“Someone phoned Mr. Fortner, owner of a cosmetic account I’d hoped to lure away from a competitor. The person said I called his product stupid and overpriced.”
“And of course you didn’t.”
“No. Well, yes, I did, only—” Gaby dropped the phone and covered her face with her hands.
“Did you malign his product or not?” André tucked a finger beneath her chin, forcing her to look up.
She waved a hand helplessly. “I was sitting here, thinking out loud. A bad habit of mine when I’m alone. I was alone, or so I thought,” she said miserably. “But it doesn’t matter now. Fortner was furious. Who can blame him?”
André raked a hand through his own hair, freeing it from the leather thong. “But if you were in here alone...?” He stared at a spot on the ceiling and massaged his neck. “Why would anyone at WDIX-TV try to scotch an account?”
Her eyes met his and hardened. “Maybe you can answer that, André. You’ve admitted harboring contempt for your parents and for the business. Nothing like this ever happened until you came on board. None of these...accidents.”
He leaned on the desk and thrust his face close to hers. “I damn well know I had nothing to do this. Which leaves you, Ms. Villieux. Since you weaseled your way into my family, how better to run me out and secure the top job for yourself than to pull this crap and pin it on me?”
Silence enveloped the room except for the harsh sound of their breathing.
CHAPTER SIX
“HOW DARE YOU SUGGEST such a thing?” Gaby half rose from her chair. “Yes, I would’ve preferred if you’d stayed in the swamp, and yes, I happen to think I can handle what this job entails. All by my lonesome. Because I work hard. Not because I weaseled my way into your family. While you’ve jaunted around the world, I’ve given up any semblance of a personal life and devoted myself to promoting and maintaining this station’s image. I’d never do anything to jeopardize Lyon Broadcasting. Not even if it means training my replacement.”
André refused to give ground, even though he practically had to look cross-eyed to see the angry splashes of color on her cheeks. It might have been a cliché, but Gabrielle Villieux was something when she was mad. Beautiful. Sexy. And sincere. The sincerity reached past Andre’s purely male appreciation of her physical attributes. A real coup, considering that her lips were within kissing distance...and he’d resisted an urge to kiss them most of the day.
To maintain that resistance, he planted his palms on her desk. Kissing could wait. They were both feeling angry and insulted. Looking ahead, he decided their entire future relationship, working and otherwise, was at stake.
“Better now?” he asked quietly.
“I’m okay.”
“If you’re okay and I’m okay,” he joked, “why were we shouting at each other?”
She looked startled, then amused. “You practice transactional analysis? How trendy of you.”
“Yeah, but don’t give me away to the guys I worked with on the ships. It might ruin my tough-guy image.”
“I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I envy you all your travel,” she said suddenly, sinking into her chair. “I’ve never been out of Louisiana. Probably never will be.”
“Why? You make a good salary. I know you don’t pay room and board at Lyoncrest.”
“Does that bother you?” she asked sharply. “Not that it’s any of your business.” She took a deep breath. “Your mother squared my husband’s debts. I’m paying her back by the month. Plus there’s the money for my college tuition and Leslie’s school. Would you like an itemized account of my personal expenses?”
“You are the touchiest female I’ve ever met.”
“That’s a world record, I’ll bet. I understand your little black book would put the New York City telephone directory to shame.”
He laughed and propped a hip against her desk. “I have sincere concerns about the news we broadcast if you don’t check out your sources any better than that. Who passed along that piece of false information?”
She glanced away guiltily. “I don’t recall.”
“That’s a cop-out. You may as well tell me.”
“All right. It was Alain. Everything hit the fan around here when he married Yvette LeBlanc. Your aunt and uncle consider her socially inferior. Alain said that at least he didn’t have a new woman on his arm every week.”
“Alain doesn’t even know me. Maybe he was mad because I didn’t make it to his wedding. My partner’s dad died and I had to run the business alone for a couple of weeks. Yvette’s Cajun, isn’t she? A descendant of the Acadians who helped settle this area. How socially inferior is that?”
“Ask your uncle. He and Catherine are the ones who carry on like being Cajun is a crime. Catherine is Creole, the real French aristocracy, she claims. To make matters worse, Yvette has an illegitimate son. Devin’s four. He’s a darling. I can’t believe how badly Charles and Catherine treat him and his mother. But haven’t we strayed from the subject? We were discussing your array of lady friends.”
“Wrong. We were discussing the disappearance of WEZY’s film canister and the loss of an important client. We meandered way off course.”
Gabrielle’s brows slanted obliquely. “Message received. You don’t want to talk about your love life.”
André bent over the desk, forcing her to scoot her chair into the corner. “What, exactly, would you like to know?”
“I... Nothing. We should talk about work.”
Impossibly long lashes hid André’s dark, sparkling eyes. “You already said you have no social life. It’s only fair I reveal as much about mine. I’m not currently involved, if that’s what you’re wondering.” He’d never been marriage-bound with any woman. Not that he’d lacked lovers. He was, however, a lot pickier than his cousin had led Gaby to believe. It suddenly seemed important that she understand.
“Who’s wondering?” she interjected. “I don’t care who you sleep with. Or marry. It makes no difference to me if they’re purple, green or polka dot.”
“That’s a relief. We wouldn’t get along if you were prejudiced.”
“We only need to see eye to eye on job-related ethics, not on any personal preferences.”
André took some time to study her before he said forthrightly, “I’ve yet to meet a man who can keep the two separate. Show me a guy who’s a bastard in his personal life, and I’ll show you a guy I wouldn’t be quick to jump into a business deal with.”
Gaby’s lip curled slightly. “Yet it never occurred to you that your uncle might want something in return for those two invitations to the Comus ball next month.”
“Oh, it occurred to me. Which is why I said thanks but no thanks.”
“You...you refused an opportunity to attend one of the most elite events of Mardi Gras?”
“Did you want to go?”
“No. I...uh...” Gabrielle rolled forward, unlocked a file drawer and pulled out a stack of manila folders. “That’s not entirely true.” She raised her eyes to meet his. “I’ve never been to one of the masked balls. A girl can’t grow up in Louisiana and not dream of dressing up and going to a Rex or Comus affair. Where, according to the fine print, this same girl meets a wickedly handsome masked pirate.”
“And is whisked off on a white charger and lives happily ever after,” André finished with a devilish grin.
“You’ve mixed fairy tales with Mardi Gras, but something like that, yes.”
“Why haven’t you ever been?”
She fiddled with the folders again. “Lack of money. Lack of connections. In my wilder youth, I didn’t exactly hobnob with debutantes,” she said frostily.
“But since?” André persisted. “My folks are well connected. If Charles has access to invitations, so should they.”
“Maybe I grew up and discovered that wickedly handsome pirates without their masks, are just lecherous men.”
“Ouch.” André wanted to counter Gabrielle’s bitter statement, but they were interrupted by
a soft knock at the door. He turned as the door opened and his mother stepped into the room. Today she wore a navy dress with a white collar. She rose on navy pumps and aimed a kiss at André’s cheek.
As Gaby rushed around the desk to embrace Margaret, André was enveloped in a cloud of Chanel No. 5, a scent he always associated with his mother. He moved aside, lost for a moment in fond memories as he watched the women express genuine affection for each other. For the first time in years, he wondered why his parents hadn’t had other children. In all the whispered tales surrounding the Lyons, and there were many, he’d never heard it said that his father had come home from the war with any injuries that made him impotent. André tried to recall explicit conversations dating back to Paul Lyon’s unexpected return to the household. So many years had passed. Memories, resentments, all got jumbled.
One major encounter between his uncle and his mother stood out. Apparently no one had suspected André might creep from his bed to listen. It must’ve been early in 1949, when Paul had first come home. During their argument Uncle Charles had insisted scornfully that Margaret had been unfaithful to her husband. At the time, André hadn’t understood why counting months meant he was or wasn’t a Lyon. Later he learned the significance. That was long after his father had held him and, with tears in his eyes, called André son.
Uncle Charles might still doubt his paternity, but André didn’t. Up to that point, his papa had refused to be in the same room with him. Something important had occurred about then. His parents had begun sharing a bedroom, and of course, they worked together. Aunt Ella ignored him, and his uncle stopped visiting Lyoncrest. Nothing was the same after that...reconciliation, he supposed, between his parents.
Suddenly André wanted to know the specifics of the feud. His father was the logical one to ask, but Paul’s heart wasn’t sound. If André had heard Mama say once that people should keep family issues private, he’d heard her say it a million times. And maybe she wouldn’t recall that particular night. Significant to a kid wasn’t necessarily significant to adults. His grandparents and Aunt Ella were gone. Maybe he should just forget it.
“André?” Margaret waved a hand in front of his eyes. “Gabrielle said the two of you are getting on famously.” His mother beamed as she stripped off her gloves. “I’m so pleased. LuAnn said you’ll be home for dinner from now on.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “If only you knew how long I’ve wished for this.”
Astounded to hear that Gaby would say they were getting along at all, let alone famously, André shifted to get a better look at her. Her expression was fierce. Quick to catch on, André realized Gabrielle intended to keep their differences quiet, rather than add to his mother’s woes. If he hadn’t already begun to admire Gabrielle Villieux, her selflessness would have led him in that direction. Whoa! Hold on! Andre rubbed a tense jaw. Such thoughts could spell trouble.
“Are you here to work, Margaret?” Gaby asked. “If so, I’ll go somewhere else to show André how to interpret the Nielsen ratings and the reports we get from the American Research Bureau. It’s important he learn how they translate into setting ad rates.”
“Goodness, you two carry on. I brought Paul down to tape his editorial. I was afraid I’d have a hard time prying him away again. Having to get home in time to dress for dinner gives me the perfect excuse. André, I’ll be forever in your debt for coming up with the idea of reestablishing the family dinner hour.”
André groaned silently. He felt Gabrielle’s eyes bore daggers through him. “If there’s any credit, it goes to LuAnn,” he mumbled, hoping he’d remember to ask LuAnn to take the rap. What a mess it was turning out. He’d begun the whole thing because he thought Gaby spent too many hours at work. For all he knew, the station might collapse without her overtime. She certainly seemed to have her fingers in enough pies. She was infinitely more vital than his cousins wanted him to believe.
“We’ll see you at six,” Margaret called from the door. “Oh, and Gabrielle, Leslie’s ecstatic. She’s not often demonstrative, as you know. Today she whooped and danced around so much Claire had trouble getting her to listen to the end of a story they were reading.”
André, who’d been watching Gaby, saw a series of emotions ranging from guilt to sorrow cross her face. If he’d thought she didn’t know her dedication to Lyon Broadcasting came at a steep price, he’d now discovered his error. Something drove Gabrielle Villieux; he didn’t know what, but he did realize she wasn’t insensitive to her daughter, as he’d first believed.
After his mother left, André allowed Gaby time to collect herself. He went to his desk and found a calendar that matched the one she kept locked in her center drawer.
“Before you explain the audience ratings, could we match our calendars? That’ll avoid future mixups,” he said when she gazed at him suspiciously. “And use a pen, all right? That’ll make tampering harder.”
“Also messier if you need to change a meeting.” She sighed. “Read the schedule to me, please. I’ll fill in yours. No questions can come up, then.”
He grabbed his chair and parked it next to hers. “Okay. Shoot. But give me time to list them on my pocket calendar,” he said, plunking down so close that their thighs brushed.
Gaby’s stomach tightened. It did again when he reached the date for the twenty-fifth-anniversary gala. A date she’d circled in red, assuming she’d be awarded the job of general manager. She hadn’t thought André Lyon would last until July; she now felt far less positive about the outcome.
Her stomach did handsprings when he glanced up once they’d finished and smiled one of his heart-stopping smiles. She felt all thumbs as she leafed through the audience ratings. She couldn’t seem to focus on the totals. Gaby hadn’t gotten that quivery feeling over a man in so long she was amazed she’d recognized the symptoms. Amazed and disturbed. Up to this minute, she’d have sworn her experience with Marc Villieux had cured her of ever having sexual yearnings again. Obviously she’d been wrong.
She gave up concentrating on the numbers André entered into the adding machine and turned to analyzing why she’d be attracted to him, of all people. She didn’t live in a vacuum. Many of the men she worked with were more classically handsome than André Lyon. But there was something...compelling about him. A sense of restrained energy, perhaps.
Gaby decided that if she was going to be honest about this, she’d have to admit he intrigued her on several levels. It went without saying that he was good to look at. He was lean and fit. His muscles moved with fluid grace beneath the crisp cotton of his shirt. But there was more to André than looks. He’d shown a soft spot for the girl, Rachel, whose home life he could have ignored. He cared enough for a stranger who barely eked out a living selling keys to slip him a sizable tip. And he’d paid attention to Leslie, noticed her eating habits. But dam it all, Gaby didn’t want to feel this way. Why couldn’t he be the jerk she’d conjured up in her mind the day Margaret had asked her to train him for a job Gaby herself wanted so badly she could taste it?
His deep voice yanked her out of her thoughts. “This is impressive. Television shows definitely develop patterns. How long do you allow a program to flounder at the low end before you replace it?”
“Depends. If the program manager thinks it has potential, we may juggle the time slot. Cost factors in too.”
“Always, I imagine.” He tugged on his lips, and Gaby felt an answering tug low in her abdomen that made her squirm. The reaction he drew from her was ridiculous. She was a professional, for goodness’ sake. He obviously had no problem keeping his mind on work.
“Look, here we have this a.m. kiddie program. For sixteen weeks the ratings have been abominable. Tell me why you struggle along with this local yokel, instead of going with a syndicated show like ‘Shari Lewis and Lambchop’?”
“I’d take her in a minute. But in this case, Sydney, of ‘Sydney’s Tree House’ infamy, happens to be related to Catherine Benoît Lyon. At the last board meeting I suggested we cancel his show. Charles gave
us a big sob story about how this program is all that’s standing between him and bankruptcy.”
“And what stands between us and bankruptcy?” André demanded.
Gaby shrugged. “More power to you if you can ax Syd. In my position, all I can do is recommend. Only family has voting authority. It infuriates Charles that his voice carries less weight than Paul’s so he badgers the other board members every chance he gets.”
“It’s beyond me why the family doesn’t want whatever will keep Lyon Broadcasting running in the black.”
She grinned; she couldn’t help it. “Well, André, I have a feeling you’ll come out of your first board meeting much wiser.”
He grinned back. “We’ll see.” Then he closed the folder and glanced at his watch. “We’ll make it home in time to dress for dinner if we leave now. I’d like to track a few more of these losers we’re carrying. If you’re coming back to work later, maybe I’ll hitch a ride.”
“Sure. If you really care about rebuilding profits, I’ll give you a folder filled with my last six months’ worth of recommendations. Every one of them was tabled, thanks to Charles.”
“Oh, I care, all right,” he muttered. “But I’ll probably just observe at this first meeting. I’d hate to stir up problems, Papa’s heart being what it is.”
“I understand. That’s why Margaret hasn’t been making any hard decisions lately, although I can tell it galls her.” Gabrielle stood up, slung her purse over her shoulder and turned off the desk lamp before she started for the door. “My goal is to reverse the station’s decline within six months—by the anniversary celebration.”
André followed her out and locked the office, rattling the door handle to make sure.
“I want to help you, Gabrielle,” he said.
He was gazing earnestly at her, and she fought the overwhelming urge to look away. Finally, feeling very brave, she extended her hand. “If you mean that, let’s shake on it. But be warned. With or without you, André, I intend to succeed.”
The Lyon Legacy Page 16