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Hal flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean my comment to sound that way. As far as that goes, Arnie has a degree in business, sits in on all the board meetings and actually shows up at work two or three days each week. Despite his education and his experience, he shows absolutely no interest in the company. If I had to guess, I would say that you have a better grasp of the business world than he does.”
She touched his hand, which lay on the table beside his plate. “I know you’re disappointed in Arnold, Hal, but give him time. He’s still young.”
He looked at her with amused disbelief. “Kelly, he’s five years older than you.”
She grinned. “Ah, so he is.”
“I can’t tell you how disappointed I was when the two of you showed no interest in each other. Our families have always been so close. It would have been such a blessing if you had become a member of our family.”
Okay, Kelly said to herself, use a little tact here. There was no reason to tell a doting father that his only son and heir was a complete jerk. She couldn’t remember ever seeing Arnold Covington completely sober and he went through women faster than the Concorde could cross the Atlantic.
“As you pointed out, my world is considerably different from his,” she finally said. She hoped he would assume she was talking about art and business.
“All I’m trying to say is that I have no hard facts to back up my suspicions—just rumors. Chakaris’s name has come up more than once. That’s usually the only hint an owner gets before he grabs your company out from under you. He’s ruthless, you know.”
“Don’t forget that I have firsthand knowledge of his tactics, Hal,” she reminded him.
Once again Hal flushed. “I’m sorry, honey. I wasn’t thinking.” He turned his attention to his food and they lightly chatted through the rest of the meal. Once coffee was served, Hal said, “You seem to be adjusting to being alone these days. I hope that’s true and not just an image you’re determined to project. I know how close you were to your mother.”
“I know Mom is happy to be with Dad again, Hal. She was never the same after he died. Even though three years had passed, I’ll always feel that she died of a broken heart.
“Anyway, with a housekeeper and others looking after the place and caring for me, I’m far from alone.”
“You know what I mean. You must get lonely there.”
“At times, yes, of course. On the upside, I wouldn’t have been able to produce enough paintings in time for my showing if I hadn’t thrown myself into my work. Staying busy gave me a chance to distance myself from the immediate shock of losing Mother so unexpectedly…until I could better deal with her being gone.”
“So your painting helped you. I’m glad.”
“As a matter of fact, I’ve set this week aside to go through Mother’s belongings. I should have done it sooner, but it was too painful. Anyway, I need to decide what I want to keep and what to give away. Her room is pretty much the way she left it. I know the housekeeper has seen that it’s been kept clean, but the actual sorting of her belongings has been left to me. Even though it’s been almost a year, I haven’t felt I was ready to face that duty before now.”
Kelly glanced at her watch. “As much as I’ve enjoyed having lunch with you, Hal, I really need to return home and start on it. The sooner I begin, the sooner the chore will be done.”
Hal stood and pulled out her chair for her. “And I need to get back as well. I’m sorry I haven’t stayed in closer touch with you, my dear. I hope you’ll forgive me for being so wrapped up in my own affairs.”
Kelly gave him a quick hug. “There’s nothing to forgive. You’ve always been only a phone call away. I know if I ever needed you, you’d be there for me.”
Once they were on the sidewalk outside of the restaurant, Hal turned to Kelly and took her hand. “It was good to see you again, Kelly. We need to do this more often.” The doorman had signaled for a taxi and when eventually one stopped, Hal put Kelly inside and paid the cabbie as he gave him the address.
She waved at Hal before settling into the seat and thinking about their luncheon conversation. She knew Hal would probably have sought her out anyway, but she was uneasy that he was desperate enough to ask her to spy for him.
If Dominic Chakaris had his eye on Covington & Son, he would be a formidable foe. She could certainly sympathize with Hal.
Once home, Kelly checked her phone messages and found four calls waiting.
A member of one of her mother’s charity groups had called to ask Kelly to attend a meeting the next day, no doubt in hopes that Kelly would take over her mother’s position.
Another call was from Anita Sheffield, a friend from college she hadn’t spoken to in several months. She jotted down her number, sorry she hadn’t been there to take Anita’s call.
There was a hang up and then she discovered that Dominic Chakaris had left a rather abrupt message. She shivered at the sound of his voice. How strange that he should have called her right after she and Hal had been discussing him.
She played his message over. She wondered how he’d gotten her unlisted number…although a man of his power and connections probably wouldn’t have any trouble. No doubt he had a staff of spies to do his bidding.
Not that it mattered. She had more or less expected to hear something from him since she’d placed his portrait in the gallery with her other work.
Hal’s question about why she had painted the portrait was one she had repeatedly asked herself during the past several months. Dominic Chakaris had become an obsession with her—her nemesis. His actions had destroyed her family, yet she doubted that he would recognize the family name if she confronted him with it.
Instead of a fruitless confrontation with the man, she had painted him. Even she had been amazed at how quickly she’d been able to transfer her vision of him to canvas. There had been times when she felt that her hand was guided. She’d worked day and night on the project, barely eating, sleeping for only a few hours at a time before she once again found herself with brush in hand before the canvas.
She remembered the day she’d finished. She’d stood back and looked at the painting as objectively as possible and had known that it was the best work she’d done in her career. She had captured the ruthlessness, the arrogance, that she saw in the man.
However, the expression in his eyes had surprised her. She hadn’t thought of him as lonely or vulnerable and yet…there he was, staring back at her, revealing a bleakness that she had never noticed before…at least consciously. She had no idea why she’d painted him that way.
The irony of her present situation was that she had never intended to publicly display the portrait. After all, she had painted it as a catharsis of some kind, to help her get through her grieving process. When Andre, the gallery owner who was presenting an exhibit of her work, had come to her studio to discuss what paintings he wanted to display, she’d given no thought to the painting. Once he’d discovered it buried behind some half-finished canvases, Andre had insisted that she simply must include the portrait in her show. At first she’d been adamant in her refusal, but eventually he’d won the debate. She knew now she should have refused, regardless of Andre’s arguments.
She’d convinced herself that Dominic Chakaris would never hear about the portrait. And if he did? He would ignore it…which is what she thought had happened when she’d heard no response from him for several weeks after the opening of her exhibit.
Well, she’d been wrong, hadn’t she?
Unwilling to postpone the inevitable, Kelly picked up the phone and dialed the number he’d left.
Chapter Two
T he phone was answered on the first ring.
“Chakaris.”
Kelly blinked in surprise. The man answered his own phone? She shrugged and said, “This is Kelly MacLeod, returning your call.” She couldn’t help adding, “Can’t you afford to pay for someone to answer your phone?”
There was a pause. She could swear she heard a noise that sounded like a chuckle, which she found odd. He didn’t strike her as a man with much of a sense of humor.
“Ah, yes. Ms. MacLeod. Thank you for getting back with me so promptly. The number I left on your machine is my private number. I thought it would save time.”
“Save time for what? I take it you wish to discuss the painting?”
“Among other things,” he said smoothly. “Would you consider having dinner with me one evening this week?”
He must be kidding. “I don’t see why, Mr. Chakaris. If you’re interested in buying the painting, I’m sorry. It’s not for sale.”
“Now, that’s interesting,” he replied. “Although I have no interest in buying it, there are a few things I’d like to discuss with you. If dinner isn’t convenient, perhaps we could meet for lunch.”
She frowned. Why was he insisting on meeting with her? She was curious—very curious. Well, why not. She’d show him she wasn’t afraid of him. “When?”
As though there had never been a doubt that she would meet with him, he said smoothly, “Tomorrow, perhaps?”
She did a mental check for possible scheduling conflicts before she replied. “All right.”
“Good. I’ll send my car for you at twelve-thirty.”
“But—” she began, only to hear a dial tone.
She put the phone down and stood there, thinking she probably should have refused.
Don’t kid yourself. You’ve wanted to meet him…it’s probably one of the reasons you allowed yourself to be talked into putting the painting on display.
Now there was a bit of nonsense if she’d ever heard one. Kelly checked her watch. She was being ridiculous and had better things to do than analyze her feelings where Dominic Chakaris was concerned.
She would meet him, hear what he had to say and afterward would put him and her painting of him in the past where they belonged.
With a quick shrug, she went upstairs to her mother’s bedroom to begin sorting through the last of her mother’s possessions.
The next morning Kelly forced herself out of bed, convinced she hadn’t slept the night before. She remembered waking up and looking at the clock several times and having trouble going back to sleep.
Part of it was due to her sorting through her mother’s things. As much as she had prepared herself, she’d been unnerved by how many memories of her mother had surged back in the course of the afternoon. The slight scent of her mother’s favorite perfume lingered in the closet, causing Kelly to feel that her mother was actually there with her.
She’d come across familiar pieces of clothing and had been reminded of the shopping trips she and her mother had shared.
Kelly had found photographs taken of her from the time she was born, all carefully labeled, dated and placed in a leather-bound album.
Her parents looked so happy together, so proud of her, that she could not stop the tears that trickled down her cheeks.
Handling her mother’s things reminded Kelly of her loss. Within a four-year period she’d lost both parents. She had watched her mother grieve for her husband, never fully recovering from the loss.
Kelly had developed a hatred for the mammoth corporation that had destroyed her father’s health and eventually caused the loss of her mother. Until a few months ago, the greedy corporation and the people behind it had been faceless. Then she had discovered that Dominic Chakaris was the person behind the scenes, playing puppet master with people’s lives.
She should have known news of the portrait would eventually reach him.
While she was in the shower, Kelly thought about possible reasons he wanted to meet her. From everything she had learned about the man, she was sure he would take the opportunity to lambaste her for her audacity. He might try to intimidate her into removing the portrait from the show. She decided to launch a preemptive strike.
As soon as she was dressed, she called the gallery. When the manager answered, she said, “Andre, this is Kelly MacLeod.”
“Ah, Kelly. I’m glad you called. We’ve sold two of your paintings since I last spoke with you. We could have sold more if there weren’t so many on loan from your clients.” He told her which ones and the amount he’d received for them.
“I believe it’s time to close my show, don’t you?”
“You’ve done so well, I thought you would want to continue to display your talent in order to gain new clients.”
“That’s very sweet, Andre, but the truth is, I have a waiting list of women who want their portraits done. Some have managed to get their husbands to agree to a family portrait. If I took no other commissions I’d still be busy for the next couple of years.”
He sighed. “Then of course I’ll do as you wish. I’ve enjoyed working with you once again. I hope we can do another show for you when you’re ready.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t have been able to make it this far without your support. The commissions from my first showing after Dad died were a godsend.”
She made arrangements to have the paintings delivered to her the following week and hung up, figuratively brushing her hands for having taken that step.
Later, she heard the doorbell and realized that she’d spent the entire morning in her mother’s bedroom without paying attention to the time. She glanced down at her casual clothes and shrugged. She wasn’t out to impress the man. If he was offended, too bad.
Nick paced back and forth in front of his desk, checking his watch every few minutes. Ms. MacLeod should be arriving soon and he needed to decide how he would deal with her.
“You’re pacing like an expectant father or a nervous bridegroom,” Craig said, walking into the office. “Here are the reports you requested, by the way.” He placed a bundle of bound papers on the desk. “Maybe they’ll help to occupy your mind.”
Nick stared at Craig in disgust. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an overactive imagination? What makes you think this has anything to do with her? We have several large acquisitions hanging fire at the moment.” He nodded toward the papers. “You should know that as well as I.”
Craig folded his arms. “Uh-huh. I’ve known you for years, Nick. You treat the buying and selling done by this company as casually as if you were playing with Monopoly money. The only topic on which I’ve seen you this nervous is Kelly MacLeod.”
Nick walked behind his desk and sat down. “Right,” he said rolling his eyes. “Let’s see what we have here,” he added, pulling the papers toward him.
The chauffeur, who introduced himself as Ben Jackson, was professionally polite as he escorted her to the limousine parked in front of her home. After opening the back door, he helped her inside.
Kelly looked around the spacious interior. The back area was almost as large as some rooms she’d seen. She settled back into the luxurious leather and wondered which restaurant Mr. Chakaris had chosen for this meeting. She wouldn’t be surprised if he owned a few.
When the limo stopped some time later Kelly was surprised to see that they were in front of one of the towering office buildings in the business district. She didn’t recognize the name on the building. Perhaps it had a restaurant of which she hadn’t heard.
The driver came around and opened her door, offering his hand. Once she stepped out of the limo, he escorted her to the doorman and said, “Ms. MacLeod is here to see Mr. Chakaris.”
“Of course,” the man replied, his uniform giving him an added measure of dignity. Once inside the cavernous lobby, the doorman handed her off to a man who stood by one of the banks of elevators.
“Ms. MacLeod?” he said with a charming smile. He held out his hand, “I’m Craig Bonner. I’m employed by DCA Industries, Dominic Chakaris’s company. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve been impressed with your work for some time.” She took his hand and shook it, noticing his firm grip. So Chakaris owned the building. That was the logo she’d seen outside. Why wasn’t she surprised?
Craig motioned for her to step into one of the elevators. Kelly had no reason to dislike Mr. Bonner just because he worked for Chakaris and she smiled as she thanked him.
Once the door closed, he pushed one of the buttons before he stepped back to stand beside her.
She looked around. The elevator was spacious and well lit. She wondered if there was a private club in the building. The reclusive Mr. Chakaris would probably prefer a bit of privacy when he dined out, which she would prefer as well. The last thing she needed was to find a comment in tomorrow’s gossip columns about having been seen with him.
The doors slid open and her escort ushered her into a large marble foyer. On its walls were three paintings that deserved to be in a museum. In addition, there were several marble busts displayed on Greek columns artistically placed around the area. An ornate flower arrangement in the center of a gleaming table decorated one end of the room. A receptionist sat behind a massive desk at the other end.
Quite an impressive office, she thought. No doubt built with money he’d made cheating rightful owners out of their businesses. Before she could speak she heard a quiet click in the wall opposite the elevator. She turned, and saw tall double doors opening.
“Ms. MacLeod, I’m glad you could meet with me.” The man she had spent several weeks painting walked through the doors. He wasn’t smiling. She didn’t think she’d ever seen that particular phenomenon now that she thought about it.
She would admit, if only to herself, that if this man were anyone other than the man behind the loss of her family, she would have been drawn to him.
He advanced toward her and held out his hand. “Dominic Chakaris.”
She reluctantly accepted the hand he offered. As soon as his fingers touched hers she knew she’d made a mistake. The physical contact made her aware of him in a very unsettling way.
She pulled her hand from his. The polite response was to thank him for inviting her but she could not look him in the eye and lie. Instead, she nodded and said, “Mr. Chakaris.”
Chakaris glanced around and saw his assistant. “Thanks, Craig,” he said as though surprised to find the man still there.
“I’m glad to be of service,” Craig replied. He sounded amused, as though at some private joke. Was she missing something here?
Chakaris made a slight—and she was certain mocking—bow toward her and said, “We’ll be eating in my private dining room. I thought you might be more comfortable here than in a public restaurant.”
As much as she hadn’t wanted to be seen with the man, she found the idea of having a private meal with him far from comfortable. She fought not to sound ungracious when she replied. “Whatever’s convenient for you.”
He motioned toward the open door and she stepped briskly forward, not wishing to have him touch her again.
