Sex, Lies and the CEO. Barbara Dunlop

a lovely brooch,” she said to her as they walked.

      Luckily, the woman turned and gave her a friendly smile. “Thank you. It’s Cartier.”

      Darci frowned. “Oh dear. You have a little crease.” She boldly reached to the fabric above the brooch, pretending to smooth it out.

      “May I confirm your invitation, sir,” the butler said to the older man.

      Darci’s heart thudded as the man handed him a card.

      “Nice of you to join us, Mr. Saunders,” said the butler.

      “There we go,” Darci said to the woman, keeping her gaze studiously fixed on the dress, pretending she was part of the Saunders party. “That looks much better.”

      “Thank you.” The woman, obviously Mrs. Saunders, nodded her appreciation.

      Another couple stepped up behind them, drawing the butler’s attention, and Darci quickly moved forward.

      Her heart was still thudding wildly as they went through the stately front doors and into the huge foyer.

      “Enjoy your evening,” she managed to say to Mrs. Saunders.

      “Enjoy yours,” Mrs. Saunders replied.

      Darci peeled off to the right, anxious to mix in with the nearest crowd.

      “Champagne, ma’am?” asked a neatly uniformed waiter.

      “Thank you.” Darci helped herself to a crystal flute from his tray.

      She had no intention of consuming any alcohol, but holding the glass would make her look more like a genuine guest.

      Earlier in the week, she’d started a job in the records department of Colborn Aerospace. It was an entry-level position, requiring little in the way of experience, with a very low pay rate.

      But for her, it was perfect, because it gave her access to the basement of the building. She and Jennifer had then poured over her father’s few belongings, hoping for a clue to the location of the original turbine-design drawings. Unfortunately, they hadn’t found anything else that seemed to help.

      But during her company orientation, Darci learned that some of the historical records were stored in the basement of the mansion. So when she read about the search-and-rescue fundraiser, she threw together this plan.

      As the guests milled around her in the main reception room, she took an absentminded sip of the champagne. So far, so good.

      “Good evening.” A thirty-something man in a business suit approached her.

      “Good evening,” Darci returned, mustering a friendly smile.

      He offered his hand. “I’m Lawrence Tucker, Tucker Transportation.”

      “Darci.” She hesitated for a split second, realizing she shouldn’t use her real name. “Lake.”

      “Nice to meet you Darci Lake. You’re a supporter of the search-and-rescue program?”

      “Very much so. And you?”

      His handshake was firm, his attitude forthright. He was a fairly attractive man, tall, with broad shoulders that gave him a powerful stance.

      “Tucker Transportation donated twenty containers of freight shipping to anywhere in Europe.” He indicated a long row of tables with silent-auction signage above them.

      “You ship to Europe?” She wanted to keep the conversation focused on him and away from her.

      “We ship worldwide. Europe, Africa, Asia, Pacific.”

      “You’re a large company?”

      “You’ve never heard of Tucker Transportation?”

      “I’ve definitely heard of you,” she quickly lied. “But I’m afraid I don’t know many details.”

      “We’re the third-largest shipping company in the nation.”

      “Impressive.” She took another sip of her champagne.

      “There you are, Tuck.” A tall, gorgeous blonde woman twined her arm possessively around Lawrence Tucker’s.

      “Hello, Petra.” He greeted her with a quick peck on the cheek.

      She pouted her deep red lips. “Don’t forget, you promised to come with me on a wine-cellar tour.”

      “I haven’t forgotten.”

      The woman’s gaze moved to Darci, where it paused, becoming speculative.

      “This is Darci Lake,” said Tuck.

      “Nice to meet you,” said Petra. She didn’t let go of Tuck. If anything, she pressed closer.

      She was several inches taller than Darci and wearing four-inch heels. Darci guessed she was in her late twenties. Her manicure was perfect, as was her hair. And her gown likely cost more than Darci’s. Plus, she probably owned it.

      “It was nice to meet you,” Darci said to Tuck, not having the slightest desire to get between Petra and her designs on the man. “Perhaps I’ll see you again later on.”

      As she moved toward the back of the house, Darci left the great room behind and found herself in a wide open hall. It had twenty-foot ceilings, marble pillars and gleaming white archways. Antique-style lampposts dotted the perimeter, while an imposing wrought-iron chandelier hung in the center of the room. The decor focused on an equestrian theme, with a big bronze statue of a stallion on a large rough-hewn wood table. Rich oil paintings of rural stables and the countryside hung on the walls, and several red velvet-and-walnut armchairs bordered the room.

      After an initial scan of the area, Darci found her attention drawn to a small open doorway. It led to a staircase, tucked in a corner behind a pillar and partially screened by one of the lampposts.

      She wandered toward it, pretending to be fascinated by a grandfather clock against the wall. Feeling like a spy, she glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention to her movements.

      The crowds were sparser here than out front in the great room. But there were enough people that she blended.

      She eased her way behind the lamp.

      Then she moved to the pillar.

      With another quick check to make sure no one was watching, she scooted to the shadowed staircase and started down.

      The stairwell was dim, and she gripped the rail. After what seemed like a long distance, she came out at a narrow white-walled hallway with a blue-and-silver-tiled floor and fluorescent lights along the ceiling.

      Her heart began pounding harder as she chose between left and right. Right would take her to the back of the house while left would take her toward the front. It was a toss-up, but it seemed to her that decades-old business records would more likely be at the rear of the house.

      She turned right and started along the hall.

      She came to a closed door and tried the knob. It was locked. She jiggled it, thinking it was old and it might give way.

      “Can I help you with something?” came a deep, accusatory voice.

      She quickly twisted around, and her heart sank with a thud.

      His face was shadowed, but she instantly recognized him.

      She swallowed. “Mr. Colborn.”

      He took a step forward, his piercing blue eyes pinning her in place. “Did you take a wrong turn?”

      Her mind scrambled for a plausible explanation. “I, uh...I heard you were giving a wine-cellar tour.”

      His eyes narrowed. “You did, did you?”

      “Petra mentioned it. Petra and Tuck. I was talking to them earlier, and—”

      “You know