Her Man Friday(82)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

"And, anyway," he plodded on, "I think maybe, between the three of us, with a little time and effort, we might be able to work this thing out, that’s all. If you want to give it a shot, I mean. As long as you guys haven’t done anything illegal, and as long as you’ve got all the proper documentation to uphold everything you’ve done, and as long as you could make the formal transition of power from Kimball to you fairly painless for the big boys…"

He scrunched up his shoulders and let them drop. "Well, they might come around to your—our—way of thinking. Hey, your record speaks for itself. I don’t know a lot about boards of directors, but status quo seems to hold a lot of appeal for them. And if you removed Lily from her position, it could mess with that status quo. Big time."

No one said a word for a moment after that. They all simply regarded each other with varying degrees of skepticism, and speculation, and… hope.

Kimball was the one to finally break the silence. Without moving from his position by the fireplace, he said, very softly, "Lily. Darling. What do you think?"

She hesitated a moment longer before replying, "I think you’re both being overly optimistic."

"Well, it wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened, would it?" Kimball said.

"No, that’s true," she agreed. But still, she didn’t concede either victory or defeat.

"C’mon, Lily," Leo said, throwing his weight into the ring. "You know you don’t want to step down from your position. I can see it in your eyes. You love being the man in charge. And think of all the good you could do once you’re recognized as the driving force behind the business. If you leave the running of Kimball Technologies to someone else—someone with a Y chromosome—you know the first thing to go, in favor of the bottom line, will be the charitable donations."

She nodded slowly, sadly. "Yes. I do know that."

"Then you can’t let the big boys win."

She inhaled a deep breath, clearly anxious about deciding one way or the other. "I don’t know…" she began.

"At least try, Lily," Leo said. "You can’t give it all up without even trying."

"Well," she finally said, "it would be awfully difficult for me to watch someone else undo the network I’ve worked so hard to put together. And I really would hate to see all that excess money going to pad the pockets of a bunch of greedy, rich businessmen when it could be putting food into the mouths of families who are infinitely more deserving."

She brightened some as she turned her attention to Leo completely. "And seeing as how you’ve got such a good rapport with the board," she added meaningfully, "I’d hate not to take advantage of it. But, Leo, perhaps it would be beneficial, too, to ask your friend, Mr. Dolan to come along when we address the board. And ask him to wear one of his double-breasted suits of Italian manufacture, would you?"

Leo smiled. "Hey, I’ll even have him eat some garlic and pesto before the meeting."

Lily smiled back. "I think that would be an excellent idea. Schuyler," she added, turning toward her cohort, "what do you think?"

He glanced down at his watch. "I think, Lily, darling, that it is now seven o’clock, and therefore a very opportune time to break for dinner." He lifted his glass from the mantelpiece and strode toward the door. Over his shoulder, he called out a question that really required no answer. "Shall we continue this conversation afterward?"

Chapter Twenty-one

Schuyler left the library feeling only marginally better about the state of things in his universe. Certainly the business area was much improved over what it had been less than an hour ago, even though they still had a ways to go there. But things weren’t so ideal on the personal front.

He had telephoned Caroline that afternoon, both at the Van Meter Academy and at home, hoping to catch her and talk to her and try to explain what he himself still didn’t quite understand. It was just as well he hadn’t reached her, he supposed. Because he really had no idea what to say to her. That hadn’t stopped him, however, from leaving a message on her home answering machine, asking her—no, begging her—to come to dinner at the house tonight.

And now he couldn’t quite slow his embarrassingly rapid pace as he covered the distance between the library and the dining room. When he arrived, however, it was to find himself awash in his family, with no sign of Caroline Beecham to be had. He deflated some at the realization that she hadn’t come, but for some reason, his attention remained fixed on the collection of women who populated the dining room.

His family.

How extraordinary.

Funny that he had never really considered them such in more than a denotative sense, not even when he’d been a child growing up. He’d never felt as if he had one iota of anything in common with his mother or his sister, and he’d never really known—or cared to know—his father. And now he had a daughter with whom he was discovering some semblance of camaraderie. Family. Strange, that. Stranger still was the odd little trickle of warmth that wound through him at the knowledge that he did indeed have such a thing to claim as his own.

Really, he thought, he was going to have to try harder to understand the comings and goings of his life, if he ever hoped to make sense of anything.

"Schuyler."

And speaking of things that made no sense…

He turned slowly at the sound of his name uttered in a voice he had feared he would never hear again. His heart pounded in his chest, his blood rushed through his veins, his breath caught in his lungs. Because Caroline strode down the gallery… albeit at a speed that would have put her in third place behind a glacier melting and a sloth awakening. It seemed to take forever for her to reach him, and when she finally did, she still halted with a good five feet of space separating them.

That was okay, though, Schuyler thought, for now. Because standing as she was, he could drink his fill of her visually, and visually, she was a magnum of Perrier-Jouet just waiting to be savored.

Her hair was once again swept up behind her, but not in the severe, pinching fashion she normally wore. No, in fact, several breezy little tendrils cascaded around her face, nearly to her shoulders, and the rest looked as if someone had just carelessly piled it atop her head. It was almost as if the removal of one little pin would send the whole arrangement tumbling down.

Oh, yes. Schuyler much preferred this style to the other.

She had bypassed her usual bland wardrobe colors and had opted for a sapphire blue gown that hugged her lush form in a manner that would have made him jealous, had her dress not been an inanimate object. Oh, hell, yes it did make him jealous, and he itched to remove it so that he might be the one hugging her form instead.