Love Page 3

  She had spent the entire weekend alternately working on the presentation and staring at his picture, reminding herself that he hadn’t called the cops on her, remembering that brief instant of compassion she’d seen in his eyes as she told him all about Sammy and the stolen VCR. Though he wasn’t all that old, Jason Halloran struck her as a man who’d known some pain, who’d learned the value of forgiveness. It was there in his eyes, showing up when he was trying his best to appear stern and unyielding.

  Obviously he’d been embarrassed, but that was hardly terminal. And anger faded…eventually. Maybe he wouldn’t hold what happened in Washington’s Tavern against her. If he was as chauvinistic as most men, he’d probably already chalked her crazy accusations up to some female idiosyncrasy and dismissed her as a flake.

  Dana sighed. That might get her off the hook with him, but it sure wouldn’t land her this job. Her designs would have to do that.

  Ultimately her confidence in those designs had given her the courage to show up at the agency this morning. That and the realization that a lowly design person was unlikely ever to meet with the client. For all she knew this logo assignment had been a fake, nothing more than a way to test her skills. It was possible that lots of companies did that. She’d never gotten this far in the interview process before.

  Bundled up against the snowy day, but shivering just the same, Dana opened the door to a blast of warm air and low music. Inside she quickly removed her leather jacket. It looked thoroughly out of place with her brand-new spike heels and her one decent, professional-looking outfit. After half a dozen unsuccessful interviews, she’d finally realized it was her unorthodox appearance, rather than her designs that were her downfall. She’d found a sedate skirt and sweater on sale the previous weekend. So far they’d brought her luck, in the form of this second interview, which probably proved a point about appearances meaning every bit as much as talent in this business.

  Glancing into a mirror, she decided she looked boring but presentable, except for her windblown hair. She tried taming it with her fingers, but the cropped style refused to be tamed. Shrugging, she gave up and walked across the lobby’s thick gray carpeting to the reception desk. Wobbling a little on the unfamiliar heels, she couldn’t resist glancing back to see if she’d left footprints in the thick pile.

  On Friday she’d been too nervous to note the contrast between the reception area, with its subdued lighting, modern furniture and pricey artwork, and the brightly lit chaos closed away from public view by glass bricks and a curved wall painted a muted shade of peach. Today as she was directed to John Lansing’s office, she took in each detail, trying to imagine herself a part of the cheerful confusion and resulting creativity.

  Seated in John Lansing’s office, she waited nervously for him to return from a conference with his art director. She tried to tell herself that this job wasn’t the only chance she’d ever have. She reminded herself that just last week her boss at the printing shop had told her she could expand her duties and take on more special jobs for local stores, if she wanted. They would split the extra income. He’d get seventy-five percent, for overhead he’d explained, and she’d get the rest. She hadn’t laughed in his face—she couldn’t afford to. But she hadn’t said yes, either.

  John Lansing and Lesley Bates rushed in finally, amid a flurry of apologies. Lansing, a devilishly handsome man in his mid-forties, and Bates, a sleek, stylish woman in a severely cut suit and discreet but obviously expensive gold jewelry, stared at her expectantly. They were both so polished, so sophisticated that Dana had to fight the urge to check for runs in her hose. She noted every detail of the art director’s attire for the time when she could afford to dress that way.

  “What do you have for us?” the agency founder asked, giving her an encouraging smile.

  Dana opened her portfolio and pulled out a half dozen designs. As she started to spread them on Lansing’s desk, the art director shook her head. “Let’s hear about them one at a time. Tell us the reasoning behind each one. You might as well get used to making a presentation.”

  Swallowing hard, Dana nodded and picked up the first design, a subtle alteration of the present logo. “From everything I read about the company, it seemed likely that they’re not looking for a drastic change,” she said, managing to sound confident even though she was quaking inside. She detailed the reasons behind her color changes, the minimal updating of the design itself.

  Though their expressions were impassive, she took heart. She ran through four more alternatives, each bolder and more creative than the one before. The last, in which the company’s name would be embossed across an artistic swatch of fabric from its latest collection, had the substance, fluidity and style that she was convinced was both an exciting and impressive change from the current outdated design. The embossing would give it a texture she thought suitable for an internationally prominent manufacturer of rich textiles.

  She caught the subtle exchange of glances between Lansing and his art director. “I love it,” Lesley Bates said finally.

  “So do I,” Lansing agreed, taking a closer look at the final proposal. “You’ve captured exactly the look they need. But you’re right about Halloran Industries. The old man is not looking to do something this drastic. He’d be happier with the first one.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Lesley countered. “I’ve always had the feeling that Jason’s the conservative one. Brandon didn’t get where he is by avoiding risks.”

  “What about Jason, then? Since you can’t go over his head, do you think you can convince him?” Lansing asked the art director.

  Lesley Bates shook her head. “I honestly don’t know. For one thing, he’s not all that interested in anything going on over there these days. From what I hear, he’s bored and making no pretense about it. I doubt he’ll be the least bit interested in rocking the boat. He’s certainly not going to put his faith in someone with little formal training and no experience.”

  Nor was he likely to put his faith in a woman who’d labeled him a liar and a thief, Dana thought with a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. She listened to the arguments pro and con on her designs, trying desperately to hear something that would indicate for certain that she would get the job even if Jason Halloran turned down her designs. She didn’t like having her fate linked to the whims of a man she’d publicly insulted.

  Unwilling to leave the decision to chance, she decided she had to do something and do it fast to convince them she was the sort of bold, assertive designer they owed it to themselves to hire.

  “Let me talk to him,” she said impulsively. Of all the limbs she’d ever climbed out on, this was by far the most dangerous. It was also a mark of her desperation. “If I sell him, I get the job.”

  John Lansing smiled. “I like your attitude, but you’re taking a big risk and an unnecessary one at that. It’s up to us to convince the client.”

  Dana fought to hide a grim smile. He had no idea how big a risk she was offering to take, both professionally and, in some way she couldn’t quite define, to her own emotions. She took a deep breath. “It’s worth it. This could be the break I’ve been praying for. I believe in these ideas. If I could sell you, don’t you think I could convince him?”

  “Could you give us a moment?” the art director asked. “Leave the designs and wait just outside.”

  Dana nodded. Outside the office she paced and paced some more, wishing she dared to kick off the uncomfortable heels. Though they’d sounded enthusiastic about her work, she wasn’t sure that they were equally excited about hiring her. She’d sensed the unspoken reservations. The art director had come right out and said she was an amateur. Her ideas, though, were bold and new. Even they couldn’t deny that.

  Still, she sensed that a lot more was at stake for the Lansing Agency than she’d realized. Maybe she’d put them into an untenable position by suggesting that they send a mere novice over to Halloran Industries. It didn’t matter, though. Her audacity was just abo
ut all she’d had going for her her whole life. She wanted this job so badly she ached, even more so now that she’d had the small taste of real professional approval of her ideas.

  It was another ten minutes before they called her back in. “It’s a deal,” John Lansing told her. “But Lesley will go with you as a backup. Okay?”

  The request was hardly unreasonable. Even so, the possibility that the art director would learn the whole story about her previous encounter with Jason Halloran made Dana almost as nervous as the prospect of making her first presentation to a man who had little reason to give her a break. Because she had little choice, she nodded. “Okay.”

  “I’ll call you when we have the appointment scheduled,” Lesley Bates told her.

  John Lansing handed her portfolio back to her and walked her to the door. “You have a bright future, Ms. Roberts. I hope we’ll be working together soon.”

  “I hope so, too.”

  Outside, Dana clutched her portfolio and made one more thoroughly impulsive decision. Too much was at stake to leave anything about this meeting with Jason Halloran to chance. Drawing in a deep breath of icy air, she straightened her shoulders, walked halfway down the block and caught the next bus to the Halloran Industries building on the outskirts of town.

  Inside the lobby she consulted the directory, located the administrative offices and took the elevator to the top floor. She was halfway down the hall when Brandon Halloran stepped into the corridor. Dana’s breath caught in her throat as a look of recognition spread across the older man’s face.

  “Hello, there,” he said, a surprising twinkle in his eyes.

  Dana regarded him warily. Why wasn’t he throwing her out? Hadn’t he heard about what had happened on Saturday between her and his grandson?

  “Are you here to see Jason?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  He nodded in satisfaction. “Splendid. Before you do that, though, why don’t you and I have a little talk?”

  Before she could blink, he’d tucked her arm through his and steered her into a lavish corner office with an incredible view of the Boston skyline in the distance. The view was the only thing impressive about it, however. The large space was thoroughly cluttered. Whatever furniture there was was buried under piles of fabric. Swatches of silk tumbled across the desk in a rainbow of colors. Bolts of wool littered a sofa. Drapes of printed cotton hung over the backs of every chair.

  Dana had never seen more beautiful fabrics in her life. Intrigued, she circled the room and impulsively ran her fingers over the material, awed by the various textures. She was more certain than ever that her most innovative logo design was right.

  She looked up and realized Brandon Halloran was watching her closely, an expression of approval on his face.

  “I can see you appreciate fine quality fabrics,” he said.

  “They’re beautiful. I’ve never owned anything like them.”

  “Perhaps one day you will,” he said. He swept the bolts of cloth from the sofa and motioned for her to sit down. “What’s your name, young lady? My grandson didn’t take the time to introduce us properly on Saturday. You seemed to be in a bit of a hurry.”

  Dana winced. “Actually he didn’t know my name.”

  “Really? How fascinating. I could have sworn the two of you were having a pretty heated argument, too heated for a couple of strangers.”

  “It was a stupid mistake on my part. I thought he was someone else. When I realized how wrong I was, I came to apologize.”

  “Carrying a portfolio?”

  Dana tried to evade that penetrating gleam in his eyes, but it was unavoidable. Before she could consider the consequences, she was spilling the whole story.

  “So you can see why he’d be furious with me. This is the first time I’ve even come close to getting a job like this. I couldn’t risk having him tell the Lansing Agency people what I’d done. I planned on throwing myself at his mercy.”

  “An interesting tactic, but I have a better idea. Let me take a look at those designs. If they’re as innovative as you suggest, Jason will hate them. Then I’ll have to overrule him and he’ll have even more reason to resent you.”

  Though this comment echoed what John Lansing and Lesley Bates had suggested earlier, about which man was a risk taker, Dana was puzzled why Brandon Halloran seemed to so eager to help her. “Why would you care if he resents me?”

  “Let’s just say I’m concerned with the future of Halloran Industries and leave it at that, shall we?”

  Dana didn’t have the vaguest idea what she had to do with the future of this man’s company, but she was more than willing to show him the designs. The expression of delight that spread across his face when he saw the final concept was better than any verbal praise, but he said all the right words, too.

  “This is perfect. Perfect! Young lady, you are very talented. Why hasn’t someone snapped you up long before now?”

  “I’m just getting started. To be honest, I was a little unorthodox for some of the companies I applied to.”

  He grinned. “I can just imagine. Well, you’re not too unorthodox for Halloran Industries. Shall I call John Lansing right now?”

  “No!” she said hurriedly. She swallowed hard. “I mean, I wish you wouldn’t. I just interviewed with him. He doesn’t know I’m here with you. It wouldn’t look good.”

  “I see,” he said nodding slowly. “You may have a point. Let’s let John and Lesley go ahead and schedule that meeting, then. This conversation will be our secret.”

  “What about your grandson?”

  “You just leave Jason to me.”

  That worrisome twinkle was back in his eyes when he said it, but Dana was far too grateful about having Brandon Halloran in her corner to question his motives. She realized much later that not finding out about his motives was probably the second major mistake she’d made with the Halloran men.

  * * *

  Jason swiveled his chair around to face the window and stared out at the bleak gray landscape. The snow that had fallen over the weekend had turned to slush, and a new batch of thick clouds kept the Tuesday-morning sky a dull gunmetal shade.

  What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he seem to get his life into focus? He needed a goal, a purpose, but he was damned if he could find one. Despite his talk with his grandfather on Saturday, nothing had really changed. Only the unexpected, volatile encounter with the outrageously feisty woman in the bar had shaken the depressing status quo, and that was hardly an experience he cared to repeat.

  In fact, he had tried to dismiss the entire incident, but that was easier said than done. Too many people at the symphony gala on Saturday night had heard about it and wanted to know the fascinating details. To his irritation Jason found himself quelling rumors that he was secretly involved with the outrageous woman and that the scene had been a very public lovers’ quarrel. Unfortunately his own date had been one of those who’d taken that particular rumor as fact. Marcy Wellington had lifted her aristocratic nose in the air, told him in no uncertain terms what she thought of him and had taken a cab home. He’d been astonishingly unmoved by her departure.

  He glanced at his calendar and saw that his secretary had noted a meeting in the boardroom for ten o’clock. He buzzed the outer office.

  “Harriet, what’s this meeting all about?”

  “Your grandfather scheduled it late yesterday afternoon. He said it was essential you be there. He mentioned something about the Lansing Agency and those logo designs you ordered.” As if she’d anticipated his next question, she added, “John Lansing had tried to reach you earlier, but you’d already left for the day. I transferred him to your grandfather.”

  Jason pretended not to notice the censure in her voice. Harriet had very rigid ideas about the length of the workday. He rarely met her standards or those set by his workaholic father and his dedicated grandfather. As near as Jason could tell, he didn’t have enough to do to justify sitting in his office for more than the bare
minimum of hours it took to complete the few real tasks assigned to him.

  “There’s not a problem, is there? I didn’t see any conflict on your calendar,” she said. The latter was meant as a subtle dig about his habit of scheduling things without telling her.

  “No, there’s no problem.” No matter how it got scheduled, at least a ten o’clock meeting would break up the morning’s endless tedium.

  Jason wasn’t surprised to find that he was the first to arrive. His grandfather, a stickler for most things, thought meetings were generally a waste of time. Harriet usually had to track him down in the mill and remind him that he was late. Then he breezed in, ran through whatever was on the agenda and raced back to his beloved fabrics.

  Jason paced the boardroom anticipating John Lansing’s arrival. He was anxious to see what the agency had come up with based on the suggestions he’d given them. He turned when the door opened. With any luck perhaps he and his grandfather would agree for once.

  “Sir, Dana Roberts is here,” Harriet said.

  The faint note of disapproval in her voice intrigued him. “Does she have an appointment?”

  “She’s the designer the Lansing people used. Should I send her in or have her wait for the others?”

  “By all means, send her in.”

  The door opened bit by bit. At his first glimpse of the woman framed in the doorway, Jason felt his stomach knot. It couldn’t be! Surely fate couldn’t be that unkind. Though she’d chosen a more sedate attire—a pencil-slim skirt in disgracefully cheap black wool and a rose-colored sweater that was equally ordinary—there was no mistaking the hellion who’d attacked him on Saturday. For one thing, her hair had been worried into spikes again. For another, his blood was already racing just a little faster. Anger? Sex appeal? He wasn’t sure he could tell the difference where she was concerned. From the start she had aroused all sorts of contradictory feelings in him.

  He scowled at her. “You work for the Lansing Agency?” he queried, not bothering to keep the note of incredulity from his voice.