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?”
“I need to see you in.”
“Oh.” She slid her computer key into the lock. The gate swung open; she stepped through, closing it behind her.
He nodded, then turned away, starting back toward his car.
“Mars—uh, Mr. Marston?”
He turned back.
“It was nice to meet you. And thanks for your concern.”
“Of course.”
He walked to his car, and she watched him drive away. Though it was cold, the bars of the gate suddenly seemed to burn against her hands.
She released them quickly.
Strange, strange night.
Robert returned to Hennessey’s.
Parking the car in the street—easy enough, with most of the evening’s revelers Halloween-ed out and headed home—he left the driver’s seat and checked his watch.
Too late for his original appointment, but he’d wanted to come back here, anyway.
He’d never seen anything like the way Jillian Llewellyn had looked at him. He hadn’t expected to be welcomed into the company with pure joy and enthusiasm, but he’d never imagined anything like what he’d encountered.
She had looked at him with…hatred? Horror?
Maybe pure blind terror. Or something else. He didn’t know quite what. A combination of all those emotions.
He had felt shaken.
