Truth or Dare (5 page)

She was asleep in seconds.

*  *  *  *

An hour later Jared knocked on her hall door and got no answer.  Maybe she had the television on and couldn't hear him.  He knocked louder.  "Rachel?"

Inside the room, Rachel groaned in protest at the noise intruding on her sleep.  "Go away," she murmured.

The pounding came again, louder this time.

"Go
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
away."

"Rachel?"

Rachel blinked.  Was that Jared's voice?  Oh, heavens, she'd fallen asleep.  Still groggy, she staggered toward the door.

"Rachel?  Are you all right?"

"I'm coming," she mumbled.  She felt rumpled beyond belief, but right then stilling that infernal pounding at her door seemed more important than straightening her clothes.

Jared pounded on the door again, worry tensing his shoulders.  She had looked incredibly tired on the plane.  Maybe she wasn't feeling well.

Then he heard her fumbling with the lock, and the door swung open.  She hung onto the door knob and swayed slightly.  Her clothes were a mess, to say nothing of her hair.  He felt like a jerk.  He'd obviously woken her up.

"Sorry," he said, skimming her from head to toe again.

Something about her hair snagged his attention.  Aside from being mussed from sleep, it looked
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
odd.  Crooked.  It came around too far on one side of her face.  On the other side, it started farther back than it should.  It was
—
I'll be damned.
  It was a wig.  Pushed askew as it was, he
could plainly see golden blond
hair
pulled tight beneath it.  Blond
!

One piece of the puzzle that was Rachel Fredrick clicked into place.  No wonder her skin looked so sallow and her hair didn't seem to suit her.  Her soft, golden complexion was never meant to be framed in black.

It was also never meant to be shaded with green glasses.  Without them, as she was now, he had his first clear view of her face and eyes.  He blinked.  "They're blue," he said softly.

She swallowed, her face going pale.  "What's blue?"

"Your eyes.  They're the most incredible shade of blue."

The panic that raced across those eyes was unmistakable.  Then she squinted.  "Jared?  I
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
I can't see.  Is that you?  Let me get my glasses."

Jared stuffed his hands in his pockets and bit the inside of his lip as she turned away and stumbled toward the bed.  He'd bet his station's standings in the next ratings that she could see just fine without those damn green glasses.

He was alarmed at how badly her hands shook as she grabbed the glasses from the night stand beside the bed.

"You don't need them, do you?" he asked quietly.

She whipped her head around toward him.  And she saw him plainly.  He read that much in those startled eyes.

"Of course I do," she claimed, her voice thin and breathy.  She shook so badly, she nearly poked herself in the eye with an earpiece while trying to get the glasses on.

A dozen questions battered him.  Why would she disguise herself?  Why would she deliberately make herself look so unattractive?

If he were feeling reasonable, he would admit it wasn't really any of his business.  If Rachel Frederick chose to wear an ugly wig and tinted glasses that made her look washed out, that was her privilege.

Still, he couldn't seem to stop himself from walking toward her and reaching for the glasses.  "May I?"

She jerked away so fast the glasses flew from her nose and landed on the floor next to Jared's foot.  As he bent to retrieve them, she stumbled back and made a strangled sound in her throat that sounded like fear.

Jared picked up the glasses and straightened, holding them up to the light.  He'd been right
—
they were plain, tinted glass.

The questions leaped through his mind again.  "Rachel?"

She flinched at the sound of his voice.  The fear he thought he had imagined was plainly visible in her wide blue eyes.  But it was more than fear, and it was directed at him.  She was terrified
—
of
him
.

He wasn't sure what kind of reaction he'd expected, but her fear surprised him.  Hurt him.

For one brief instant he wondered if she could be some sort of corporate spy sent by a competitor.  That might explain the fear he saw.

Then he dismissed the idea.  If he worked in New York or Los Angeles, or one of the other large television markets, something like that might be possible.  But not in Oklahoma City.  He knew his competitors and they knew him.  They might try to hire each other's employees away, but none of the men he knew would stoop to planting a spy.  No way.  Information was too easy to get without that.  There must be some other explanation for her disguise.  And her fear.  "What's this all about, Rachel?"

Her response was another step back.  Her eyes grew bigger, her trembling more violent.

"Why would you be afraid of me?  Damn it, you know I wouldn't hurt you."

Rachel slumped.  Of course he wouldn't hurt her.  Not physically.  She knew that.  This was Jared.  But he could hurt her, destroy her in ways other than physical.  If he found out
 
.
 
.
 
.
 

And he would find out about her past.  If he didn't recognize her yet, he soon would, surely.  The minute he saw what she really looked like, without the wig, the glasses, the ill
–
fitting clothes.

The guilt she had fought since the day he hired her rose to her throat and choked her.  Caroline's words rushed back. 
Isn't what you're doing
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
lying
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
sorta?

Rachel felt sick.  Had she really hoped to get away with her deception indefinitely?  Surely she hadn't been that stupid.

But yes, she had been that stupid.  That desperate.

The game, however, was up.  Jared had been good to her.  She
liked
him.  She owed him at least part of the truth.  He would probably realize the rest on his own.

With trembling hands she pulled the pins from the wig and tugged it from her head.  Her hair, matted and tangled from being stuffed beneath the wig, fell down her back.

She could do that much.  She could take off her wig.  But she somehow couldn't force herself to look him in the face.

His voice, when it came, sounded
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
hurt.  Confused.  "Why, Rachel?  Why?"

She raised her gaze to meet his, but couldn't answer.

He reached up and pulled a thick strand of her hair over her shoulder.  "Why would you want to hide this?"  With each word, his voice grew stronger, more demanding.  "Why the glasses?  Why the clothes that obviously don't fit?  Why, Rachel?"

Rachel's heart hammered against her ribs.  Could it be true?  Could he honestly not know who she was?  She watched his gaze drift over her face, her hair.  No flash of insight lit his eyes.  It must be true.  He didn't recognize her. 
Thank you, God.

"Are you going to answer me?" he asked quietly.

She dropped her gaze.  "Are you going to fire me?"

Jared was startled by her question.  Fire her?  He hadn't thought of it.  "I
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
I don't know what I'm going to do."

She had deceived him, made him feel like a fool.  But what, really, had she done?  She had worn a wig and a pair of glasses, and her clothes didn't particularly suit his taste.

Then he wondered
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
  "Is your name really Rachel Fredrick?"

Now it was her turn to look started.  "Of course.  I wouldn't lie."

"Wouldn't lie?" he cried.  "Your whole appearance is a lie.  Why should I believe anything else about you?"

She dropped her gaze quickly, as though his words hurt.  "So you're going to fire me?"

Jared rubbed the back of his neck in frustration.  "I don't know what I'm going to do," he repeated.

He watched, fascinated, as a look of determination crossed her face.  She looked him in the eye and straightened her shoulders.  "I'm good at my job.  You've said so yourself."

"Yes, and I meant it."

"Then what difference does it make what I look like?"

"What difference?  Are you crazy?  Rachel, you're beautiful.  Why would you want to look like
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
like this?  Why the charade?"

"What difference does it make, if you're going to fire me anyway?"

"Give me a good enough reason, and maybe I won't," he offered.  He saw a tiny spark of hope flare in her eyes.  She must want to keep this job.

And she did want it.  It was the best job she'd ever had.  If she lost it, the employment agency would want to know why.  If they found out what she'd done, she might not be able to get another job for quite a while, and she couldn't afford to be without one.

Aside from a financial standpoint, she needed her position as Jared's secretary for other reasons.  Her hectic, famous days, and the infamous ones that followed, had left her feeling adrift.  She needed a straightforward, organizational sort of job, one she could exert at least a minimum of control over.  She needed it to keep her feet on the ground, her head on straight, so she could rebuild her life, her own sense of self
–
worth.

She had started to feel those things happening since she'd gone to work for Jared.  She did not want to lose the ground she'd gained. 
Please, don't let me lose this job.

She took a deep breath and decided to tell him
—
not the truth, not all of it, anyway.  "My, uh,
looks
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
have caused me problems on past jobs."  There.  That was the literal truth.  Sort of.

"What?"

His bark of laughter angered her.  "It's true."

Jared cocked his head sideways as he sat on the bed and looked up at her.  "Are you trying to tell me that somewhere underneath all this," he waved his hand at her clothes, "lies a body that, uh, drives men wild?"

No, that wasn't what she meant, but if that's how he interpreted her words, so much the better.  "A minute ago you said I was beautiful."

"That doesn't mean I'm on the verge of attacking you, dammit."

"You asked me why, and I told you.  I can't help it if you don't believe me," she snapped.  Lord, she couldn't believe she was snapping at him. 
Take it easy, Rachel.  Easy.
  Her future rested in his hands.  She couldn't afford to antagonize him.

His eyes narrowed.  "So without ever having met me, without knowing anything about me, you came to my office that first day dressed like this, assuming that if you didn't disguise your
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
charms, I wouldn't be able to control myself?"

He was twisting her words, but to be fair, she supposed it was her own fault.  Still, the only way she could think to correct him would be by telling the truth, which she was not prepared to do.  Cowardly or not, she intended to cling to her anonymity with both hands for as long as she could.

"No comment, huh?"  His jaw bunched.  "In that case, I have to tell you, I resent the hell out of your implied accusation."

"I'm not accusing you of anything," she protested.

"Then you don't believe I'm a lecher who can't control his animal instincts?"

"Of course not."

"Prove it," he challenged, a sudden gleam in his eye.

Rachel took a step back and clutched the neck of her blouse.  "I beg your pardon?"

"Well don't look at me like I expect you to strip," he said with disgust.  "Just put on some clothes that fit, something dressy, and have dinner with me."

"I don't have any clothes like that with me," she said, her back stiffening at the challenge in his eyes.