"They were at my kindergarten graduation and all the other school graduations to follow, birthday parties, Christmas, holiday events, and of course the off-the-shoulder drape portrait for my debutante ball."
"Poor little rich girl. My heart is bleeding."
She tossed the pictures at him. "Then you can clean these up."
"Fine with me." He swept them into a pile, then stopped. The photograph in front of him was an old black-and-white taken in San Francisco. It was the sign in the background that made him pause. "Look at this."
Paige peered over his shoulder. "That's my store," she said in wonder. "That must have been taken years ago. Look at the car."
"I was looking at the men in front of the store." Riley pointed to a man wearing a security uniform. "That's my grandfather. Do you happen to know who he's shaking hands with?"
"Oh, my God. I certainly do. That's my grandfather, Wallace Hathaway."
Their eyes met as they both came to the same conclusion.
"My grandfather must have worked for Hathaway's," Riley said.
"It sure looks that way. And he obviously knew my grandfather. It's quite a coincidence, isn't it?"
"I've never believed in coincidences." Riley felt sick to his stomach. He glanced over at Paige. "Have you spoken to your grandfather about the dragon?"
She shook her head. "No."
"I think it's time you did."
The store clerks chatting behind a counter stopped the instant they saw him. Good, but not good enough, Wallace thought. They shouldn't have been wasting time in the first place. Their business was to serve the public, not to entertain each other. He stopped in front of the counter, eyeing the name tag on the younger woman, Megan.
"May I help you, Mr. Hathaway?" she asked nervously, sending a pleading look to her cohort, a man who quickly busied himself with the countertop display.
"What time do you begin work?" he asked. "Ten o'clock."
"What time is it now?"
"Ten thirty."
"Exactly. I assume your duties do not include pointless conversation with other store clerks?"
"No, sir. But there aren't any customers right now."
"Whether there are customers present or not does not mean you should shirk your duties. Am I clear?"
"Yes. It won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't." He strode briskly away. Now that his presence had been noted in the store, everyone got busy. He walked down the aisles, surveying the displays, making mental notes that he would later dictate to his secretary. He made the same inspection on each subsequent floor, stopping at times to speak to the department managers. Some had been at the store for decades, but he didn't allow any friendliness to creep into his voice. There was a line between them. He liked it that way. lie trusted no one, not even those who reported to him on a daily basis. They served a purpose, but that was the extent of the relationship.
As he headed toward the executive offices, he couldn't help but worry about what would happen to Hathaway's when he was gone. Paige needed to step up to the plate. Maybe she didn't have it in her. He hated the thought of his store going into anyone else's hands, including Victoria's, but he had to admit that so far his granddaughter was a dismal failure as an only heir.
* * *
"Is my grandfather coming in today?" Paige asked, when her grandfather's secretary answered the phone. Although it was Saturday, she expected him to make an appearance. Saturday seemed to be his favorite day for checking up on employees, especially her mother. Victoria acted as if she didn't care and made a point of not coming to work on the weekends, but Paige suspected her mother made sure there was nothing out of order for Wallace to find.
"I expect him any minute," replied Georgia Markham, her grandfather's longtime secretary who always worked on Saturday. "Would you like an appointment?"
"Yes. I mean no. Well, maybe."
"Which is it, dear?"
"I'll check back with you in a few minutes. I'm not sure about my schedule yet." Paige hung up the phone, feeling like a big fat chicken. The man was her grandfather, for heaven's sake. There was no reason to be intimidated by him. Unfortunately, logic did little to dispel the nervous butterflies in her stomach.
Well, it could wait a few more minutes. While she was stalling, she decided to tie up some of the final arrangements for the grand opening party of the Hathaway exhibit at the Asian Art Museum, now only two short weeks away. She updated the response list, reviewed the catering, floral, and photography arrangements, and took another look at the budget. Everything was as it should be. In fact, her assistant had done most of the work, reminding Paige that she wasn't all that vital to the success of the company.
Paige looked up as a knock sounded at the door. "Come in," she called.
Martin walked into the office, dressed in his usual Armani business suit. "Hello, Paige. It's good to see you back at work and things returning to normal. I just came from the hospital. Your father looks well."
"Yes, he does. I stopped in early this morning and caught him having his first real meal in a while. Of course, he complained about the eggs and the toast and the fact that there was no bacon. But he seemed in good spirits."
She got to her feet as Martin walked around the desk to offer her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. His touch did absolutely nothing to raise her blood pressure, and she couldn't help thinking about the night before when she'd had a meltdown in Riley's arms. At least one truth had come out of this past week. She didn't feel enough passion for Martin to even consider marrying him. It wouldn't be fair to either one of them.
"How are you doing?" he asked.
"I'm fine. Catching up."
"I'm happy to see you concentrating on work instead of pursuing that dragon."
"It needs to be pursued. We still don't know what happened to it. My father's short-term memory is apparently absent at the moment"
"That's what I hear."
She didn't like the doubt in his voice. "You don't believe him?" She paused, tilting her head to one side. "You don't really like my father, do you?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I have a great deal of respect for him."
The words were right, but the lack of emotion in his voice told Paige that Martin wasn't being completely honest with her. "You already suggested to me that my father might have been looking into commissioning a fake. There's no point in backtracking now."
"That was a mistake on my part. I realize your father would never do such a thing. As for the dragon, our security people are investigating it, Paige. You don't need to do it personally. In fact, your mother and I both agree that it would be better if you stayed out of it. Your father has already been hurt. We certainly don't want you in the line of fire. Your mother tells me that the Delaney woman's house was broken into as well. Another sign that you should leave this to the experts. This is not the job for you."
She couldn't stand his patronizing tone, never mind the fact that he glossed over the words with a smile. "I don't think it's up to you, Martin, to decide what job is right for me."
"I didn't mean to offend."
"But you did."
"Paige, you're misreading me."
"I don't think I am. I realize you have an important job here at the store, that Mother considers you her right-hand man. But I'm the Hathaway heir, not you."
He looked shocked by her words, and she had to admit she had surprised herself by speaking so bluntly. Maybe Riley had rubbed off on her.
"I didn't mean to overstep—" he said.
"You did overstep. It is obvious that as far as you're concerned, I'm pretty much good for planning parties and nothing else, but you're wrong. And so are my mother and my father and my grandfather and whoever else thinks that way. I intend to do more for this store than party planning."
"That's great," he said soothingly. "My point and concern were only for your safety. I wasn't criticizing your judgment."
"I appreciate that. Thank you."
He looked at her for a long moment. She refused to glance away, knowing that they had to get something else straight between them.
"You're not interested, are you?" he asked.
"I like you as a friend and a coworker."
He offered her a wry smile. "Not exactly what I was hoping to hear."
"I'm sorry, Martin. I realize I may have given you the wrong idea in the past, but I don't want to lead you on any further."
"We could be good together. We have so much in common. I feel as if you and I are a perfect match."
"Maybe on paper, but a marriage is real life. Quite frankly, I don't think you have any idea who I really am. I suspect I haven't seen the real you, either."
"I am what you see."
"I doubt that," she said with a softening smile. "You're going to make someone a great husband."
"But not you."
"Not me."
He tilted his head to one side, studying her thoughtfully. "You've been different this past week. Your father's brush with death sparked something in you."
"That was part of it," she conceded, not wanting to mention that the real spark had come from Riley. She liked Martin far too much to throw another man in his face.
"You've come alive." He nodded approvingly. "It looks good on you. And I don't think all you're capable of is party planning. I simply followed your lead, Paige. If you've been unhappy or feeling restricted, you should have said something. After all," he added with a smile, "you are the Hathaway heir, as you just reminded me."
"I guess that sounded a little high-handed, didn't it?"
"Actually, you sounded a lot like your mother."
"God forbid."
Martin laughed, and she realized in that moment that he wasn't at all disappointed that their relationship wasn't going to be more than friendship.
"You aren't upset about this, are you?" she asked.
"Don't get me wrong, Paige. I like you. However, I must admit I was feeling a little heat from our respective mothers. I've been so focused on my career the past few years that I hadn't given much thought to marriage and, well, you are pretty near perfect."
"Not even close."
"Let me know if you want to branch out into some other areas of the company," Martin said, as he opened her office door. "I'd be happy to explore the possibilities with you."
"Thanks. That's very generous of you."
Martin paused, his expression turning serious. "I do think you ought to stay out of this dragon business. Your father was almost killed. I don't want you to get hurt."
"I'll be careful, but I have to see it through. I have to know what happened, not just to Dad, but to the dragon. Mrs. Delaney put her trust in me, and I failed her. I want to make it right."
"To her or to her grandson?"
"To both. My family's reputation is on the line."
"And you are the Hathaway heir. Don't forget to remind your mother of that."
She made a face at him. "I don't think she'll take it as well as you did."
"I don't think she will, either."
"I have to talk to someone else first," she said. "My grandfather."
"Are you sure you want to climb that mountain?"
"I've been putting it off for far too long."
"Your grandfather knows everything that happens around here. He's uncanny that way."
"I suspect he has a few spies helping him out. Maybe even you," she added thoughtfully. "Hmm. I'm right, aren't I?"
"I'm a loyal employee, Paige. That's all I am."
As Martin left, Paige couldn't help wondering if that's really all he was. Her grandfather did seem to know everything that occurred in each nook and cranny of the store, and she knew he had to have help. Why not Martin? He'd risen through the ranks faster than anyone.
Not that it mattered. Whether he had a spy or not, her grandfather was the boss. He had a right know to what was going on in his own business. But she knew it was past time for her to find out exactly what he knew about the dragon. Picking up the phone, she dialed his secretary's extension.
"Hello, Georgia, it's Paige again. I would like to make an appointment to see my grandfather, as soon as possible."
"I'm sorry," Georgia replied, "but your grandfather has already left the store. Can I give him a message for you?"
"No, I'll catch up to him later," she said, hanging up the phone. Maybe it would be better to talk to him at home, anyway. There were too many eyes and ears at the store, and this was one piece of business she'd prefer to keep private.
* * *
Ned Delaney lived on the second floor of the Woodlake Assisted Living Center, a three-story building set in a quiet grove of trees on the western edge of San Francisco. Riley and his grandmother had chosen the center after looking at all the available options and had found this one to offer the most in terms of quality surroundings, care, and compassion. But it was still a depressing place, and Riley had to force a smile as he opened the door.