A Grand Illusion Read online

  Jenna kept her face blank and wrote the names and times down on her pad. 'Do you have a preference as to the colour of roses, sir?'

  'What colour are the ones I sent to Meg?'

  'Red,' she all but choked, thinking of the way Meg had mooned over the full-blown buds that must have cost a fortune.

  'Then make it yellow for Margo and white for Eva.'

  She wrote it on her pad without a word. 'Is that all, sir?'

  His lips twitched. 'Don't you approve?'

  Her chin came up a fraction, but her voice was coolly calm and full of studied indifference. 'What you choose to do outside this office has nothing to do with me, sir. Just as my life has nothing to do with you. Is there anything else?'

  'You've really perfected the put-down, haven't you?'

  Somehow she kept her face blank, her body rigid, and didn't say a word.

  'Call both women and tell them I'll pick them up shortly before the respective times. I don't have time to talk to either of them now,' he said irritably.

  At his curt nod of dismissal, she walked with unhurried grace to her own office. When the heavy door closed softly behind her, she sagged back against it, shaking all over, her limbs protesting the taut way she had been holding herself. The only sound in the silent room was her own breathing, harsh and swift and shallow.

  This was insanity—sheer, absolute insanity. She was way out of her league and she knew it. An unconscious charm oozed from every pore, and even as plain as she was, she was dangerously susceptible to it. If she let herself indulge in fruitless dreams it could only mean she'd spend the rest of her life with a broken heart, watching him go from one beautiful woman to another. She was a secretary, not a woman, to him. A shudder passed through her. All this past week it was Meg. Tonight, Margo St John. Tomorrow, Eva Travers. That should be enough to douse any romantic inclinations hidden in her heart.

  I won't think about him that way, she told herself, pressing a shaking hand across her eyes. I'll be blind and deaf to everything that doesn't concern this office. Her fingers shook as she sat at her desk and reached for the telephone. In that moment she resolved to become the perfect secretary. She hadn't asked for any of this, but she was determined to make the most of what had been handed to her.

  Every day became more of a challenge, and after nearly a month had passed, Jenna was desperately debating with herself whether or not to hand in her resignation. No, throw it at him was a better phrase. She wanted to shout, to rant and rave and scream at him for his inconsideration, not just to her but to everyone who worked for him.

  Each morning she steeled herself to face his arrogant demand for perfection, but by the end of the working day, she was worn to a frazzle from trying to maintain a cool, poised facade of complete control and quiet acceptance of his commands.

  He was inhuman, and he treated everyone else as if they, too, were machines incapable of human error. The hours he kept were irregular. There were days when he didn't come in at all. Whether he purposely didn't tell her where he was or when he'd be expected back was a question Jenna couldn't begin to find an answer for. And then there were days when he spent the whole of forty-eight hours in his office, taking it for granted that she would see his meals were sent in to him.

  It seemed to her that he took a perverse delight in pushing everyone to the limit of his ability. And it wasn't only the corporate executives in the company who felt the sting of his merciless manipulations. The lowly stock boys and typists also knew when he was in the building.

  But in just that short month, the agency had taken on a new look. People were beginning to notice them, and as a result, business was thriving.

  'Miss Paragon!'

  She jumped and her bemused glance found Royce Drummond standing stiffly, tight-lipped, glowering at her from the doorway connecting his office to hers. The morning sunlight slanted across the pale grey carpeting in bright rays, settling on the harsh lines of his haughty face.

  'I want you to call maintenance and have them move your desk to the other side of the room. Now. Do you understand?'

  The desk in question was small and neatly kept with a space for her typewriter on a pull out shelf at the side. It was placed at the end of the wide room with two large windows overlooking downtown Toronto behind it.

  Bewilderment flickered across her face as she squared her shoulders in her stiffly starched white blouse. 'What's wrong with it right here, sir?'

  'Everything's wrong with .it,' he said with biting impatience. 'I will not tolerate you staring out windows when you're supposed to be working.'

  Her mouth thinned and she sat up straighter as her temper flared. Somehow she managed, barely, to keep it under control. 'Mr Drummond, I am not neglecting my work. If you must know, the view from these windows helps me keep my equilibrium. When things get too—hectic—just looking at the skyline helps to put everything back into perspective.'

  'This job's too much for you? Is that what you're saying?'

  'Are you asking for my resignation?' she flared, secretly relieved that the decision was being taken out of her hands.

  There was a menacing quality to his swift approach, and Jenna forced herself to sit absolutely still as he leaned across her desk, pinning her with his blazing grey eyes only an inch away from hers. 'You'd like to give it to me, wouldn't you?' he said softly through gritted teeth. 'You'd like to shove it down my throat.'

  She was conscious of the taut hard angle of his jaw so close to her face, the straight chiselled nose with the flaring nostrils, the deep silver sheen of his eyes boring holes through her. 'Only if I could douse it with acid first!' she said just as softly.

  Royce Drummond jerked his head back, blinking. Then she watched in fascination as the slashing grooves bracketing the sides of his face deepened into a grin. His laugh was deep and disconcerting as his anger hadn't been. 'I'm sure you'd enjoy that, but you were chosen for me, my paragon, and I can't take the time now to try to find a replacement for you. All right. Keep the desk where it is, if it amuses you. But I expect the work to be done.' He rubbed the back of his neck with an impatient hand. 'I need the Borchini file. Do you have it?'

  She sifted through the small pile of folders on her desk and handed it to him without a word.

  'Be ready to go to lunch at twelve instead of one today,' he said absently, already forgetting her as he flipped through the file and made his way back to his office.

  Her hands curled into small impotent fists, but she didn't say a word. This was too much! Now he was dictating the time she called her own. It wasn't fair. Her temper seethed as she turned to stare out the window again, seeking comfort in the sight of the glass and steel crescent-shaped buildings standing serenely in the sunshine.

  When she calmed down, she managed to find a plausible excuse for him. He probably had some important meeting scheduled during her usual lunch time. The trouble was, he never told her what he had in mind. She always had to second guess him, and it was becoming increasingly irritating. He might call her paragon, but she was merely human like everybody else, and she would appreciate a little consideration from him.

  Maybe if I let myself go just once, she thought. Maybe if I vented my frustration and threw something or cried or… She sighed dejectedly and hunched over her typewriter. No, she couldn't be that way. She was just a secretary paid to do a job. She'd leave the dramatics to Meg.

  Precisely at twelve, Royce Drummond emerged from his office looking as if he had just stepped out of an advertisement for some expensive men's clothing store. Jenna glanced at him but kept typing, not letting herself think about the handsomeness of this gorgeous man in his tailor-made black suit, white silk shirt and muted blue-grey tie. An unconscious sigh escaped her as she tried to focus her eyes on the letter in her typewriter. He might be a tyrant, but he was the most attractive one she'd ever seen! No wonder women were falling all over themselves wanting to go out with him.

  If only I wasn't plain, she thought. If I'd been born beautiful like Meg, I
might be going out to lunch with a man like him. I might…

  'I don't like to be kept waiting, Miss Paragon.'

  Her fingers jammed the keys and she looked up uncomprehendingly. She thought he'd already gone.

  'I told you to be ready at twelve.'

  Her face flushed guiltily. 'I didn't realise you wanted the office empty at this time.'

  'What?'

  'I intended to have a sandwich at my desk this afternoon. Er—they're repairing the sidewalk in the park where I usually go, so I thought I'd stay in. But if you'd rather I left—'

  'I asked you to have lunch with me this afternoon.'

  Her jaw dropped and she stared at him in stupefaction.

  'I distinctly remember asking you to be ready at twelve.'

  Jenna pulled herself together with difficulty. 'Asking me? You told me to be ready to take my lunch hour at twelve today instead of one o'clock.'

  'Good God, does every man who asks you to lunch have to go through this?'

  'Why would you want to take me?'

  A very loud, very succinct epithet assaulted her ears before he ripped her coat off a hanger and threw it at her. 'Believe me, it's strictly business, in case you're letting your imagination run away with you. You can rest assured, I wouldn't dream of taking advantage of your hidden charms. Icebergs aren't my type.'

  The insult made her shrivel with hurt. Somehow she thought he'd be above listening to petty office gossip.

  'We're meeting some representatives of the Borchini Company and I want you along to take some mental notes in case I miss something,' he said through his teeth.

  'Oh.'

  She felt very small as she preceded him out the door. The feeling persisted when she felt herself becoming the cynosure of all the eyes of her former co-workers as they walked through the halls, and it became magnified when she emerged from a taxi in front of an exclusive little restaurant in the heart of the city. The building itself didn't carry a name. There was just a small gold number on the grey brick.

  'Now what?' Royce asked irritably as she shrank back toward the street, her hands hopelessly trying to restore order to the wind-tangled wisps of hair falling in her eyes.

  'I—I'm not dressed for such a place.'

  His sweeping gaze mentally stripped away her shapeless brown coat. 'You're wearing a dark skirt and some kind of white blouse. The sensible shoes are the only thing out of place. And this.' He reached up and roughly pulled the pins from the thick shiny knot on top of her head. 'Why you try to wear it up is beyond me.'

  Her hair fell about her shoulders in untidy waves and she raked her fingers through it to keep it out of her eyes. 'It's a mess like this.'

  'It's got great possibilities. Leave it.'

  She didn't have time to argue with him. He gripped her elbow with punishing fingers and unceremoniously forced her into the restaurant.

  The light was dim after the bright sunlight outside and she had trouble focussing, but the firm hand on her elbow kept her from tripping as her feet sank in the thick carpeting in the darkness. When her eyes became accustomed to the lack of lighting, she saw quite a few people seated at cosy round tables. At the far end of the room, three men rose courteously at their approach.

  'Ah, Royce,' a dark wizened man with white hair greeted him.

  'Mr Borchini,' he nodded, shaking his hand. 'I'd like you to meet my secretary, Jennifer Caldwell.'

  'How do you do, Mr Borchini.' She felt him take her hand and kiss it gallantly, but her mind was falling all over itself. Royce Drummond actually knew her name! He'd never called her anything but 'Miss Paragon' for a month, and to hear him say it now unnerved her.

  'Jennifer Caldwell?' Arturo Borchini inspected her thoroughly and frowned. 'Are you related to Margaret Caldwell?'

  'I have a sister Margaret,' she said softly, looking to her employer for help, but he was shaking hands with the other two men on the table.

  'My sons and my assistants, Carlo and Nicolo,' Mr Borchini gestured to them, finishing the introductions before stepping aside to let the tall blonde girl coming back from the ladies' room join them.

  'Meg!' Jenna gasped.

  'Jenna!' Her sister was just as shocked. 'What are you doing here?'

  'I'm working,' she choked. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask where Robbie was and who was caring for him at this time of day and how many other times had Meg gone out to lunch like this. But she realised she couldn't say anything. She was still on the job. The only reason she was here was because she was a secretary, who had to keep alert and take mental notes. She couldn't let her own troubles intrude on her workday. This might be a social outing for Meg, but it wasn't for her. Using all her willpower, she forced her mind to concentrate on the job she was being paid to do.

  Royce Drummond was holding a chair for her, frowning darkly at her preoccupation, and with a hurried gulp she sat down next to him. Meg was already seated across from them with the two handsome Borchini sons on either side of her. They smiled politely when they were introduced to Jenna, but it was obvious to everyone that they couldn't keep their eyes off Meg.

  'Royce, I'm beginning to see how right you are,' Mr Borchini grinned widely, clapping him on the shoulder. 'Margaret is perfect. Her bone structure is striking. The eyes, the face, everything about her is perfection. Right, Carlo? Nicky?'

  They immediately nodded their assent, and Jenna wondered if they realised what fools they were making of themselves.

  Meg was dressed in a softly draped dress of sky blue wool that clung to her willowy figure like a gentle caress. Her hair had been done by a professional that morning, Jenna realised, looking at the smooth gold chignon at the nape of her swanlike neck. But she quickly put it out of her mind, because all she could do was wonder where she had left Robbie while she was having it done.

  By the time a vintage wine was brought to them and their meal was ordered, Jenna had successfully managed to hide her distress behind a calm face. From time to time she felt her employer turn from a lingering study of Meg to flick his burning eyes over her own features.

  Flushing hotly, she barely controlled the mad impulse to smack his face. It was obvious he was comparing her to Meg, and in a case like that, she came out a loser every time. Meg was tall and voluptuous; Jenna was short and thin. Meg knew how to use make-up, but the only thing Jenna ever wore was a rose-coloured lipstick.

  Royce Drummond might have been able to conceal his thoughts behind a bland impersonal mask, but the Borchini men were not so subtle, and Jenna dwindled in her chair, feeling more and more out of place.

  'It's so hard to believe you're sisters,' Carlo kept saying. 'Meg is so beaut—'

  His father nudged him sharply in the ribs. 'I'm sure your talents lie in other directions, Miss Caldwell,' he said in an attempt to smooth over his son's cutting blunder. 'It's not always the apparent beauty of a woman that is the most satisfying thing in the long run. Many plain women have been the moving force behind great success.'

  'I understand what you're trying to say, Mr Borchini. I also understand why you need a beautiful model like Meg to help sell your cosmetics,' Jenna said softly, the sweep of her lashes concealing the hurt in her eyes. It twisted in her stomach and with an effort she smiled and tried to keep the stiffness out of her voice. 'Plain women like me can look at the ads and, if they're presented right, feel that by using your products, we, too, can look beautiful.'

  Mr Borchini pursed his lips. 'Do you really believe that?'

  'Of course.'

  'I disagree,' Carlo said shortly. 'If there is no beauty to begin with, no one can believe using our products will create it.'

  He might have been speaking in the abstract, but Jenna took it personally. Her face flamed at his cutting cruelty.

  'Oh, come now! You must realise beauty is an illusion,' Royce Drummond cut in, becoming animated now that they were starting to talk business instead of staring at Meg. 'We're in the business of creating that illusion,' he said firmly. 'Now here's what we propo
se to do…'

  Jenna felt the curling sensation of hurt expanding in her stomach as all the talk of beauty and cosmetics and the elusive images of advertising began floating around her. She was far removed from the world of beautiful women and every one of the men sitting here knew it. Still, she had to listen to it all.

  An elegant meal was served by soft-footed waiters, and she watched while they ate with enthusiasm as they talked, but she could hardly eat a thing. Meg was asked for her opinion time and time again, with Carlo and Nicky hanging on her every word. But Jenna remained aloof, listening to the business discussed while trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

  She needn't have worried that they would notice her. When the plates had been cleared and the deal concluded with handshakes, she excused herself to go to the ladies' room and not one of the men took his eyes off Meg to acknowledge it.

  Just once, she said to her unhappy reflection in the powder room mirror, just once to have a man look at me like they're looking at Meg… She plunged her hands into ice cold water and splashed some in her face. Not since she was nineteen had she indulged in such jealous self-pity. There was no sense letting it get the better of her now. It wasn't worth the aggravation. Besides, she knew Meg must have just as much trouble coping with her flawless beauty as she did with her plainness.

  The thought cheered her, and when she returned to the table, the Borchini men made a gallant departure and Royce Drummond turned to Meg. 'I'll drop your sister at the office, then take you home, all right?'

  Meg smiled brightly, ignoring Jenna's silent signals to refuse. 'Of course, Royce. Anything you say. I'm so grateful to you for what you've done for my career. I'll be working with the best in the business now. Maybe on the way home you'll think of a way I can show my appreciation?'

  Jenna's lips pressed into a tight thin line as she quickly slipped on her coat and turned away, trying not to picture all the other women in his life and the various ways they expressed their appreciation. Oh, Meg! I could shake you till your teeth rattle! Don't you see how depraved he is? And what about Robbie? The silent thought was stifled in her throat, but it ached all the same.