A Season of Miracles, Page 2

  “You know,” Griff said, wagging a finger at her, “you could do a lot worse. I am handsome, witty, urbane and charming.”

  “Of course I could do worse. But you’re my cousin. So, Griff—”

  “Don’t you remember playing naked together on those fur rugs when we were babies?”

  “Griff, we never played naked together on any fur rugs.”

  “I guess not. If we had, you would have remembered.”

  She groaned and laid her head on the desk. “Griff, what’s your problem? You’re cute, you’re—”

  “Cute? I want to be sexy and devastating.”

  “Okay, you’re sexy and devastating.”

  “That’s better.”

  “And I’m really trying to finish up and get out of here today.”

  “I’m really here on an errand of mercy.”

  “Oh?” she queried carefully.

  “It’s Halloween. I didn’t want you going home alone. You know, poor little rich girl, all alone in the family mansion. That big old place where none of the rest of us are invited to live.”

  She leaned back, grinning. “You are such a pathetic liar.”

  “Well, in a way, but not really. I don’t want to live in the family mansion. I like my privacy. And believe it or not, the family fortune isn’t my bag, though I do like to live with a certain style.”

  “Griff, I have no fear of you ever changing.”

  He grinned. “I’m worthless, totally. And happy. And smart enough to be grateful.”

  “You pretend to be worthless, but you know you’re not. Anyway, I need to get out of here.”

  “So you can sit by the fire like a little old lady and hand out candy to the kiddies? No. Ever since Milo died, you don’t do anything or go anywhere. It’s time for you to start doing things again. You’re not a mole. Not to mention, you’re far too young and…yes, good-looking. Why, Jillian, some people might even call you beautiful. Thanks to good family genes, of course. And right now all that beauty is just being wasted. You need to get out again.”

  She felt a rush of air escape her. It was odd how life went on, but that, at strange moments, grief would come sailing back and, like a blanket, wrap itself around her. She had known what she was doing when she got married. She had always known she would lose Milo.

  And she knew that Griff really was here to help her.

  So she smiled. “For your information, I am going out.”

  “A date?” he queried.

  “Maybe.”

  “With Robert Marston?” he asked carefully.

  “Robert Marston?” she repeated impatiently.

  Robert Marston had just started working for the company. He wore Armani just as well as Griff did, but he came with sharp, very dark eyes and, in Jillian’s opinion, a sharper—possibly darker—mind. He was handsome, intelligent, deep-voiced and very articulate. He had gone to school with Theo, and spent the past five years with one of the fastest-growing computer companies in the world. He was the type of man who walked into a room and drew attention. By his physical nature he seemed to exude authority.

  She had felt wary of him from the moment she had first seen him—and that had actually been from quite a distance. She didn’t even know the color of those dark eyes of his. There had been far too many rumors flying about for her to willingly meet the man her grandfather had brought into the business.

  Was he stepping on her cousins’ toes? Or were her cousins in agreement with the situation, content for Marston to be the one with the power? Somehow, she doubted it.

  “Why on earth would you assume I’m going out with him?” she asked too sharply. She had wanted to convey courteous impatience. She was afraid that her tone had given away concern.

  His grin told her that he had, indeed, heard far more than impatience in her voice. “Well, are you going out with him?”

  “No, I haven’t even met him yet. I saw him across a room. And I don’t believe in going out with business associates.”

  “So?”

  “I’m going out with Connie.”

  “With Connie?” he repeated. Was that relief she heard in his voice? Connie had been one of her best friends forever, way back to grade school. Connie was also her administrative assistant. And since it was such a family enterprise, Connie’s husband, Joe, also worked for the company. He was on Daniel’s staff.

  “Yes, Connie and I are going out. As we do every Halloween,” she reminded him.

  He dropped his teasing manner for a moment and looked at her seriously. “You’re really going to go—”

  “Christmas shopping, yes.”

  “As everyone does on Halloween,” he responded with a fine line of sarcasm.

  “It’s a personal tradition,” she said with feigned indignation. It was a strange tradition, she knew, and it had started when they were little kids who went trick-or-treating together. Now Connie had two daughters, a dog, a cat, a bird and in-laws coming out the kazoo, so she traditionally started her Christmas shopping on October thirty-first, convinced that the best Christmas sales came on Halloween, when everyone was doing last-minute scrambling for a costume. They had a great time shopping, then going trick-or-treating with the girls, and then, usually, just spending the evening together checking out the acquired candy.

  “All right,” Griff said. “Just so long as you’re really going out.”

  “I really am.”

  “Not to baby-sit or hand out candy.”

  “No.” Her voice was steady. She wasn’t baby-sitting, and she wasn’t handing out candy.

  “And you’re really going to have a good time.”

  “Really.”

  “Because if you came with me, I’d show you a good time, you know.”

  “I’m sure you would.”

  He slid off her desk at last, brushing her cheek with his fingertips. “I’d show you off to all my friends. You are gorgeous, you know.”

  She caught his hand and squeezed it. “Thanks, Griff.”

  “Oh, by the way, Daniel asked to see you. His office.”

  “When?”

  Griff looked at his watch. “Hmm…a while ago, I guess.”

  “Griff, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing.” He placed his hands on her desk and leaned toward her again. “Why don’t you defy him? Just go home!”

  “Because it might be important,” she said impatiently. She stood and walked past him.

  “Hey, Jillian?”

  She turned back.

  “Happy Halloween. And merry Christmas shopping.”

  * * *

  Eileen Llewellyn paced in front of the storyboards set up in her office, looking at the newest sketches for the catalog campaign. Of medium height, with coal-dark hair that was expertly styled to flatter her heart-shaped face, she was elegant, efficient and a picture of total sophistication. She liked business suits with tailored jackets, short skirts and high heels. She walked with an aura of confidence and authority. One look from her cool blue eyes could silence a room. She had been born to soar in the business world.

  But at the moment she was agitated. She groped for the pack of cigarettes on her desk, slipped one out without looking and lit it, grateful in the back of her mind that the company owned the building and she could smoke in her own office whenever she damn well pleased. Exhaling a cloud of smoke eased her aggravation slightly, but still, she continued to stare at one storyboard, in particular. It showed a woman in an off-the-shoulder, long-sleeved, dramatic gown with a flowing skirt; it somehow had the look of something from another time, another world. The woman was draped across an iron chair near a fireplace, and a man was bending down before her, his fingers brushing the bare flesh of her throat while he set a locket around her neck. It was a wonderful sketch. Striking. Seldom could one piece of art speak so clearly, especially in the commercial world. The artist was to be highly commended. It conveyed everything it should. The timelessness of a gift of fine jewelry. The pure romance of such a gif
t. The class, refinement…more. It was wonderful. What she could do with this one sketch alone…

  But, damn, it was irritating.

  There was a tapping on her door.

  “I’m busy,” she called out sharply.

  The door opened, anyway.

  Theo walked in. He was a tall man, imposing in stature. Though barely thirty, he had already acquired a few gray strands in his dark hair. They gave an impression of wisdom and authority. He knew how to use his physical presence well, but he didn’t intimidate her. She glanced at him over her shoulder, irritation evident in her eyes.

  “Theo, I said—”

  “Yeah, I can see you’re busy, puffing away.”

  “What do you want?”

  “It’s great, isn’t it? I want to use it for more than just the catalog. I want to pull some of the ads we’ve already got for December and rush this in, instead.”

  She flashed him a frown. “Theo, it’s way too late to go changing the Christmas ads! December magazines are already on their way out.”

  “I was thinking newspapers. And maybe a television campaign, after Christmas.”

  “Television? It’s a sketch!”

  Theo was silent for a moment, arms folded over his chest, eyes on hers. He smiled slowly. “We both know the real thing isn’t a sketch.”

  No, the real thing wasn’t a sketch. It was Jillian. A perfect likeness. The woman was tall, elegantly slim, but shapely, as well. The hair was long and a beautiful reddish blond. The eyes were deep green, like expensive emeralds. It was Jillian.

  And she had been drawn with love. Or at least with pure infatuation.

  “Eileen?” Theo said.

  She let out a sigh of impatience, stubbing out her cigarette. “Jillian is a designer. Yes, she’s good-looking, Theo, really good-looking, but she isn’t an actress.”

  “She could carry this off, and we both know it.”

  “Brad Casey in art must have a hell of a crush on her. Besides, who knows if she’d even be willing.”

  “Brad Casey saw something and used it in this drawing. As to Jillian being willing? Our Jillian? She is Llewellyn Enterprises. She lives and breathes the company.”

  “Careful. She gets angry when you say that,” Eileen warned.

  He arched a brow. “Hmm. I’m just a hard-working second cousin—you’re a direct descendant of the old boy, just like our Jillian.”

  “Well,” she said sweetly, leaning back against her desk to light another cigarette and survey him with cool blue eyes, “Grandfather doesn’t seem to care about that, does he. No one compares with Jillian, but you’re right up there, aren’t you, Theo?”

  “Eileen, it sounds as if we need to supply your office with a scratching post.”

  “Would you stop, Theo? I didn’t start this. Look—”

  “Eileen, you know I’m right, you know this is brilliant. Pure accident, and yes, that poor sod Brad Casey probably does have a crush on Jillian. But it’s perfect.”

  A hard rap on the door interrupted them. Griff swept in, bearing a silver tray with a tea serving and Halloween cookies. He slid the tray onto Eileen’s desk and looked at the sketches.

  “Wow! Our golden girl is a beauty, isn’t she? I mean, for real. No wonder the old boy dotes on her.”

  “Griff, some of us want to get out of here today,” Eileen said, walking around behind her desk.

  “Television spots would be perfect,” Griff told Theo. “I heard you through the door,” he said in response to Theo’s quizzical look.

  “Thanks for the input,” Theo said briefly. “What’s with the cookies?”

  “The old boy sent them out to all of us—his idea of trick-or-treat, I guess,” Griff said. “I gallantly swept them from the hands of the young office assistant about to hear you two airing the family laundry.”

  “We weren’t airing the family laundry,” Eileen said impatiently.

  “Think Jillian will be willing?” Theo asked Griff.

  “We can persuade her.”

  “I want to move on this before Marston gets any more involved.”

  “Endear Jillian to us before Marston gets his hands on her, huh?” Griff teased.

  “What are you talking about?” Theo asked impatiently.

  “He’s brilliant, right? And the old boy has pulled him in above all of us.”

  Theo turned away, studying the sketches again. “Don’t be ridiculous. I suggested Marston. I went to school with him.”

  “He’ll be just like Big Brother—watching,” Griff said.

  “This is a company, not a kingdom,” Theo said impatiently.

  But Eileen was studying Griff thoughtfully. “Douglas Llewellyn is all about family. Marston is nothing, really, not without—” Eileen said.

  “Jillian,” Griff said. “Ah, but then…”

  “What?” Eileen asked.

  “There’s you, of course. Another direct descendant. You could slip in and cut her out of the running, keep an eye on him.”

  “Griff, you’re ridiculous. I’ve been engaged for—”

  “Oh, yeah. You and Gary Brennan have been engaged for what—five years? You won’t give the poor fellow a wedding date. He might want you to go by Mrs. Brennan. Horrors,” Griff said with a shudder. “Would you give up the family name, Eileen? Even for love?”

  “Many businesswomen keep their maiden names, Griff,” Eileen said icily. “I adore Gary—we just haven’t had time to plan a wedding.”

  “No time in five years. Imagine that,” Griff said with mock solemnity.

  “I told you—I adore him,” Eileen said sharply.

  “I’m sure you do. But you’d throw the poor boy to the sharks in two seconds if he were any threat to your position at Llewellyn Enterprises,” Griff teased.

  “There is no threat to me—I actually work,” Eileen snapped back, eyes narrowed.

  “Touché,” Griff told her.

  Theo let out an impatient sound. “I hope to God we’re not being overheard. We sound exactly like a pack of squabbling children, and we’re supposed to be running a major company. We all work here, and we work hard.” His eyes fell on his brother, and he shrugged. “All right, most of us work hard. But to suggest that there was an underlying reason for bringing in Marston, to even think that anything should go on is…”

  “Is what?” Griff demanded

  “Sick,” Theo announced. “And the old boy is in perfect health. To begin to imagine that anything is going on is—”

  “Theo,” Griff interrupted, “your lack of curiosity is positively boring. Don’t you think it’s just a little bit strange? I mean, we’ve been dividing the executive duties here since we got out of college.”

  “You’ve had executive duties, Griff?” Eileen asked.

  “You’re not being very nice,” Griff said.

  “I am nice,” she snapped back, a trace of hurt in her tone. Griff heard it, she knew. He always saw the smallest sign of weakness in those around him. “I am nice. I’m simply efficient. When people are ‘artistic,’ they don’t have to be quite so efficient.”

  Theo came around behind her, speaking softy. “Artistic? Like cousin Jillian?”

  “Theo, I love Jillian dearly. We have a bond. Just like you boys have the bond of brotherhood.”

  “We’re all Llewellyns,” Theo said flatly.

  “And you’re just as nice as can be,” Griff told Eileen, grinning.

  “God himself is going to come down and slap you right across your silly face one day,” Eileen told him.

  “Did I just say she’s nice?” Griff asked Theo.

  “Griff, some of us do have work to do.”

  “I know. That’s the point. I’m getting scared. I may have to actually start working around here, now that Marston has suddenly been called in. The old man has been watching Jillian grieve all this time. She’s been widowed a year now,” Griff said. He looked at the other two. “Almost a year. The traditional mourning time is coming to an end.”

  “
The old man has figured out that there’s more work than all of us can handle, and he’s brought in a crack management and numbers man who happens to be an old school friend of mine. That’s all there is to it. And I’ve got things to do,” Theo said impatiently. “Eileen, this image here is the one I want to go with. When I meet with our major accounts, I’ll be letting them know that a Llewellyn will actually be displaying our jewelry in our next ad campaign. Get busy with it. See what kind of guest shots we can get on the talk circuit. You can use the family name when you’re trying to land guest spots on radio or television. It may be a bit crass to try to cash in on our good works, but God knows, we give enough to charity at Christmas.”

  “We like to get our tax breaks in before New Year’s,” Griff muttered.

  “If we didn’t make a fortune, we wouldn’t be able to give away big bucks,” Theo snapped. “Get on with it, both of you.”

  He walked out of the room.

  Griff grinned at Eileen. “Get on with it, huh?”

  “Get out of here, Griff.”

  He left, and Eileen sat down, drumming her beautifully manicured nails on her desk. How dare they accuse her of jealousy? She loved Jillian, who was the closest thing to a sister she had. She made a face and mimicked Theo’s tone. “Get on with it. I’m not a servant, Theo. Get on with it?”

  She was silent for a minute, then she said softly, “Oh, I’ll be getting on with it, all right.”

  She picked up a cookie with pumpkin-orange icing and little black chocolate-drop eyes. She took a bite—a savage bite—glad she made the cute little cookie snap.

  Then she set the cookie down, stared at the tea service.

  “Oh, yeah. I’ll get on with it, all right.”

  * * *

  Jillian swept past Daniel’s secretary with a quick smile and knocked on his door.

  “Yes?” he said sharply from behind the wood.

  “It’s Jillian.”

  “Get in here.”

  She froze for a moment, disturbed by his tone. Then she gritted her teeth and walked in, closing the door behind her. He was behind his desk, writing, and he didn’t look up. She stood before his desk, feeling like an errant school child. Then she grew angry and impatient.

  “Daniel, you asked to see me,” she reminded him.