Donovan from the room and to the car.
“That went well. Where did you learn to deal with little girls?” he asked as he pulled out of the parking lot. He made it sound as if she inhabited Mars where children weren’t allowed.
“I was one, remember?” Abby frowned. “I had second thoughts about the first day of school, too.”
“What did your parents do to reassure you?”
“Told me about all the lovely science courses I could take.” She deadpanned a look at him. “I chose the painting corner.”
“Were you good at painting?”
“Better at getting paint all over myself. Not a good thing.”
He chuckled at the image she’d created. Silence stretched until her nerves screamed a protest. She had to break it.
“How’s your work going?”
“It’s different than I expected.” Donovan frowned for a minute. “Everyone is so used to the agency’s way of handling our PR that trying to spring new ideas is hard work. But I’ll get there.”
“I’m sure you will. What kind of ideas?”
His face altered as if he hesitated to say what was really on his mind.
“Donovan?” Her stomach clenched. Something was up.
“Grandmother is supposed to be the one to tell you this, but I’m guessing she hasn’t gotten around to it yet.”
“To what?” Her forehead pleated in a frown. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. She just wants us to work together and come up with a new image for the jewelry department at Woodwards.” He held his breath, hoping Abby wouldn’t flatly decline.
“Work together? Us?” She frowned. “I don’t know anything about marketing.”
“But you know a lot about the jewelry department.”
“True.” Abby had been itching to make changes for ages although there’d been no opportunity to do much with Winifred out sick. “But I’m up to my ears right now. Especially with the contest. I can’t fit another thing into the day.”
“It doesn’t have to take a lot of your time. Maybe you could tell me what you envision and I could come up with something. I’ve already done a survey of our client base. Age, income, all those variables that go into a wedding. I needed the info for the national campaign I’m supposed to get rolling.”
“I see.” This sounded like it would entail a lot of contact with Donovan, something Abby wanted to avoid.
“The thing is,” he paused to turn a corner. “In all our departments, we miss a large demographic. People think of us only as a bridal store or as wedding planners.”
“And Woodwards has more to offer than that.” She nodded, intrigued in spite of herself. “It’s true of jewelry, too. Who would you target first?”
“Middle-aged to seniors, baby boomers, folks with disposable income who want to celebrate their past or look ahead to the future.”
“Actually, the ring I’m working on now is for someone in exactly that group.” Abby wasn’t sure how much to tell him and whatever she did say had to be held in strictest confidence.
“Senior or baby boomer?”
“Senior. He’s a wealthy man who has spent his life making money and now he realizes that the only joy it brings is in sharing it with someone he really cares about. That’s what I want to show in my ring.” She huffed a sigh of frustration. “That’s what I thought I was showing until Ariane drew that gardenia.”
“Grandmother loves gardenias,” Donovan murmured.
Abby remained silent. He pulled into the parking lot, parked the car and studied her.
“You already knew that.”
“Yes.” She couldn’t bring herself to break a confidence.
“She’s a senior. So is Art. He definitely has a lot of money. Look at his car.”
Abby looked at Donovan instead. Saw understanding dawn.
“You’re saying Art is going to give my grandmother a diamond ring?”
“I’m not saying anything at all.”
“You don’t have to.” Donovan laid one arm on the steering wheel, his shock obvious. “But—they’ve just met!”
“Correction. You just met him. Winifred has known him for quite a while in very intense circumstances. That makes a difference.”
“Does the family know?”
“Of course not. This is Art’s secret. He wants to do it his way. I have no intention of spoiling that.” She gathered her purse, undid her seatbelt. “And neither can you,” she warned, glaring at him.
“But—marriage?” Donovan gaped. “She’s been a widow for—”
“Too long. Art makes her happy.” Abby avoided his stare. “Anyway, no one said anything about marriage to me. I was commissioned to make a gift and that’s what I’m doing.”
“Come on. A ring with a three-carat diamond?”
“Would be a very nice gift. It doesn’t have to automatically mean marriage.” She climbed out of his car and shut the door, suddenly irritated by his comments. “But what if it does? Surely that’s up to them to decide? Why should you object, except that you’ll have to find your own place to live?”
His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
“Isn’t this exactly what we’ve been talking about? Figuring out the needs and wants of those who could be Woodwards’ new clients?”
Abby studied him for a moment, then walked swiftly into Woodwards. She went directly to her office and dealt with each and every matter that came up. At five o’clock she shut her door, pulled out Ariane’s sketch and went to work, forming a delicate but strong platinum gardenia that would shelter but also enhance the dazzling diamond she’d chosen. By nine-thirty Abby had a prototype that amazed even her. She dialed a number.
“Are you busy?”
“You have something?”
“A preliminary.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Ten minutes later, Art buzzed the back door.
“I hope you like it,” Abby murmured as she led him to her office. She slid a cloth off her work and showed him.
His reaction was everything she could have wanted.
“God surely does know how to direct a
