Shadows At Sunset - Anne Stuart [3]
Dean was sitting home sulking, alone in the darkness of his room with his precious computer. Once more Jackson had managed to crush and belittle him; once more Dean had taken it, refusing to fight.
Jackson had removed Dean from his position in charge of legal affairs, replacing him with his new golden boy, a man by the name of Coltrane. Apparently Jackson trusted a stranger more than he trusted his own son. Dean had been given a token raise and no work, a complete humiliation by their ruthless father.
Jilly was ready to do battle in Dean’s place. She couldn’t sit back and watch her brother crawl into a computer, surrendering everything, in particular Jackson’s trust, to an interloper.
To be fair, Dean allowed himself to be victimized by his father. He’d never made any attempt to find other work—the moment he’d passed the bar exam he’d taken a high-paying job with his father’s multimillion-dollar development firm, and he’d been ensconced there ever since, taking Jackson’s abuse, doing his bidding, a perfect yes-man still looking for a father’s approval and love. Jilly had given up on Jackson years ago. Dean had a harder time letting go.
Of course, he hadn’t confronted Meyer about it. Instead he’d come home, drunk too much and wept on his little sister’s shoulder. So here she was, trying to make things right for her brother’s sake, knowing she stood a snowball’s chance in L.A. of doing any such thing.
But for Dean’s sake she had to try.
She leaned her head back against the sofa and closed her eyes. She should have gotten a manicure. Her grandmother always said no woman could feel insecure if she had a terrific manicure. Jilly doubted that plastic nails were much of a defense against her father’s personality, but at this point she could have used all the weapons she could muster. Maybe she could leave, do as that gorgon Mrs. Afton suggested and make a formal appointment to see her father, and come back with a manicure and even a haircut. Meyer hated her long hair. She could return with something short and curly, like Meg Ryan had.
Except that she wasn’t cute and pert, she was tall and strong with unfashionably long, straight, dark-brown hair, and nothing was going to turn her into a bundle of adorable femininity. Even a manicure wouldn’t help.
Deep breaths, she told herself. Calm down—don’t let him get you worked up. Picture yourself going down a flight of stairs, slowly, letting your body relax. Ten, nine, eight…
Someone was watching her. She’d fallen asleep while trying to meditate herself into a calmer state, but suddenly she’d become aware that someone was watching her. Maybe if she kept her eyes closed he’d go away. It couldn’t be her father—he wouldn’t let a little thing like sleep interfere with his agenda.
It couldn’t be Mrs. Afton—she’d have crossed the room and given Jilly a shake.
But hiding behind closed eyes was no way to deal with life.
Jilly opened her eyes and blinked, startled by the dimness of the room. It was late, the sky outside the broad expanse of windows was settling into an early autumn night, and the man watching her was blocking the door, consumed in shadows.
The hushed activity of Meyer Enterprises had stilled. It was very late, and she was alone with a stranger. If she had any sense at all she’d be scared to death.
She was a sensible woman. “Are you going to hover there?” she asked in a tart voice, forcing herself to take her time in getting off the sofa, resisting the impulse to pull her short skirt down over her long thighs. It would only draw his attention to it.
He flicked on the light, and she blinked, momentarily disoriented after the shadowy dimness of the room. “I’m sorry you were kept waiting so long. Mrs. Afton left a note on my desk that you were here to see me, but I didn’t see it until I was ready to leave.”
“I wasn’t waiting to see you. I don’t even know who you are. I was waiting to see Jackson.”
He stepped into the room, and his half smile was deprecating, charming and completely false. “Your father asked me to handle it,