For the Love of Family (6 page)

This time her cousin waited, as if curious to hear how she’d phrase it.

But what could she say?
I can’t believe my father would allow it?
Joe would think she was crazy. Who could believe, in this day and age, that any man would forbid his wife to speak to his own brother, just because the brother was illegitimate?

Or that, if he did, his wife would bow to his demands?

Belle shook her head, giving up. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.” He waved his hand. “I was there when she came.”

Belle was disappointed—and a little offended—by his curt tone. Apparently his reluctance to get together
hadn’t been just nerves or caution. He obviously was just as determined as Sam to dictate a distance between the two sides of the family.

“Okay. She went to see your father.” Belle hesitated. “My
uncle
. Is that a problem?”

“Yes, frankly, it is.” He speared a chunk of lettuce, though he didn’t eat it, and then set his fork down again. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I hope you can persuade her not to do it again. My father can barely speak. His condition is fragile. Your mother’s visit upset him.”

Upset him? Belle felt as if she’d been slapped. How could her cousin contend such a patently ridiculous thing?

“That seems unlikely,” she said, hearing the same curt tone sharpening her own voice. “My mother is the most sensitive person I know. She considers it her mission in life to make everyone happy. Even, sometimes, when it’s not in her own best interests.”

“Not in her own best interests?” Joe raised an eyebrow. “Meaning that Sam won’t approve.”

Belle tilted her chin. “Meaning that it’s complicated. But if she’s been to see Adam, I guarantee you she has the best of intentions. She always does.”

Joe shook his head. “You’re going to have to defer to me on this, Belle. I know my father. And, if you’ll forgive me, I know
your
father. If he finds out that your mother has been to the hospital, God only knows what he’ll do. Which may be what your mother is after.”

“What? You think she’d use your father to…”

But he wasn’t listening. He leaned forward, and in spite of herself Belle instinctively drew back.

“I haven’t a clue what she’d do. Listen, Belle. I don’t have anything against you or your mother. I assume you’ve been as blindsided by all this as we have. But my father and I don’t need to get caught in the middle of whatever is going on between your parents. Right now I can’t afford to let anyone slow his recovery.”

His expression had grown dark, as if he grappled with some emotion too intense to share. “I’m sorry to be rude, Belle, but I’d like you to talk to her. I’d like you to make sure she doesn’t come again.”

L
ATER THAT NIGHT
, while her best friend, Pandora, drowsed with her baby in the armchair, offering occasional lazy comments, Belle tried on every dress she owned and tried not to panic.

But panic was definitely nibbling at the edges of her psyche. Her first formal staff meeting at Diamante was tomorrow. Matt Malone presided over the sessions, and George had warned her that she’d be expected to have ideas for the upcoming product launch.

She’d been racking her brain all afternoon. Now she was racking her closet. After her missteps today she had an awful lot to prove.

And very little to prove it with. She hadn’t come up with any brilliant ideas to suggest, and the closet…

Journalists simply didn’t have the same dress code as public relations people. She had one decent suit, and Matt had already seen her in it twice. Even if it hadn’t been in an airtight bag ready to go to the dry cleaners, she couldn’t have worn it again.

She held up the last of her options, a black sweater
dress that fit well and looked fairly stylish. She caught Pandora’s eye in the mirror. “Maybe?”

“Maybe if you were going to a funeral.” Her friend’s chuckle was soft, but the sleeping baby sprawled out across her chest stirred. Pandora put her hand on little Mary Isabella Anderson’s back, and the baby calmed instantly.

“Sorry,” she continued in a softer voice. “But bo-ring. Don’t you own anything that says ‘watch out, world, here I come!’?”

Belle tossed the sweaterdress onto the bed, along with all the other rejected outfits. “My bikini, maybe. Want me to wear that?”

Pandora, whose own wardrobe was always fabulously flamboyant, sighed. She propped her feet on the edge of the bed and studied her rhinestone-encrusted sandals thoughtfully. “Maybe I have something at the theater that would—”

“No.” Belle held up a warning palm. Pandora taught drama to high schoolers, and she was famous for having the most elaborate costume department in the entire San Francisco public-school system. “Don’t even think about it, Dorrie.”

Her friend scowled, ready to argue, but then her face relaxed into a smile. “Oh, right. That didn’t work out so great last time, did it? Yeah, you’d better not go the costume route. You wouldn’t want Zorro…I mean, your
boss
, falling asleep right in the middle of the meeting.”

Ignoring the jibe, Belle dropped onto the vanity chair and stared at herself in the mirror. She looked tired, her
face too pale and her eyes shadowed. It wasn’t just the job, though of course that didn’t help.

These days, almost everything seemed to be going wrong.

The breakup with David, the newspaper layoffs, the money problems that just wouldn’t quit. Her father’s temper, the strangely hostile meeting with her new cousin, and now this weird news that her mother was acting out of character.

A lot of seemingly unconnected bad karma. But sometimes Belle thought all the ripples could be traced back to the one heavy stone that had been dropped into their lives.

It had all begun the night her adored grandmother died. Or, to be more exact, the morning the will was read, and her equally beloved grandfather’s double life was revealed.

Things had begun to go sour that very day. Like some kind of cosmic payback for all the Carson sins and secrets.

Belle tried hoisting her unruly curls into a chignon, but it made her look younger. With a sigh, she let them fall, and gazed at Pandora’s reflection again.

“You met my grandfather, Dorrie. Would you have imagined he was capable of something like this?”

The advantage of having a true old friend was that she could follow even the most illogical segues.

Unfazed, Pandora shrugged. “Depends on what you mean by ‘this.’ Could I imagine he was capable of fathering a couple of kids out of wedlock? Sure.” She rubbed her cheek against little Mary’s downy head. “Who isn’t?”

Belle smiled. Though Pandora had agonized every day of her pregnancy, second-guessing the decision to be a single mother, the arrival of Mary Isabella had answered all those lingering questions. Pandora had been instantaneously bewitched.

She shifted Mary higher onto her shoulder. “But would I have believed he could shut the illegitimate children out of his life, refusing even to acknowledge them? No. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around that one.”

So was Belle.

Grandpa Robert’s death, when she was only seventeen, had been the single greatest loss of her life. He’d been everything to her…hero, confidant, advisor and safety net. He’d been the wise, patient father figure that Sam Carson simply didn’t have the temperament to be.

Losing him once had been hard enough. But now, ten years later, when she learned the truth about his life, it was as if she’d lost him all over again.

“I wonder if Joe is feeling the same way.” She put her chin in her hand, still talking to Pandora in the mirror, too tired to turn around. “If he was close to his grandmother, and suddenly he learns that she was some strange man’s mistress…that his grandfather isn’t his grandfather…that he has an aunt he never knew…”

“Yeah. Kind of a nightmare. Guess you have to cut him some slack for being cranky, huh?”

Belle nodded. They were all in the same boat. They were all looking into the cherished family albums and suddenly seeing only strangers smiling back.

“But let’s tackle one problem at a time.” Pandora settled Mary into her carrier carefully, so as not to wake
her. “We have to get you dressed for tomorrow’s performance.” She stood in front of the open closet, hands on her hips. “So they dress pretty spiffy over at the pizza palace, huh?”

“They sure do, at least the ones who meet the public. I swear, even the office manager wears Armani.”

“And Zorro?”

“His name is Matt, darn it.” Belle shook her head. “You don’t want me to slip up and call him that in the office one day, do you?”

Pandora rolled her eyes. “As if you could be that dumb.”

Belle appreciated her friend’s confidence. She wished she shared it.

Her gaze slid to the black velvet shadow box she’d hung over her vanity eight years ago. It held the one remaining crystal earring.

She’d never taken it down, partly because it was so pretty, sparkling and glimmering like caged starlight. Also, though, she kept it partly as a moral parable. The tangible representation of the dangers of pure animal stupidity.

Though she considered herself a smart woman, something about Zorro had lulled her self-preservation instincts into a trance.

She wasn’t completely sure he didn’t have the same power today.

With a growl of triumph, Pandora yanked a pair of black velvet slacks from their clips and, tossing them over her shoulder, began picking through the remaining items, looking for a shirt.

Belle felt her anxiety receding. If anyone could make
this mishmash of casual junk into something impressive, it was Pandora.

“So…” Pandora considered, then rejected a green gypsy shirt with smocked cuffs. “Does Matt wear Armani, too?”

“He’s the exception, I guess. He’s got this jacket that probably costs a month’s rent. But he puts it on over jeans.” She smiled in spite of herself. “Fantastic jeans.”

Her friend chuckled and glanced knowingly over her shoulder. “Ho, boy. I have
got
to get a look at this guy.”

Belle wrinkled her nose sheepishly. Pandora had heard it all, eight years ago, so there was little point in pretending to be immune to Matt Malone’s charms now. “You won’t believe it, Dorrie. I had begun to wonder whether some of what I remembered was…you know…”

“Pheromone hallucinations? Lust blindness? Gin-induced hysteria?”

Belle laughed, and felt a little better. In spite of Pandora’s constant financial struggles, and now the baby to support, with no father in sight, her indomitable practicality and wit improved any situation.

“Well, it was
your
gin, as I recall,” Belle reminded her. “But yeah, I wondered whether some of the sex appeal I remembered was…artificially enhanced. You know. ‘Objects you see in your memory are less romantic than they appear.’”

Pandora grinned. “But not this one, huh?”

“Nope. Unfortunately. But at least there’s no risk of ending up in bed with him this time around. Not without my Cleopatra costume. He’s obviously one of those men who always date bimbos named Trixi with an
i
.
Bambi, with breasts out to here. He wouldn’t have looked at me twice without the padded bra.”

Pandora laughed, just loudly enough to wake the baby, who whimpered adorably.

“Here,” she said, thrusting out the black velvet pants, a shimmery royal blue blouse and a little black bolero jacket Belle had forgotten she owned. And, right on top, a pair of cherry-red pumps, the signature Pandora flair. “It’s not Armani, but you won’t disgrace yourself.”

Belle took the clothes. No, she wouldn’t. And if she could just come up with an impressive idea for the product launch…

She could. And she would.

They were already running a diamond sweepstakes. Maybe there was some way to tie into that.

She clutched the clothes to her chest and made herself a vow.

She’d stay up all night if she had to, but she would
not
go in tomorrow without the best damn PR idea Matt Malone had ever heard.

T
HE NINETY-MINUTE
meeting was nearly over, and Matt noticed that Belle Carson hadn’t uttered a peep.

She looked terrific today, much less like a scared kitten than she had yesterday, but she might as well have been mute. George had tried to draw her out a couple of times, but she’d deflected him with a murmur and a smile.

Thank goodness Nana Lina had decided not to attend the meeting after all, Matt thought. His grandmother had resisted the idea of a public relations department in the first place. She held the purist’s view that if a product was superior, it would speak for itself. Matt had spent at least a year overcoming that.

If Nana Lina met Belle today, she would be sure that Matt had hired a pretty face with no brain behind it. That was something he had always refused to do in his professional life, and, though Colby and Red laughed when he’d announced it, it was now something he would refuse to do in his personal life, as well.

The era of the Tiffanis was over.

Unfortunately, with the expansion bearing down on them, he had no time to pursue a woman of substance
and develop a relationship of substance, so that pretty much meant the era of sex was over, too.

At least for a while.

He’d heard that some men got a physical thrill out of obsessive work. He hoped to heaven that was true.

“Okay, let’s talk about ideas for the launch. We’ve got exactly three weeks before the new foods are on the menus and the doors open at the new franchises. George, do you have the stats?”

Of course he did. He was both smart and thorough—a one-man marketing and PR whiz. Thank God that stupid newspaper had let him go. Matt wasn’t sure he could have tackled this expansion without George to back him up.

George folded back the cover of the oversize pad he’d perched on the easel at the front of the conference room, perfectly positioned so that the light from the bay windows illuminated it.

The first sheet was an organized list of interviews scheduled, ads placed, commercials in the can and ready to air. Matt had already seen the commercials, but the rest of the employees hadn’t, so George queued them up on the projection screen.

From there, George walked them through graphs of expenditures, pie charts of market share, and the return expected on each. He handed an updated calendar to Matt, and set aside a copy for Nana Lina, who was scheduled to speak at several appearances and even take a handful of interviews, if Matt could actually talk her into doing so.

“That’s it for me, I think. But Belle has another idea,
one she sketched out to me this morning. I think it’s an excellent one.”

George sat down and smiled at his protégée. “I’ll let her tell you about it.”

She had obviously been dreading this moment. She wasn’t naive enough to actually gape, but Matt imagined he could feel the thrill of anxiety that raced through her veins. He had to give her kudos. She put a charming smile on her pretty face and stood up gracefully.

“I’m not sure it’s necessarily an idea you’ll want to pursue, particularly as we only have a few weeks before launch. It would require a significant man-hour investment.”

“Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”

She nodded, picked up a few papers from the table in front of her and glanced over them without appearing rushed or flustered. She’d certainly shed the gauche insecurity of yesterday rather quickly. George watched her like a proud but anxious parent.

Matt had to admit he liked her poise, too, especially since he still imagined he could feel her fear lying not far beneath. He didn’t think less of her for that. Only fools felt no fear when they faced the unknown. It was how you handled it that mattered.

And he liked that she’d said “we.” “
We
only have a few weeks.” Either she’d already emotionally invested herself in her job, or she knew how to parse her pronouns.

She swallowed and brushed her blond curls over one shoulder. She had been holding on to the back of her chair, but now let go.

“George has filled me in on the Diamond Sweepstakes you’ve got planned. It’s a wonderful campaign.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Matt hadn’t intended for that to come out as sardonic, but she blinked quickly, and the tips of her cheekbones suddenly looked pinker.

“Yes, well. My idea would expand on the Diamond Sweepstakes.” She adjusted those square black glasses, which were obviously designed to make people take her more seriously. Offset the sexy Kewpie doll look.

She clearly didn’t know they just drew attention to the amazing china-blue eyes behind them.

“As I understand it,” she said, “to celebrate the opening of your new franchises, and the launch of your new menu items, you’re giving away a diamond ring as the grand prize. Everyone who buys your new product, Cinnamon Diamond pastries, in the first ninety days is automatically entered in the sweepstakes.”

“Yes.”

She took a deep breath, as if she had a lot of information to get out in one swoop. “Okay. I thought perhaps we could capitalize on that campaign by holding individual events to celebrate the opening of your new franchises. At these events, we would give away an order of Cinnamon Diamonds with every pizza purchased. These pastries would be specially prepared so that some have toy rings folded inside. Anyone who finds a ring will get an extra entry in the sweepstakes.”

Her words sounded slightly rote, as if she’d memorized that little speech and practiced it in front of the mirror. She took a second deep breath when she finished, clearly relieved to have it out.

“Interesting.” It actually was a fair idea, if expensive. Launching any new product required a lot of word of mouth. But that was hard to come by, unless you could get the food into a lot of mouths in the first place.

“Where would the events be held?”

She smiled, finding her rhythm. “I noticed that each of your new locations is a beach town. This couldn’t be a coincidence. These spots were chosen because that’s where Diamante’s customers are. So let’s go to the beach. The atmosphere is casual, fun, natural—the image Diamante has always promoted. Sun, surf, healthy young people and families having a good time. Visuals that will particularly appeal to television viewers.”

“You said we’ll be giving away the Cinnamon Diamonds free? That’ll cost us quite a bit, won’t it?”

“Yes.” Reaching across the table, she handed him a sheet of paper on which some rough calculations had been printed. Preliminary figures, but Matt could see that it was an educated guess, and it was a damn big number.

“Rather ambitious,” he said. “But perhaps we can recoup some of this with additional pizza sales?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think that would be advisable. As you probably know, newspapers normally refuse to cover purely commercial events. We need another angle. I feel fairly certain that if you donated part of your profits to some local charity, perhaps to education or the environment, you could overcome that reluctance.”

George had begun to look fidgety, which was interesting.

“Part of my profits? What percentage were you thinking?”

George twitched, but Belle met Matt’s gaze straight on.

“A hundred.”

Matt laughed, and a low hum broke out among several of the other managers seated around the table. “You want me to donate a hundred percent of the profits to charity?”

She didn’t blink. “Yes.”

“Really, Miss Carson.” Todd Kirkland, who handled Diamante’s charitable Driver Compensation Fund, broke in, his voice subtly condescending, as if he thought he could teach the new girl a thing or two. “I’m in favor of charity. That’s the sum total of my work at Diamante, in fact. But even I…Doesn’t that seem a little overreaching?”

Belle turned politely, facing him with the same undaunted expression. “No. Not if you want newspapers and television stations to take the event seriously. If they stay home, then we might as well do the same.”

Francie, who had never cared for Todd, scowled. “I think it’s a fantastic idea,” she said, a shade aggressively.

Then she glanced at Matt, shrugging. Apparently she’d appointed herself Belle’s guard dog.

Or it might just have been the caffeine.

Belle smiled at the older woman, then turned back to Matt. “In the end, it will cost far less than the price of comparable paid advertising, which is your only alternative.”

Matt nodded. “Okay. Is that all?”

“That’s the broad outline.” She started to pull out her chair, but hesitated at the last minute. “There was one other thing.”

George watched her carefully. Apparently this part was unscripted.

Matt tilted his head. “Yes?”

“It would be most effective if you attended the events yourself. Optimally, you would personally serve the pizza.”

“Really? Why?”

“Well, I’ve been researching the company, and, in terms of narratives that are useful for public relations, Diamante Pizza has two choices. One is your grandmother, who created the pizza you sell today. The other is…you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You are your grandmother’s heir, the one who will carry the business into the future. You are her claim to immortality. And, of course, you’re…”

For just a minute her poise broke, and he thought he saw her blush under the carefully applied makeup.

“I’m what?”

She lifted her chin slightly, clearly deciding to go for the gold. “You’re telegenic. Wear swim trunks, and the TV stations will eat it up. You won’t be able to bake enough Cinnamon Diamonds to keep up with the demand.”

Matt looked at George, who was staring at Belle as if she’d just won him the Kentucky Derby. Apparently, even he hadn’t realized exactly how much grit the filly he’d adopted had inside her.

Matt cleared his throat. “George?”

The man beamed at him. “Yeah?”

“You like it?”

“I love it.” George stood. “Well done, Belle. Inspired…” He nodded, clearly at a loss for words.

“Okay, then.” Matt began gathering up his papers, ready to get back to work. He had six properties to walk through this afternoon, and he wanted to get to Nana Lina’s for dinner. “We’ll do it.”

Belle’s brows drew together slightly. “What?”

“I said we’ll do it.”

As the others filed out of the conference room, chattering about the controversial new developments, she just stood there. She clamped her hands across the back of the chair again, squeezing the leather so hard her knuckles turned white.

He paused at the door. “Everything okay, Belle?”

“When you say we’ll do it…” She looked at him as if he’d spoken in another language she was trying hard to decode. “You mean, you’ll think about it?”

He laughed. Clearly, in all her plotting and rehearsing in front of the mirror, she hadn’t ever seen beyond the challenge of making her pitch. She hadn’t fully understood that there would come a moment when she had to turn the idea into reality.

“I’ve already thought about it. I like it. Now it’s time to get it done.”

S
HE MUST HAVE LOST
her mind.

By the time Belle got back to her desk, her knees were as shaky as Jell-O. What had she been thinking? Why had she come up with such an elaborate scheme to launch these silly Cinnamon Diamonds? Couldn’t she just have suggested putting flyers on cars, or a coupon
in the paper? Or anything simple that she would have had a hope in hell of pulling off?

But no, she’d felt the need to get brilliant. Determined to impress Matt, she’d gotten drunk on her own creativity, fallen in love with her own clever ideas.

Well, this would teach her to show off. Now she had to actually make this happen.

Watching Matt confer with George in his office, she had the queasy feeling that he had approved her idea primarily to test her. To see whether she was anything more than hot air and window dressing.

Well, was she?

Guess it was time to find out.

She turned on her computer and began feverishly looking up wholesale novelty distributors. Just her luck, it would probably be too late to order enough of the plastic diamond rings, and she’d bankrupt this sixty-year-old company overnight.

She was so absorbed in her research she barely heard the elevator chime behind her. She didn’t turn around.

But as Belle heard the voice of the visitor, a slow tingle made its way up her spine. The smooth, beautifully modulated tones could belong to only one person.

“Good morning. How are you today? I’m Sam Carson. I’m here to see my daughter.”

Belle’s fingers stilled on the keyboard. She hadn’t seen or spoken to her dad since she’d stormed out of his house ten days ago. Since before she took the job.

And yet he had found her here.

He sounded as if he was in an upbeat mood, but you couldn’t tell with him. He was always charming to
underlings. They were no threat to him, and he enjoyed their innocent admiration. Plus, he was smart enough to know that even an underpaid porter still controls the key to the gate.

He’d met his match in Francie, though. She wasn’t charmed by anyone. As far as Belle had been able to determine, Francie didn’t admire any male creature on the planet, with the possible exception of Matt.

“Good morning, Mr. Carson.” Francie’s Midwestern twang suddenly turned every bit as New England uppity as Sam’s, and equally autocratic. “I’m sorry.” Belle heard the rustle of pages in Francie’s desk calendar. “Is Belle expecting you?”

Oh, dear
. Belle swiveled quickly, well aware that her father’s charm was so thin it couldn’t withstand a Francie attack.

“It’s okay,” she said, adding a smile to let the other woman know she appreciated the attempt to guard her from unwanted interruptions. “I’m off the phone.” She stood. “Hi, Dad. Is everything okay?”

“Well, I’m not sure.” He glanced around. “Is there anywhere we can talk privately?”

Belle thought quickly, her gaze going to the office where her two bosses still sat, reviewing sheaves of paperwork. She couldn’t really leave right now, three hours before lunch. No one punched a time clock here, but she hadn’t been around long enough to gauge how strict Matt was.