“And pretend there’s nothing wrong?” She pitched her voice high and tremulous, and Roger reached over the table and patted her hand.
“I’m so sorry to be the one to have to tell you this.”
“But—but isn’t there something you can do about it? That is why you told me, right? Because we still have a chance to stop him?” It really was too bad, she thought, that she hadn’t thought to bring a pocket tape recorder. But who would have suspected?
Roger leaned forward. “There’s only one way, dear girl. At the next board meeting, you would have to vote against him.” He paused. “I realize that’s asking a lot of you—”
“Roger, Jillian. Good afternoon. May I join you?” Gerard Kelvey stood beside their table.
Roger stood immediately and made appropriate noises of surprise, but his relief was so obvious that even if it hadn’t seemed like a too-convenient chance meeting, she’d have known immediately. Gerard, who’d been a stockholder since before she was born, a friend to Dax’s father Travers before him—Gerard Kelvey was working with Roger to run Dax out of his own family business.
As Gerard seated himself across from her, Roger looked him in the eye. “I’m glad you stopped by. I have been sharing our concerns about the direction Dax is taking the company with Jillian.”
“And?”
Even as a child, she’d never liked Kelvey, she recalled. He was one of those adults who simply gave you the creeps. Now she knew why. He looked just like a weasel. A beady-eyed, slimy little creature who wouldn’t hesitate to climb into the nest and steal the golden egg.
“I’m shocked,” she pronounced. “Simply shocked.”
“So was I,” Gerard pronounced in mournful tones.
“As was I.” Roger just couldn’t resist pouring it on.
“However,” she said, giving each man a devastating smile, “I doubt we are shocked for the same reason.”
Identical looks of noncomprehension followed her statement. She went on.
“I have an accounting degree. Dax has been sharing the books and all the interesting things he’s found in them with me for weeks.”
Roger’s eyes bulged wide. Gerard’s wrinkled face sagged in utter shock as each of the men absorbed the unexpected information.
“Which one of you is Shallott, Limited? Or whichever silly little corporate name you’ve picked this week?” she demanded. “Or didn’t you think Dax was smart enough to catch that? He’s known all along that someone was snapping up stock, but neither of us was too worried about it because our family controls more than half.” She stood. “I would hate to waste your time, gentlemen, so let me be brief. My family will continue to administer Piersall Industries in the competent hands of my husband. My votes are his, and his votes are mine.”
Gerard looked at Roger in disgust. “You told me you’d be able to manage her. This has all been a monumental waste of time.” Without another word, the older man stood and plowed through the crowd to the door.
There was utter silence in the wake of his departure. The sounds of other patrons didn’t even register with her. Jillian looked across the table at Roger’s white face. “Gerard’s right,” she said in a tight voice, battling with everything in her to control the rage she felt. “This has all been a monumental waste of time. I would never betray Dax. He’s the only man I’ve ever loved.”
As exit lines went, it was a grand one. Too bad she was too angry to fully appreciate it. It took her fully half the hour-long drive home to quit seething, and the other half to make a determined effort to be cheerful.
Dax had been right to be concerned. But there was no need. When she could discuss it rationally, maybe in a month or four, she’d tell him about the meeting and they’d laugh over it together.
Then again, she thought with the touch of fatalism that was becoming her constant companion these days, Dax didn’t believe her when she tried to explain about Charles; why should he believe something like this? It would all fade away eventually, anyhow, when no further movement of the stock occurred, and Dax would forget he’d ever worried about it.
His week seemed to last forever.
On Friday, Dax walked up the stairs to the bedroom he shared with Jillian. He wasn’t in a good mood. Three of the larger stockholders had sold within the past week.
One apologetically called him after the transaction and told him he just couldn’t pass on the kind of offer that had been made. He’d begun making calls and discovered the other two sales. Naomi Stell had informed him that someone had made her a very generous offer as well. She’d declined, she assured him and no, she didn’t know who because it came through her broker and it was confidential.
If the Shallot firm, or whoever the hell they really were, had been the purchasers in the most recent day of trading, they could possibly control as much as thirty-four percent of the votes right now.
Technically, he supposed he shouldn’t be worrying. Between the shares he and Jillian held and Christine’s which he controlled until she reached her majority, they controlled the direction of the board.
As long as they voted together.
The fact that Jillian had never turned over voting control of her stock to him hadn’t gone unnoticed. He’d never pursued it because he didn’t want to make an issue of something that probably was nothing. She was his wife, and they shared a concern for the company.
And there was no way he was going to risk upsetting her, given the funny, unusually quiet way she’d been acting ever since last Sunday night when she’d forced him to listen to her story about what went on between Charles and her that night.
What did she expect from him? Why wasn’t it enough that he was willing to forgive her?
He wanted to believe her. He really did. But he just wasn’t sure....
What he wanted was to forget those seven years had ever happened.
“Daddy?” Christine came out of her room. She was wearing the ballet costume Jillian had given her for her birthday and she carried a doll, also wearing a ballet outfit with pink satin shoes.
“Hi, honey. Are you getting ready to go onstage and dance for all your fans?”
She giggled. The sound was music to his ears; he realized that she was beginning to act much more like a little girl and less like the inhibited, miniature adult he’d come to expect.
“Daddy, Aunt Marina called Jillian a little while ago. She wants to know if I can come and stay overnight tonight!” Christine sounded as awed as if she’d been invited to meet her favorite movie star. “Can I? Tomorrow’s Saturday and she said I can stay all day.”
He pretended to consider the request. “Well, I suppose you can do that. If you promise not to eat with your fingers or burp at the table.”
She giggled again. “You’re silly, Daddy.” He could tell from her beaming face that she knew his answer was a yes, and he watched as she bounced down the stairs, ponytail—courtesy of Jillian this morning—bobbing. “I’m gonna go play in the yard with Elizabeth.”
He very nearly asked who Elizabeth was before he realized she was speaking of the doll. And as he went to find his wife, he decided that marrying her was the smartest thing he’d ever done if Jillian had the ability to make his daughter that happy.
He caught her unaware as she was folding her clothing into the drawers in their bedroom. He stood in the doorway for a few moments before she saw him, simply drinking in the sight of her in his home.
Then she turned slightly and he could see her face in the mirror, though she hadn’t seen him yet.
And he felt a chill dribble icy droplets down his spine. She looked sad. More than sad. Sorrowful. Sorrow-filled. They’d laughed about not getting enough sleep but this was something far different. Something he’d seen on her face a number of times recently when she thought she was alone.
An ugly thought sneaked into his head. Was she still mourning Charles? A clear memory rose to the surface of his mind, of Jillian sitting on his lap in the study downstairs. He’d mentioned Charles’s na
me and her entire body had tensed. Tightened. He’d forced himself to ignore it at the time, but it hadn’t been forgotten.
Then she raised her gaze and saw him in the mirror. Her face fell into its customary smiling lines and her eyes lit with the special warmth she saved only for him. “Hey there, handsome!”
He crossed the rug to her, kissing her lightly and taking the stack of clothing from her so that he could fit his already hardening body into its familiar niche against her. “Mm-m-m. I’ve waited for this all day.”
“The door’s open and Chrissy’s home,” she warned with a smile. “So you’re going to have to wait a little longer.”
He didn’t smile in return. “Honey-bunch, are you happy?”
She stilled in his arms. “Don’t I seem happy?”
“I think so,” he said, running his palms absently up and down her back, aware that she hadn’t answered him. “Are you?”
She moved closer, nuzzling into his neck, pressing small kisses up and down his throat, and he couldn’t see her eyes. “I’m happy,” she said, her words muffled against his neck. “Every day I wake up and pinch myself to be sure this is real.”
“Well, get used to it,” he said, his disquieting thoughts fading under the passion her slender figure aroused in him. “It’s going to be real for the rest of your life.”
“I’ll take it a day at a time,” she said.
The statement bothered him and he realized that she had avoided any discussion of their future so far. But she was on tiptoe against him, taking his earlobe gently between her teeth, and his body told him to quit worrying. His life was almost perfect. Why look for trouble?
He tore himself away from her and shut the bedroom door, locking it decisively. “The door’s closed,” he said unnecessarily. “How about I convince you that I’m real?”
Her beautiful face dissolved into lines of humor, underlaid with a slumberous passion that turned her blue eyes mysterious and inviting. “I’m hard to convince. This might take awhile.”
Two hours later, she drove Christine over to Marina’s for the night. By the time they left, Christine was so excited he thought he might have to peel her off the ceiling. As the door closed behind them, he headed for the study. Might as well try to make sense of these puzzling numbers one more time until Jillian got home and they’d have the house to themselves. He could already see them relaxing in the Jacuzzi tub with cold drinks.
Twenty minutes later, the doorbell interrupted his train of thought.
He rose and walked into the foyer, pulling open the heavy door. To his surprise, Gerard Kelvey stood on the other side.
“Gerard. Come in. What can I do for you?” Automatically, he offered the older man a hand. Kelvey had been one of his father’s cronies, and Dax had never particularly liked him. He suspected the feeling was mutual. He knew the man didn’t approve of his business decisions. He’d voted against Dax’s proposals consistently every time something came up.
Gerard hesitated, a mannerism out of character. “I, ah, I need to talk with you, Dax. It’s about the business.”
“Would you like to come into the study?” Dax ushered the older stockholder into the study and got him a drink. Then he leaned back against the edge of his desk. “Now, what’s on your mind?”
Kelvey cleared his throat. “You’re, ah, aware that there’s been significant stock movement over the past month, I’m told.”
Told by whom? Aloud, he said, “That’s correct. Are you one of those who’s been buying?”
Kelvey nodded. “I was.”
Dax noticed his use of the past tense. “I wondered why,” he said. “After all, it isn’t as though you could amass enough to influence the direction of the vote, given the quantity I hold. Who else is involved?”
“Roger. This was his idea.” Gerard shook his head, apparently disgusted with himself. “I never should have listened to him. Your father...your father was my friend. He offered me an opportunity to invest in Piersall thirty years ago and I’ve betrayed that trust.” He looked at Dax. “I apologize. If you want to buy me out, I’ll understand.”
So Roger Wingerd had been the one cheating Charles. It would have been easy enough, given the amount of trust Charles had placed in the man. He rose and held out his hand to Kelvey. “Thank you for coming forward. No harm has been done. As I said, Wingerd can’t purchase enough stock to affect my policies.”
“He could if Jillian was willing to vote with him.”
Dax froze. If Jillian was willing to vote with him. Hadn’t that been his concern all along?
Just for an instant, he allowed himself to wonder if she would do that. The night in the study when he’d mentioned Charles’s name while telling her about the stock shifts flashed through his mind. She’d gone rigid for a moment, then he’d seen her gradually make herself relax. He’d assumed her reaction was to his mention of Charles’s name. But maybe it was more than that.
No. Jillian wouldn’t do anything like that. She told you her shares were yours, that you’d vote together.
She’d also told him she hadn’t slept with his brother. And had stayed with him even when he hadn’t been able to tell her unconditionally that he believed her. Was that the way a guilty woman would have acted?
Jillian loves you. She’s never knowingly betrayed you in her life.
The enormity of his error struck him like a grenade exploding squarely in the dirt at his feet, blowing to bits all his carefully nursed anger, all his suspicions and resentments. She’d told him the truth all along—about everything—and he’d refused to believe her.
What had he done?
A tread on the stairs had his head jerking up, had him leaping to the door of the study. Jillian was halfway up the main staircase. When she heard him coming, she turned, and he stopped in his tracks, shocked by the sight of her white face.
“Honey-bunch...” He held out his hand.
“You thought it might be me.” Her lips trembled and she pressed a fist against her mouth a moment. “I saw the look on your face when Gerard mentioned my name. You thought I might be part of it.”
“No, I—only for a minute.” He started toward the foot of the stairs but stopped as she immediately turned and fled. “Damn it!”
He practically booted Kelvey out the door, barely giving the man a chance to stammer out a full explanation of the meeting Roger had arranged with Jillian before he turned and sprinted for the stairs. He knew what she had to be thinking.
And it was true.
Ten
She slammed and locked the door of her room. No, not her room. Simply the one where she’d slept when she first came into this house. For a moment, she leaned against the cool wood, pressing a hand to her pounding heart and gasping in deep, harsh breaths of air that made her chest hurt.
When she’d come home, she’d seen the strange car in the driveway. She’d paused in the door of the study, seeing Gerard, hearing his damning words—
He could if Jillian was willing to vote with him.
And she’d seen the doubt in her husband’s eyes.
“Jillian?” The doorknob rattled and she leaped away from it as if it was suddenly electrified. “Honey, let me come in. We have to talk.”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t
“Please, honey, don’t shut me out. Let me explain.”
Let me explain.
What could he possibly have to explain? She felt like she’d been trying her whole life to explain herself to Dax. And ultimately, it had done no good. Not one little bit. If anything, he mistrusted her now even more than he had the first day he’d returned. She was never going to be able to make him believe in her again—it was time to quit fooling herself:
“All right.” He was still there, just on the other side of that door, and she didn’t think she could bear to be so close to him. “I could get the key and unlock this, but I’ll respect your privacy. We’ll talk in the morning.”
Slowly, she walked across the room to the big bed. Cr
awling up onto the cover, she pulled a pillow to her and clutched it against her chest, cushioning the ache inside as she forced herself to take deep, calming breaths.
First thing in the morning, she would leave. She needed to start hunting another location for Kids’ Place, and she had to warn her neighbors what to expect. Since she would be breaking the prenuptial agreement, she doubted she could expect any mercy from Dax.
But she couldn’t stay here any longer. Not another day. She’d been wrong to think she could make this marriage work and even stupider to allow herself to hope that they could resolve the past.
And she’d been wrong to think she could live without his love for the rest of their lives.
Dawn came, and with it, came wakefulness. Dax climbed from the depths of slumber and instantly realized Jillian wasn’t in his arms. He was alone in his bed. An instant of fear gripped him, until the clock showed him it was barely six in the morning.
He sincerely doubted she’d gone anywhere yet. He stretched and rose. There was no need to dress since he’d slept in his clothes in case Jillian attempted a midnight sneak-away.
In the bathroom, he remembered Chris was still at Ben’s. And since it was Saturday, Mrs. Bowley wasn’t around. It would be just Jillian and him.
Perfect.
He’d always known she was extraordinary. All these years, he’d compared other women to her without even knowing it—and there’d been no contest. No one else had even made the first cut.
He’d lain awake for hours last night, reliving every stupid, insensitive thing he’d ever said to her. He wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t love him anymore.
A ball of ice lodged in his gut at that thought. Once before, when he’d thought of how she’d accepted Christine, it had occurred to him that her heart was bigger than his. Now he was going to pray that he’d been right, that she could forgive him.
He took a deep breath. He just didn’t know—he’d hurt her over and over. No matter what it took, how he had to accomplish it, he had to shatter the wall she’d built around her. He wanted Jillian. Tears, sorrows, joys and all.
The Bride Means Business Page 16