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face harden. “And it looks as if I had every reason to! Here you are, trying to dump me without so much as a by-your-leave—”
    Damian reached out and turned on the radio. He punched buttons until he found a station playing something loud enough to drown out Gabriella’s voice. Then he swung back onto the road and stepped down, hard, on the gas.
    Less than three hours later, they were in Manhattan. Sunday night traffic was sparse, and it took only minutes for him to reach Gabriella’s apartment building on Park Avenue.
    The doorman hurried up. Gabriella snarled at him to leave her alone as she stepped from the car.
    â€œBastard,” she hissed, as Damian gunned the engine.
    For all he knew, she was still staring after him and spewing venom as he drove off. Not that it mattered. She was already part of the past.

CHAPTER THREE
    J EAN KAPLAN had been Damian Skouras’s personal assistant for a long time.
    She was middle-aged, happily married and dedicated to her job. She was also unflappable. Nothing fazed her.
    Still, she couldn’t quite mask her surprise when her boss strode into the office Monday morning, said a brisk, “Hello,” and then instructed her to personally go down to the newsstand on the corner and purchase copies of every fashion magazine on display.
    â€œFashion magazines, Mr. Skouras?”
    â€œFashion magazines, Ms. Kaplan.” Damian’s expression was completely noncommittal. “I’m sure you know the sort of thing I mean. Femme, Chic ...all of them.”
    Jean nodded. “Certainly, sir.”
    Well, she thought as she hurried to the elevator, her boss had never been anyone’s idea of a conventional executive. She permitted herself a faint smile as the doors whisked open at the lobby level. When you headed up what the press loved to refer to as the Skouras Empire, you didn’t have to worry about that kind of thing.
    Maybe he was thinking of buying a magazine. Or two, or three, she thought as she swept up an armload of glossy publications, made her way back to her employer’s thirtieth floor office and neatly deposited them on his pale oak desk.
    â€œHere you are, Mr. Skouras. I hope the assortment is what you wanted.”
    Damian nodded. “I’m sure it is.”
    â€œAnd shall I send the usual roses to Miss Boldini?”
    He looked up and she saw in his eyes a flash of the Arctic coldness that was faced by those who were foolish enough to oppose him in business.
    â€œThat won’t be necessary.”
    â€œOh. I’m sorry, sir. I just thought...”
    â€œIn fact, if Miss Boldini calls, tell her I’m not in.”
    â€œYes, sir. Will that be all?”
    Damian’s dark head was already bent over the stack of magazines.
    â€œThat’s all. Hold my calls until I ring you, please.”
    Jean nodded and shut the door behind her.
    So, she thought with some satisfaction, Gabriella Boldini, she of the catlike smile and claws to match, had reached the end of her stay. Not a minute too soon, as far as she was concerned. Jean had seen a lot of women flounce through her employer’s life, all of them beautiful and most of them charming or at least clever enough to show a pleasant face to her. But Gabriella Boldini had set her teeth on edge from day one.
    Jean settled herself at her desk and turned on her computer. Perhaps that was why Mr. Skouras had wanted all those magazines. He’d be living like a monk for the next couple of months; he always did, after an affair ended. What better time to research a new business venture? Soon enough, though, another stunning female would step into his life, knowing she was just a temporary diversion but still hoping to snare a prize catch like him.
    They always hoped, even though he never seemed to know it.
    Jean gave a motherly sigh. As for herself, she’d given up hoping. There’d been a time she’d clung to the belief that her boss would find himself