Page 38 of You'll Find Out
The soft blue silk of her dress brushed against her skin, and through the light fabric, Mara could feel the inviting warmth of Shane’s large hands, coaxing her . . . massaging her . . . caressing her . . .
“Look, Mara, if something’s wrong with Angie, I think I have a right to know—”
The door flew open. Startled and embarrassed, Mara shrank from Shane’s tempting embrace. She felt her face begin to burn guiltily.
“Oh,” Dena said, her curious eyebrows arching. Had she just stumbled onto something important? “I . . . I didn’t mean to disturb you . . .” she began, stepping backward while her green eyes took in the intimate scene.
“You didn’t,” Shane replied curtly with a polite, but slightly irritated smile. “We were just on our way to the boardroom. Is everything ready?”
“Yes . . . that’s what I came to tell you. Other than Cousin Arnie . . . everyone is waiting.” The look of confusion and incomprehension never left her perfect face, and her dark, almond-shaped eyes puzzled over Shane’s features.
For one heart-stopping instant Mara read the expression on Dena’s face.She knows,Mara thought.Dear God, Dena knows that Shane is Angie’s father!Surprisingly fast, Mara’s composure and common sense took over. If Dena knew about Angie’s paternity, she would have already made good use of it, unless she intended to use the information to embarrass Mara at the board meeting! Mara felt her insides churn. Never had she dreaded a board meeting more, but she managed a feeble grin.
“Good.” If only she could hide the blush that still burned on her cheeks. “Let’s go!” Armed with Shane’s proposal, all fifteen copies, and as much confidence as she was able to muster, Mara led Shane and Dena down the stark white hallways into the elegant and slightly overstated boardroom.
Already the captain’s chairs around the shining walnut table were, for the most part, occupied. Although a paddle fan circulated lazily over the crowd, a thin cloud of hazy cigarette smoke hung heavily in the air, and the whispered chatter that had buzzed only minutes before stopped as Mara entered the room and took her place at the head of the table. Her stomach lurched perceptively as she placed a strained smile on her face and looked into the eyes of all of the relatives of her late husband, most of whom she hadn’t seen since the day of the funeral.
As Mara’s eyes swept the interested but cautious faces lining the table, they locked with June’s pale blue gaze. Dressed in burdensome black, which had become her only public attire since Peter’s death, the older woman smiled tightly at her daughter-in-law and fidgeted with the single strand of natural pearls at her neck. Dena slid into a chair next to her mother, and the contrast between mother and daughter was shocking. Dena seemed devastatingly youthful and glowing with health. Her thick red hair, secured against the nape of her neck, curled softly at her neckline, the understated but elegant ivory silk dress enhanced her slim figure, and the discreet but expensive jewelry sparkled against her flawless skin. It all seemed to give Dena just the right touch of class that made her appear more beautiful than usual.
After informal introductions were made and coffee was offered to all of the board members, Mara called the meeting to order. Somehow she was able to speak, although she felt a painful constriction in her chest. The nervous glances and grim smiles on the faces of Peter’s family didn’t ease any of her discomfort. Did they all know? Was it possible that they could tell that Shane was Angie’s father? Did they think her an impostor—a pretender to the crown? She knew that her restless thoughts bordered on paranoia, but still they plagued her. How in God’s name was she going to get out of this? Sooner or later all of the family, June and Dena included, would know that Shane was the father of Peter’s child. What would happen? And why, when everything appeared so useless, did she try so vainly to hold Imagination together? It seemed inevitable that, when the truth was learned, the family would contest Peter’s will and a horrible, ugly lawsuit would ensue.
Mara wasn’t really worried for herself; she knew that she could be as strong as she had to be. But what about Angie, and June? The press would have a field day with the story. How could Mara protect her child and her frail mother-in-law? Was it possible?
A few of the essentials for the board meeting, such as a treasurer’s report and a lengthy reading of the minutes of the previous meeting, were accomplished as quickly as possible. Finally, her composure outwardly calm, Mara announced the purpose of the meeting, explaining in detail the financial woes of the toy company, and passed out the typewritten reports to each of the board members.
Shane rose to confront the members of the Wilcox family. He looked exactly like what he was: young, tough, and confident. His smile, slightly crooked, seemed genuine, and his dark eyes took in every person in the room at once. He spoke distinctly, cross-referencing his speech with notes from the typewritten pages. After explaining the reasons that Delta Electronics was interested in Imagination and summarizing the contents of his proposal, he smiled confidently at the nervous pairs of eyes that watched him. The fan turned quietly overhead, soft strains of piped-in music melted in the background, the pages rustled as they were turned, and only an occasional cough or click of a lighter disturbed Shane’s even monologue.
Mara noticed that the jute-colored open-weave draperies swayed with the movement of air, and that a few of Peter’s relatives shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. But for the most part the board seemed to be uniformly concentrating on Shane; he had everyone’s attention.
Mara listened and watched the effect of Shane’s speech on the members sitting at the table. Some seemed absolutely convinced that Shane knew exactly what he was doing, to the extent that Cousin Arnie even nodded his bald head in agreement with Shane’s more elaborate points. A few others were dubious, and the caution in their eyes was an open invitation to questions. And several, at least it seemed from their blank expressions, didn’t know quite what to think.
Shane’s speech was short and concise. When finished, he tapped the report loudly on the table, closed it, and sat down. “Now,” he concluded, taking a long drink from the coffee cup that had been sitting, untouched, in front of him, “does anyone have any questions?”
For a stagnant second there was only silence, and then it seemed as if everyone began to talk at once. Shane smiled to himself in amusement, but Mara’s stomach quivered in worried anticipation. Finally, the boardroom quieted.
“Are you trying to tell me . . . I mean, us,” Peter’s cousin, Sarah, began after crushing out her cigarette, “that unless we take you, er, Delta Electronics up on their offer, Imagination Toys will . . . will go bankrupt?” Fear showed in Sarah’s ice-blue eyes and her voice was strained with her feelings of incredulity. Never in her thirty-four years had she considered herself being anything but wealthy.
“That’s being a little overdramatic,” Shane observed with a good-natured smile that was meant to ease Sarah. “But it’s obvious from the last financial statements Imagination Toys has provided me that the company is in trouble—serious trouble.”
“Hogwash!” Peter’s aunt Mimi declared, opening her gloved palms in a gracious gesture of explanation. “Imagination is just suffering a little because of the economy, you know, the recession or whatever those buffoons in Washington want to call it.” She smiled sweetly, as if she had solved all of the problems, and her third husband patted her knowingly on her arm.
Sarah ignored Aunt Mimi. “But how can that be—that Imagination is in trouble? I thought that the company was worth . . . several million!” Sarah nervously played with her lighter, rotating it end on end as she asked her worried questions.
Mara’s tightly controlled voice interrupted Shane’s response. “Of course the company is worth quite a bit, Sarah. But for the past several years, the profits have been falling off, and in order to keep Imagination on its feet, we need an input of more capital into the treasury.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Kennedy,” Sarah’s brother Rich argued, “but I really don’t like the idea of someone other than the family putting up more funds for Imagination. This has been a Wilcox family venture for generations, and I think we should try and work out our problems among ourselves . . . no offense, you understand.”
Once again the room buzzed with whispered chatter, all seeming to agree with Rich’s impassioned speech. It was Mara’s turn to speak. “I couldn’t agree with you more, Rich,” she said with a genuine smile. Rich positively beamed; he was so proud of himself. “Now,” Mara continued graciously, “who would like to make the investment? Delta Electronics is willing to put up half a million dollars . . .” Mara’s cobalt eyes skimmed the faces, and most of the eyes upon her avoided her gaze.
The room became hushed, and Mara felt that her point had been driven home. No one in the family was willing to put that much money into the failing toy company. Reluctantly, the family was coming to grips with the uncomfortable financial situation and the fact that Shane’s offer was nearly a last-ditch effort.
It was Dena’s slow, sultry speech that caught Mara’s attention and started the creeping sense of dread that began crawling up her spine. Throughout the meeting, Dena’s eyes had been narrowing on Shane, reassessing him, scrutinizing him, and now it was the redhead’s move.
“Mara’s right, of course,” Dena patronized sweetly as she looked from one to the other of the tense faces that lined the table. “Not one of us can afford to put up that kind of money for Imagination, can we? And it’s my guess that even combined, the coffers of the Wilcox family couldn’t scramble together half a million dollars.” Her smile melted to a determined frown. “And why is that?” Dena asked rhetorically. Silence. Shane’s eyes had blackened and Mara felt the rush of color to her face, but other than the nervous click of Sarah’s lighter, there was no noise. Dena answered her own question. “The answer is simple—for the last three quarters, ever since Peter’s death, Imagination Toys hasn’t paid any of us one thin dime in dividends! And whose fault is that?”
“You know the reasons for that, Dena. We discussed them last year, and the board approved my decision to withhold the dividends,” Mara retorted through clenched teeth. She was conscious of the eyes of Peter’s family looking at her, some with empathy, others with accusation. “We all agreed that it would be better to try and turn the company around, rather than bleed it dry with dividends.”
“A lot of good it did,” Dena snorted, and Cousin Rich smiled in agreement.
