“Mr. Halloran?”
The familiar feminine voice punctured his Scotch-induced serenity. “No,” he said firmly without looking up. “Go away.”
A knee bumped his as Dana Roberts ignored his plea and slid into the booth. Awareness rocketed through him.
“We need to talk,” she said.
Jason groaned. “I thought I told you…”
“I know what you told me. Believe me, if there were any other way, I wouldn’t be here, but something has to be done to stop your grandfather.”
He glanced up and met her determined gaze. “Now there’s something we can agree on. What’s the old man done to you?”
“He has some crazy idea that you…that you and I…”
She sounded so thoroughly embarrassed that for once Jason couldn’t help a rueful chuckle. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
“He has to be stopped. Now he’s told John Lansing that if I don’t take this job, he’ll take the Halloran Industries account away from them and follow me wherever I go.”
Jason blinked and stared. “He what?”
“You heard me. John Lansing shouldn’t lose an account just because your grandfather’s gotten it into his head to throw us together. Now either you talk him out of that or you and I have to find some other way to put our differences behind us and work together.”
“Not damned likely!” At her hurt expression, he mumbled, “Sorry, but you know yourself it would never work.”
“We could try.”
To his amazement she sounded almost wistful. He would have thought that the one thing they were never likely to agree on was staying out of each other’s way. He squinted at her across the table and saw something vulnerable in her expression. He realized then just how much she wanted this job. She looked like a kid who’d awakened on Christmas morning to discover a longed-for doll under the tree, only to realize it was meant for someone else. It made his usually impervious heart flip over. As crazy as it seemed, he was almost envious of her eagerness.
“This job really means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” Jason said, wondering what it would be like to be embarking on a career that hadn’t been preordained by generations of tradition.
Had he ever felt that kind of excitement and anticipation? He vaguely recalled feeling that way the first time he’d toured Halloran Industries perched on his grandfather’s shoulders, listening for the first time to the company’s rich history. But that had been long ago. For too long now his job had seemed nothing more than an obligation and a misguided one at that. He had only himself to blame, however, for allowing it to go on so long, for permitting his talent and allegiance to be taken for granted. All of that was about to change, though. He was about to take charge of his own fate. Maybe if he got a grip on his life, he’d feel a little of that energy that seemed to drive Dana Roberts.
“I can’t begin to tell you how much I would give to work for a man like John Lansing,” Dana admitted with that candor he found so disconcerting.
None of Jason’s friends would have dared to be so open with their excitement about a mere job. Many, like him, had had their futures cast in stone from birth. All subscribed to the never-let-them-see-you-sweat school of ambition. By hiding any real feelings, they could protect themselves against the humiliation of rejection. Dana had exposed all of her hopes, trusting him with her vulnerability. For some reason Jason couldn’t quite explain, it made him want to do anything to prove himself deserving of her trust. Maybe they could find some way of reaching a truce.
“How about some dinner? Have you eaten?” If they could actually get through an entire meal without arguing, he would consider it a good omen.
“No.”
“Then I recommend the clam chowder.”
Neither of them seemed quite sure what to do next. They waited in silence for the chowder. When it arrived, Dana ate hers with enthusiasm, but Jason didn’t want to touch it.
Under her watchful gaze, he made a pretense of eating, dipping up a spoonful of the chowder. But before he could taste it, he pursued all the answers that had eluded him the last time they’d talked. Maybe if he understood her, she wouldn’t get under his skin so. Maybe she wouldn’t torment his dreams the way she had the past few nights.
“Why are you so anxious about this particular job? You’re good,” he conceded grudgingly. “Any agency would be lucky to have you.”
“When I was a kid, the place I lived wasn’t so terrific,” she said in what sounded like it might be a massive understatement. “I’ll never forget the first time I went to a museum. All those colors. So much beauty and imagination. After that there weren’t enough colors in my box of crayons to satisfy me. Unfortunately my portraits never quite looked like the people I painted and my landscapes were never as good as what I saw in my mind’s eye. By the time I was a teenager I’d accepted the fact that I wasn’t going to be an artist. I did have an eye for design, though, so I traded in my watercolors and oils for stacks of magazines. I’d clip and paste and create whole new ads.”
“Then you went to design school, right?”
She shook her head. “Nope. No money and no time. I took a class or two. I even had an instructor who encouraged me, helped me put
