He stood up and extended his arm to her, totally ignoring Randy, who somehow managed to keep on smiling, even though she dearly wanted to kick him. "Up you go, Katie," he said. "If you're sitting in a chair, you aren't earning the outrageous amount we pay you."
Katrina giggled and tucked her arm around Luke's waist. As he led her off to mingle with those in the room Emily said to Randy, "Come into the bedroom with me. You're doing fine."
Randy, who felt anything but fine, obediently followed. Only when the two women were sitting together on the bed behind a locked door did Emily continue to talk. "Your father told me what happened," she said. "He also told me that he informed Luke that you're in love with him, which probably terrified the poor man, and that he'd made it clear to Luke that if he hurt you he could think about finding himself another job, which would account for his very bizarre behavior with Katrina."
Randy was now as furious with her father as she'd been with Luke only a minute ago. "Bizarre?" she raged. "How dare Dad talk to Luke like that! And how could he touch that—that woman after the way he touched me?" She brushed away an angry tear. "I could kill him."
Emily gave a soothing cluck and made a gracefully dismissive gesture with her hand. "He used to date her, but everyone knows that he got tired of her within a month, darling. I suppose that paying attention to Katrina is his way of telling you that he's not interested in you, but of course, if he weren't interested in you, he wouldn't bother to pay attention to Katrina. True?"
"I suppose." It did make a convoluted kind of sense. "But, Mom… Dad has to stop interfering in my life. My relationship with Luke is nobody's business but mine, and I won't have Dad treating me like a child."
Emily stroked her hair, murmuring, "But darling, you've only known Luke a short time. Don't you think you were rushing things—just a little?"
Randy's response was a burst of mildly hysterical laughter. This whole situation was ridiculous. At first she wasn't sure just how much she was going to tell her mother, but somehow after twenty minutes of nonstop talking she'd given Emily a shorthand version of everything from Sean Raley onwards.
Emily Dunne's clients weren't always the easiest people in the world to deal with, and in the course of her career she'd developed a talent for remaining absolutely tranquil in the midst of total chaos. When Randy finished her story her only reaction was a thoughtful, "It is a complicated situation, isn't it?"
Calmer now, Randy realized that she'd just handed her mother a very big pill to swallow in the space of less than half an hour. "Are you very disappointed in me?" she asked meekly.
"Disappointed?" Emily moved her hand up and down Randy's back, gently massaging the tense muscles. "For making a mistake with that actor? Of course not. I never really believed that anyone who loves to eat as much as you do could bear to diet away all that weight for a movie role. And as far as Luke is concerned"—she smiled knowingly—"he's a very attractive man. If I were fifteen years younger and single I'd go after him myself. But if you're serious about him, darling, you really should stop playing games and get to know him. Luke won't be easy to pin down—he's been single for a long time and there must be a reason for it. And don't worry about your father. If things don't work out for you and Luke I'll make sure he understands that C & D's two biggest stockholders would look very unfavorably on Luke's departure."
Randy couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. Her mother seldom involved herself in the business and never challenged her father's decisions. "You're talking about yourself and Grandpa—but would you really do something like that? Dad would be furious with you."
"If it's necessary I will," Emily answered firmly. "Your father is being very unfair, not only to Luke and you, but to the company also. But I doubt it will come to that. After over thirty years of marriage to a man you know him very well. You've always been your father's favorite and it isn't easy for him to accept the fact that you're a woman now and that your love for another man could lead you to disregard what he considers to be his proper authority. But don't you think he deserves a little time to get used to the situation? Do make your peace with him, Randy."
Randy absently agreed, her mind fixed on the phrase, "your love for another man." Why was everyone in her family so convinced that she loved Luke Griffin when she herself wasn't? And even more important, how long would it take before she was finally sure that he wouldn't turn out to be just another wild, ultimately painful infatuation?
When Emily and Randy returned to the living room a minute later Katrina and Luke were still standing side by side, making their way from group to group and apparently charming everyone in sight. With only a little prodding from her mother Randy walked up to her father and slipped a hand through his arm.
"She's really something," she said, nodding toward Katrina. "Exactly what is she going to do for us?"
Bill seemed startled by his daughter's friendly attitude. "It was Luke's idea," he began, then mumbled under his breath, "One of his good ideas, as opposed to his bad ones. Are you all right, honey?"
Randy blushed slightly and said that she was fine. "And… I'm sorry that I lost my temper before," she added.
"Me too." Bill looked greatly relieved. "About Katie—we figured that she attracts media attention wherever she goes, and that's the basic reason we're using her. We'll start by running a series of ads in the Dallas papers—you know the type of thing I mean. The first one will be a picture of the construction site with Katie surrounded by a group of hardhats, and copy reading something like 'C & D says "Howdy!" to the Big D.' We'll do several more as construction proceeds, and from now until we're ready to open Katie will make personal appearances for us. Her basic job is to act as a spokeswoman and keep our name in front of the public—to help us generate excitement about the store. I admit I'm nervous, Dallas is our first major market outside the East, and you know how rough the competition there is."
As her father talked Randy watched Katrina work the crowd. She was such an expert that if she'd wanted to she could have charmed a Bengal tiger into purring like a kitten. Luke continued to stick to her side like glue, his arm draped over her shoulders. If he hadn't been so careful to avoid even glancing in Randy's direction his behavior might have provoked her into some foolhardy sort of retaliation.
Randy spent the next two days working as a saleswoman in the children's department of the Manhattan store. An army of flu germs was marching through the city, and Conover-Dunne had been one of the prime casualties. Perhaps because children were especially susceptible to the strain of the disease that was going around, the staff of that department had been continually exposed and thus hardest hit. Randy had had very little experience with children, but she'd always enjoyed the imagination and sense of wonder which can turn any little girl or boy into a superhero or T.V. star. When she wasn't ringing up orders or helping customers she was playing games with the children, keeping them occupied while their harried mothers shopped for late summer bargains or the first clothes of fall. By the time the store closed at five o'clock on Saturday, however, all she wanted to do was soak in a hot tub with a good book. All those hours of entertaining had left her drained.
The last she'd seen of Luke was his departing back as he walked out the door of her parents' apartment Thursday night with Katrina Sorensen on his arm. He'd spent Friday morning closeted in his office, first with the manager and then the assistant manager of the Philadelphia store. In the afternoon he'd driven out to Garden City. She knew his schedule because Rita Washington had stopped off in the children's department Friday evening with a note for her and had mentioned what a tough morning Luke had had with Marvin Heywood and then Sheila Kane.
Randy didn't envy him that part of his job. After only a few weeks at C & D she now understood just how hard he worked and why he was successful. She realized that people like Luke and her father had a great many qualities she admired: they were organized, openminded and knowledgeable, yet capable of putting up a tough, unemotional facade when it was really
necessary. Most important, they inspired and held the loyalty of those who worked under them despite the inevitable clashes and disagreements. Randy was beginning to suspect that she wasn't cut out for clashes and disagreements. She didn't want to be responsible for thousands of people's jobs. Areas like public relations or training appealed to her very much, but she could no longer picture herself as president—at least not for many years.
The note was from Luke, and took the form of a brief memo quite obviously dictated into a machine and transcribed by Rita.
"We'll be leaving at eight a.m. Monday and staying overnight," it read. "I'll pick you up in front of your building. Please wear jeans and a tee shirt. I would like you to look as much like an average college girl as you possibly can. We'll spend a few hours shopping in the store, then meet for lunch to discuss our reactions. On Tuesday I plan to hold a series of meetings with the staff, which you can skip or attend as you wish." There was no signature.
The tone of the memo was so completely impersonal that Randy read it twice, searching for some hint that Luke really cared about her. She couldn't find what wasn't there, and his behavior in the car after he picked her up on Monday only underscored his attitude. After an unsmiling hello he clicked on the radio and completely ignored her existence.
Randy might have attributed his distant behavior to her father's heavyhanded warning but for one fact: since she was dressed in faded jeans and a tee shirt, with almost no makeup and her hair in a ponytail, there was no way Luke couldn't recognize her as the "Linda" from Maine. What they'd already done together rendered Bill Dunne's lecture a little absurd.
Randy decided that the logical explanation was that Luke was angry with her, so she gave him a full hour to calm down before she turned off the radio and asked submissively, "Luke, don't you think we need to talk?"
He gave her a cool look. "There's nothing to talk about. I've been told to stay away from you and I will. As far as your father is concerned the past never happened, even though both of us know that it's a little late in the game for his threats. Don't we?"
It was a rhetorical question; Randy didn't bother to answer it. It was hard to believe that Luke wouldn't take into account who she really was. In fact, she'd assumed that he'd be eager to pick up where they'd left off. Then again, she remembered, he was obviously still angry. There was no point in trying to reason with him until he'd cooled down. But still, she argued back, was his job so much more important to him than she was that he wasn't willing to take even the slightest risk to see her? The thought hurt dreadfully.
When he turned the radio back on she bit her lip and kept her mouth shut. Her eyes misted over and a few tears slipped out, but if Luke noticed her brush them away he didn't say anything.
They reached the store shortly after it opened and walked silently inside. "Just look around, pretend to shop and see how you're treated," Luke instructed. He was treating her as though they'd met only that morning. "I'll meet you in the restaurant at twelve-thirty."
At least, Randy thought resignedly, his impersonal tone was an improvement over his earlier sarcasm. She offered a meek, "Okay, Luke," and walked off to look for the junior department.
It was where she seemed to belong. Her blue jeans had come from a discount store in Los Angeles and her tee shirt had the logo of a friend's band on it. In short, nothing about her appearance indicated that she was anything other than a typical middle-class girl. After two hours of shopping in the junior department and several others, she'd decided that the attitude of the salespeople in the store ranged from pleasant to bored and unhelpful. No one was actually nasty to her, but the friendly warmth that C & D was known for was largely absent. Given the reception she'd probably receive it was sheer perversity to check on the designer boutiques, but Randy couldn't resist.
She was carefully looking through some formal gowns when a saleswoman walked up to her. Although the traditional "May I help you, miss?" sounded polite enough, the woman's manner clearly indicated that Randy was in the wrong department.
"I was just looking," Randy answered pleasantly, continuing to look through the dresses.
The woman's smile turned wintry. "These dresses are very expensive, dear," she informed Randy in a patronizing tone. "Perhaps you should try the junior department."
"I was looking for something special," Randy explained. "I do have a C & D credit card, ma'am."
"I'm sure you do, dear. And it probably has a limit of several hundred dollars. Most of the gowns in this department cost over a thousand dollars."
"Gee," Randy said, as though overwhelmed by the price. "How would I know what my credit limit is?"
"We punch your number into the computer," the woman said impatiently, indicating a small terminal on the counter nearby. "Give me the card; I'll check it for you."
Suppressing a smile, Randy took out her wallet and removed the gold card, turning around to hand it to the saleswoman. She noticed Luke standing several feet away, watching her. She was sure he'd been forcing back a smile until their eyes met, but he quickly frowned and gave her a disapproving stare.
The saleswoman examined the card, which read "Miranda Conover Dunne", and above that, the number "000 00 006." There was no need to consult with a computer to determine if her credit was good. The VIP number and a name identical with that of the store she was shopping in made such a formality unnecessary.
The woman's eyes jerked up to Randy's, her face fire-engine red as she stumbled over her apology. "I'm terribly sorry, Mira—I mean, Miss Dunne. The teenagers—these clothes are so delicate—we have to be careful…"
"Of course you do," Luke put in smoothly, glancing at the woman's nametag, "Mrs., uh, Healy. I'm sure Miranda is sorry she trapped you that way, aren't you, Miranda?" Luke's tone brooked no disagreement.
"Yes, I am, Mrs. Healy," Randy obediently parroted.
"Who are you?" the woman blurted out, staring at Luke.
"My name is Luke Griffin, and I'm—"
"Dear God, the vice president," Mrs. Healy babbled, now thoroughly rattled.
"That's right," Luke agreed with a smile. "I know you're having a few problems in the store, and Miranda and I are here to have a look around. You don't seem to be too busy at the moment, so why don't we take a few minutes off and talk about what you think is wrong here?"
At first Mrs. Healy was intimidated and defensive, but inside of ninety seconds Luke had charmed her into confiding in him like he was a long-lost friend. After she completed her monologue with a tale of being blamed for a gown which had been ripped by a careless debutante, Luke thanked her and asked her not to disclose their presence. Then he clasped his fingers around Randy's upper arm and hauled her off to the privacy of the stairwell.
"That was a damn stupid thing to do," he barked. "If I hadn't shown up everyone in the store would have known we were here."
"You thought it was funny," Randy said. "I saw the look on your face before you noticed me watching you. Besides, we were done shopping."
Luke's lips twitched helplessly before he finally gave up and laughed. "I don't believe you," he complained. " 'How would I know what my credit is'?" he mimicked, following up the imitation with an exasperated look. "What you need is a good spanking."
Since Randy had already sampled Luke's notion of a spanking she found the threat more delicious than intimidating. "A spanking, huh?" she repeated, her eyes dancing mischievously. "You mean like in Maine, Mr. Griffin?"
"No, Miss Dunne, I don't mean like in Maine," he retorted. But his eyes admitted the opposite.
Randy adored him in this kind of devilish mood. "Would you strip off all my clothes first?" she asked, contriving to sound terrified.
He nodded and growled, "Absolutely. The punishment is more effective that way."
"Sounds okay to me," Randy said airily, and laughed. But when Luke scooped her up, tossed her over his shoulder in a fireman's hoist and started climbing the stairs with her, Randy began to squirm vigorously. "You wouldn't dare!" she hissed.
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"On the contrary," he said, "there are plenty of places in the furniture department that would be perfect for it."
He paused to catch his breath when he reached the landing between the two half-flights, then continued his ascent. Reaching the top, he kicked the door open and strode into the empty corridor, prompting a horrified, "Luke, please—put me down!" from Randy.
Her plea accomplished nothing but a firm little slap on the rear. Randy began to believe that he would actually carry out his threat when he marched through the corridor into the display area. They were in a deserted section of the store now, in a model room decorated for a teenaged girl. Luke lowered Randy to the floor next to a canopy bed, holding her wrist in a firm grip.
When he reached for the snap on her jeans she tried to twist away, whispering, "You're crazy!"
"Obviously," he drawled, pulling her into his arms. "Otherwise I wouldn't have started this."
Her arms were around his neck in seconds, her lips parted to invite his kiss. Their embrace, with its aura of flaunting propriety, was as erotic as anything Randy had ever experienced. Their mouths and bodies clung in a sensuous dance that continued for second after dangerous second until Randy was so aflame with need that when Luke broke the kiss she moaned in protest and sought his lips again.
"Miranda—no," he said hoarsely, putting her away from him. "It isn't going to work."
After the passion they'd just shared his statement simultaneously chilled her blood and made her sick to her stomach. It was all she could do to manage a husky, "What do you mean?"
"Don't look at me like that." Luke ran a hand through his hair, his expression grim. "I mean—I can't make any commitment to you."
"But nobody asked you for one," Randy said.
"Your father did. And I told him…"
"I know about all that. But my father doesn't run my life, Luke. And there's no reason for him to know anything about what I do."
Randy stopped arguing when Luke shook his head and insisted that they would have to talk about it later. She understood that the furniture department of a public store was hardly the appropriate place for a private conversation. As they started over to the restaurant she forced her mind back to business, aware that Luke would respect her more if she managed to keep it there for the next several hours.
An Act of Love Page 17
