, but after five months Joseph still hadn't shown any initiative. If their grandmothers hadn't been sisters, Diego would've fired him his first week on the job.

Even though his last name was Wilson, Joseph's looks were undeniably Cole. He'd inherited Marguerite-Josefina Diaz-Cole, his Cuban-born great-grandmother's, olive coloring and refined features. His close-cropped curly black hair, large dark eyes and sensual mouth had many of the single female employees openly lusting after him. However, once word got out that he was dating a girl he'd met in law school, a collective groan could be heard from his admirers.

“I wanted to tell you before you leave that ColeDiz will establish its first American-based company before the end of the year.”

Joseph sat forward in his chair. “What about the coffee plantation in Lares, Puerto Rico?”

Diego inclined his head. “I should've said a company on the mainland.”

“¿Dónde sobre la tierra firme, Diego?”

Diego's expression didn't change. “Carolina del Sur.” The only time he spoke Spanish at the office was when he and Joseph were alone. His mother didn't speak the language, but his abuela Nancy spoke only Spanish whenever he and his siblings visited with her. Nancy Cole-Wilson never wanted him to forget his African and Cuban roots.

“What the hell is in South Carolina?”

Planting an arm on the table, Diego cradled his chin on the heel of his hand. “Tea.”

Joseph's eyes grew wide. “Tea?” he repeated.

“Sí, primo. Té. ColeDiz is going to get into the business of growing and manufacturing tea, and I'm going to put you in charge of our first North American venture.”

The light that fired the jet-black orbs dimmed. “I know nothing about tea. I'm a lawyer, not a farmer, Diego.”

“I'm not a farmer, yet I know the entire process of growing and harvesting coffee and bananas.”

Joseph wasn't about to argue with his cousin, because he knew he would come out on the losing end. So, he decided to try another approach. “Isn't tea only grown in Asia?”

Diego lifted his eyebrows. “That's what most people believe. But, there's only one tea garden or plantation in America, and it's on Wadmalaw Island in the South Carolina low country.”

“Where do you plan on setting up this plantation?”

“I had someone buy a hundred acres between Kiawah and Edisto Islands. When you return from your vacation I want you to negotiate the transfer of the property to ColeDiz. We'll put in the tea shrubs late fall and hopefully we'll be able to get our first harvest next spring and the second harvest in the summer. And if the warm weather holds throughout the winter, then we can expect another harvest.”

Joseph stared at the man who looked enough like their great-grandfather Samuel to have been his twin. And, the family joke was that Diego was as driven as the man who was known as the consummate twentieth-century deal maker.

“Should I assume that you don't want anyone to know about the venture until you begin planting?”

Diego nodded. “You assume correctly.”

“Have you run this by the rest of the family?”

Silence shrouded the room, swelling in intensity as the two men continued their stare-down. Diego blinked once. “Enjoy your vacation, Joseph.”

The younger man pushed to his feet. His cousin had just unceremoniously dismissed him. “I will.” That said, he turned on his heels and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Joseph liked that he'd become part of the family-owned company, but it wasn't easy with Diego as his boss. Diego worked nonstop and expected everyone else to do the same.

He walked down carpeted hallway to the elevator in the luxury office building. Joseph wanted to tell Diego that he didn't need to set up another company. What he needed was a woman to make him aware that there was a world and life beyond ColeDiz International Ltd.

Diego stared blankly, focusing on the space where his cousin had been, his mind working overtime in anticipation of setting up a new venture. Despite being a brilliant corporate attorney, Joseph was not a risk taker. He didn't want to get into farming when in fact it was farming that afforded him his opulent lifestyle, much to the delight of his social-climbing girlfriend. Now, if Joseph worked as hard as he played there would be no doubt he would become CEO if or when Diego decided to relinquish the title and the responsibilities that went along with running the company. Their great-grandfathers, Samuel Cole and José Luis Diaz, for whom Joseph was named, were farmers. Farming had made the Coles one of the wealthiest, if not the wealthiest, black family in the States.

Reaching for his fork, he speared a chunk of fresh pineapple. He ate slowly, finishing his breakfast, which included freshly squeezed orange juice, sliced pineapple and black coffee. He'd just touched the napkin to his mouth when the intercom rang.

Recognizing the extension on the display, Diego pressed a button on the telephone console. “Yes, Caitlin.”

“Good morning, Diego. I have someone in my office I want you to meet. Her name is Vivienne Neal and I believe she would be perfect for the position as your personal assistant. Are you available to meet with her now?”

He wanted to tell the head of human resources that she'd said the same thing about the other two candidates, but held his tongue because Caitlin had him on speaker. “Yes.”

“I'm faxing you her résumé as we speak and I'll bring her around in about fifteen minutes.”

Once he'd taken over control of ColeDiz, his respect for his father increased appreciably. He didn't know how Timothy Cole-Thomas had managed both business and social obligations without them overlapping until Timothy disclosed that his stay-at-home wife, Nichola, had become his social secretary and personal assistant. Nichola checked with his personal secretary every day to make certain dinner meetings, fund-raisers or family get-togethers did not conflict. Unlike his father, Diego didn't have a wife, so he'd decided to hire a personal assistant.

He cleared the table of his breakfast, slipped on his suit jacket and tightened his tie. Removing the pages from the tray of the fax machine, he'd glanced over Vivienne Neal's résumé, Googled her name and was standing behind his desk when Caitlin escorted her into his office. Caitlin nodded, smiling, and closed the door behind her.

Vivienne felt her heart stop, her breath catching in her chest for several seconds before she was able to breathe normally. She'd used Alicia's computer to bring up what she could on ColeDiz International Ltd., but uncovered very little about the company's CEO. The Coles, like many wealthy families, kept a low profile. Their names appeared in the press only when linked to a business deal or charitable event. They also were fortunate to have lived their lives relatively free of gossip and scandal.

The man standing with his back to floor-to-ceiling windows spanning the width of the expansive room appeared to have been carved out of stone. He was tall, broad-shouldered and it'd only taken a single glance to recognize the exquisite cut and fabric of his suit. However, it wasn't his clothes that drew her rapt attention, but his face.

He rounded the desk and she saw up close the lean, angular sable-brown face with large, deep-set dark eyes that glowed with confidence under black sweeping eyebrows. Chiseled cheekbones, a straight nose with slightly flaring nostrils and a strong, firm mouth and cleft chin completed the undeniably male image that was Diego Samuel Cole-Thomas.

Diego approached, right hand extended. “Good morning, Ms. Neal.”

Vivienne felt a slight shock race up her arm when Diego's hand captured hers. She inclined her head. “Mr. Thomas.”

“It's not Thomas, but Cole-Thomas.”

Vivienne's eyebrows lifted slightly with his terse response. Oh, that's what you're all about? she mused. Mr. Cole-Thomas was the personification of an egotist. She inclined her head again, the gesture conveying her apology. “I stand corrected, Mr. Cole-Thomas.”

A slight frown appeared between Diego's eyes. Vivienne Neal's body language said one thing and her facetious apology another. It was apparent the woman applying for the position as his personal assistant was not only beautiful and tastefully dressed, but also not easily intimidated, which meant she wouldn't dissolve into tears the way her predecessor had. Cupping her elbow, he led her into the anteroom where he held informal meetings. Instead of sitting at the round table, he directed her to sit in a tan leather chair, seated her, then sat in a matching facing chair.

Diego forced himself not to stare at the long shapely legs under the pencil skirt that was part of a navy-blue linen suit that Vivienne had paired with a white silk blouse and stylish blue-and-white spectator pumps. Aside from the pearl studs in her ears, her only other jewelry accessory was a gold band with three rows of diamonds on the middle finger of her right hand. While it was impossible to ascertain the length of her hair, which she'd pinned up in a French twist, it'd only taken a single glance to conclude that Vivienne Neal was no ordinary personal assistant, possessing the style and elegance of a wealthy woman.

“Aunque no conocí a su marido, me gustaría extender mis condolencias sobre su muerte prematura.”

“Gracias, Señor Cole-Tomas.” Vivienne replied fluidly in the same language.

She wondered if Diego had offered his condolences on the death of her husband in Spanish to confirm that she was as fluent as her résumé indicated, having held a position translating financial contracts with a leading international investment firm.

A hint of a smile parted her lips. “Did I pass the test?”

Diego crossed one leg over the opposite knee and pressed his forefinger alongside his face, in a gesture that reminded her of a famous image of Malcolm X. “At least I know you understand Spanish.”

Vivienne felt a shiver of annoyance snake its way up her spine. She wanted to tell Diego Cole-Thomas that she didn't need the position as much as she needed a diversion, something to keep her mind occupied. With the proceeds from the sale of the house in Connecticut and as sole beneficiary of Sean's life insurance, it wasn't necessary for her to secure immediate employment.

Even before they were married, she'd told her fiancé that she had no intention of living year-round in the nation's capital. But that didn't stop Sean from spending a great deal of his time in Georgetown, because he'd believed that she would eventually change her mind and live with him in D.C. when the House was in session. Vivienne had proven him wrong, including the period leading up to his untimely death.

Her accountant recommended that she hold on to the Georgetown property, so she'd rented it fully furnished to a couple who wanted to use the first floor for their architectural and interior design business and the two upper floors as personal living space.

She'd dropped out of sight for six months, playing the role of a grieving widow. The police still hadn't found the car or the driver responsible for the hit-and-run that left her late husband fatally injured. But the officer assigned to the case informed her it would remain open.

Vivienne blinked once. “I understand, speak and write Spanish. I'm also fluent in French and Italian.” There was just a hint of boastfulness in her tone.

She glared at the arrogant man who seemed to challenge her without saying a word. If he wanted a personal assistant who was fluent in Spanish, then she was it. But, if he thought he was going to intimidate her with veiled challenges to her competence, then she wasn't the one for the job.

However, she was forced to admit that everything about Diego exuded power and breeding, from his well-groomed hair to the soles on his imported shoes. A slight frown touched her brow. It could've been the light, but there was something very wrong with his socks. Realization dawned. He was wearing one blue and one brown sock with his dark blue pin-striped suit and black leather wing tips.

“Are you aware that you're wearing two different color socks?”

Diego lowered his leg, lifted the hem of his trousers and stared at his feet. “The laundry service must have mismatched them.”

“You're color-blind.” Her question was a statement.

“Yes.”

“Do you see red and green?”

“Yes,” Diego admitted. “It's the blues and yellows I have a problem differentiating.”

The seconds ticked off as he continued to regard the woman who sat separated from him by less than five feet. There was something about Vivienne Neal he liked—and it had nothing to do with her face or body. She was professional and straightforward, and he doubted if another prospective employee would've pointed out the fact that his socks were mismatched.