A Season of Miracles (3 page)

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 gift. 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.

He looked up at last, staring at her as he recapped his pen. “Yes, quite some time ago,” he told her.

Like his brothers, Daniel was an attractive man. He liked clothing and appearances, and dressed well. His eyes were a deep brown, a true deep brown that could appear black. His gaze was always fathomless. Many times, when she'd been young, Daniel had been her protector. Ten years her senior, he had often taken her to and from school. In those days, he had been like a big wolf between her and any danger—be it real or imagined. She had loved him deeply; he had been her favorite relative.

But that had been a long time ago.

In the past several years, with her grandfather handing out more and more responsibility, things had changed.

Daniel had held the reins of power for a long time.

The fact that she was a direct descendant seemed to be raising a barrier between them—though he didn't seem to show the same reserve to Eileen. Maybe it was all in Jillian's mind. And maybe she had been so involved with the details of her work—and the death of her husband—that she had built her own walls between them.

“Sorry,” she said briefly. She decided not to mention the fact that Griff had forgotten to tell her that she was supposed to come here. “Really.”

“I thought you were trying to get out of here today?”

“I am. But I gave Connie the day off—” She broke off at his frown. “Daniel, she never misses work. She had some things to finish for the kids.”

“And the two of you are off together this afternoon. I'm not so sure it's a good thing to have your best friend as your assistant,” he told her.