A Season of Miracles. Heather Graham
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made quite an impression himself. Theo was equally presentable. Eileen was pure elegance and assurance. And Griff…
Griff excelled at being Griff.
“Office meeting over,” Jillian murmured with false cheer. She tried to slide off the car, but Marston stopped her.
She looked at his hand, then met his eyes. “I told you I’m all right.”
“If you won’t go to the hospital, at least let me take you home.”
“I’m fine. Tip can see me home. He may look like Carmen Miranda, but in real life, he’s one of New York’s finest.”
“So you’re a cop. Nice to meet you.”
“Ditto,” Tip told him, as the two men shook hands.
“Did you drive, Tip?” Marston enquired, those dark eyes settling on the cop.
“No, ’fraid not,” Tip told Jillian apologetically.
“I don’t need a ride,” Jillian protested.
“Jillian, you passed out cold,” Connie said.
“Thanks, Connie,” she murmured.
“You might have hurt yourself.”
“But I didn’t!”
“You were leaving, anyway,” Marston reminded her. “So let me take you home.”
“You just got here, so I’m sure you don’t want to leave. Go on in and have a good time.”
“And what would I tell Douglas in the morning?” he asked, a half smile curving his lips.
“That his granddaughter is pigheaded?” Joe supplied.
“Joe…” his wife said warningly.
“I really don’t think that watching me is part of the job,” Jillian began.
“I wouldn’t want to bet on that,” Joe said.
“Okay, okay. I’ll go home with Marston,” she said, aggravated.
“You can call me Robert, Bob, Rob, or even Bobby. Most of the time, when people call me Marston, they put a ‘mister’ in front of it,” he said, his tone conversational but with a slight edge, his dark eyes on her.
She eased off the car, meeting that gaze. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Marston.”
He smiled. An honest smile. She looked away, biting her lip.
“’Night, then,” Connie said.
“Good night.” Jillian hugged Connie, kissed Joe and then Tip on a cheek, and walked around to the passenger side of the car. He was already there, opening the door for her.
Call me, Connie mouthed.
She would call her, all right.
A moment later, they were in traffic.
He drove competently, assertively, but not recklessly. He was playing a Celtic CD; a woman was singing about a highwayman. Partiers filled the sidewalks, all laughing, some loaded, some simply happy. Taxis veered in and out; horns blared.
“I live at—” she began.
“I know where you live,” he told her.
Fine.
A few minutes later, they pulled up to the house on Manhattan’s upper east side. It was one of the few old mansions that remained. Among a sea of skyscrapers, it stood three stories tall. A brick wall with wrought-iron gates separated it from its neighbors.
Here, away from the throngs, the streets were quiet. Marston didn’t opt to enter the driveway but slid into an impossible spot on the street.
Before the engine had died, Jillian was reaching for the door handle.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked her. She could hear his amusement.
“No, of course not.” Her fingers fell from the handle.
“Do you resent my being hired?”
He was blunt. “No. Why should I?”
“Want to hear all the rumors?” he queried.
She shook her head. “No. Do you want to hear the truth?”
“Sure.”
“I like design. I enjoy what I do. I especially like jewelry, but make occasional forays into fashion, as well. I don’t want my grandfather’s kingdom. I don’t even think my grandfather wants all his kingdom anymore. So why should I resent you being hired?”
He smiled, looking not at her, but straight ahead at the road, at the night. “Because in a kingdom, you always have to have a king. Or a queen.”
“Well, if we have a king, it’s Daniel. Are you planning to push him from the throne?”
“I’ve been given shares in the company and a very satisfactory title. Part of the package when I came over. Daniel has his own role.”
“Then, we all ought to be just peachy-keen,” she murmured. She looked at him. “Thanks for the ride. I’m sorry to have troubled you.” She fumbled with the door. He reached over her and opened the door easily.
“Thanks,” she muttered.
“I would feel better if I walked you in.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“But you don’t resent me?” he queried lightly. He stepped out of the car as she did.
“Okay, walk me in.”
“You did have quite a reaction to seeing me walk through the door tonight.”
“I wasn’t reacting to you,” she said, her heart pounding. What had she reacted to?
The pain. The pain had been unbearable, and the world had gone black.
“Then?” he pressed.
“The tarot card reader,” she said.
“What?”
“There was a woman reading tarot cards. She started screaming, rolling her eyes—and calling me a witch. She wouldn’t stop. She was pretending to be in a trance or something, and we decided to get out. I just needed air,” she said, finishing rather lamely.
“I had nothing to do with it?”
She met his gaze again, black in the shadows. She still felt…wary of him. But curiously drawn, as well. She had to admit he was being polite, and he seemed to have a sense of humor.
She shook her head. “No,” she lied, then smiled. “Honestly, I don’t resent you. I think you’ve got great credentials, and I really don’t want to run the company.”
“If that’s a welcome, thanks, I’ll take it.”
“Sure. It’s a welcome. In fact, please come in, if you’d like. Have a drink here, since you never got your chance at Hennessey’s.”
“Despite the much-appreciated-but-debatable sincerity of that offer, I’m afraid I have to refuse.”
“Ah, a date,” she murmured, lashes flicking downward. She was definitely losing her mind. She hadn’t wanted him to take her home, and had tried very hard to shake him. And now…
She was disappointed. And curious.
Jealous? She wondered who he was meeting.
“An appointment,” he said lightly. “You’re sure you’re all right?”
“I’ve never felt better. Honestly.”
“All right, then.”
But he stood there, watching her.
“Well?”