Masquerade by Janet Dailey

serious."
    "It was—and is. Perhaps if you had studied the balance sheets and asked some questions at the directors' meetings instead of rubber-stamping whatever your father or uncle put in front of you, you would have found out."
    "You're right, of course," she admitted again, untroubled by his criticism of her. "Although I felt that since I knew nothing about the business, they were better qualified than I to make decisions."
    "As one of the owners, Miss Jardin, you should have made it your business to know instead of donating all your time to the museum, playing at being a docent and dabbling in acquisitions."
    The dimples appeared in her cheeks again. "That sounds remarkably like a suggestion that I should be working in and for the company. Obviously you didn't intend for me to take you literally, since I can't imagine you being an advocate of nepotism."
    The waiter came back to the table to remove the dishes with the remains of their appetizers and serve them their main course, his presence eliminating the need for Cole to respond to her remark and creating a lull in the conversation.
    "I am curious about something else," she said when Joseph left. "Considering the company's financial problems and your opinion of us, why did you take the job?"
    "Simple. You—the company—met my terms."
    "Yes." She paused reflectively. "And your terms were: full and complete authority over all facets of the company; any decision you made was final; no approval required from the board of directors. If you succeed financially in turning the company around within three years, you are to receive ten-percent ownership in the company, plus some very favorable stock options."
    "Then you did read my contract."
    "Honestly? I read it for the first time the other day after Father told me what you said he could do with the nomination to his krewe."
    "You admit that?" He was surprised by her candor.
    "The truth hurts, but—yes, I do. Of course, I console myself with the knowledge that despite past mistakes, we at least had the good sense to bring you on board."
    "First interest, now flattery, Miss Jardin?" he mocked.
    "I don't suppose I could persuade you to call me Remy."
    "What would be the point?"
    "Why not say ... in the interest of establishing friendlier relations between owners and management."
    "I repeat, what would be the point?"
    She laid her knife and fork down and rested her elbows on the table, folding her hands together and thoughtfully propping up the point of her chin on top of them. "You resent who I am, my background, don't you? You do realize there's nothing I can do about it. And I'm certainly not going to apologize or feel guilty because I happened to be born into the Jardin family. I had no control over it. Or—is that my problem?" She raised her chin long enough to flick a finger in the direction of his hand.
    "Is what your problem?" Cole frowned.
    "You prefer brunettes with short hair." She reached over, plucked a dark hair from the sleeve of his suit jacket, and held it up as evidence.
    "Sherlock Holmes you're not, Miss Jardin." He took it from her and let it drop to the floor. "That happens to be cat hair."
    "You own a cat?" She picked up her knife and fork and cut another bite of lamb chop.
    "You've obviously had little experience with cats or you'd know that nobody ever owns one. You may occasionally share the same living quarters, but that's about all."
    "And this cat you occasionally share your quarters with, what kind is it?"
    "The alley variety. Its pedigree is the street."
    "Does your cat have a name?"
    He hesitated. "Tom."
    "You're kidding." She stared at him incredulously, then burst into a laugh.
    In spite of himself, he laughed with her. "Not very original, I admit, but the name suits him."
    "I wouldn't do that very often if I were you."
    "What?" Suddenly he found himself captivated by her gaze, unsettled and disturbed by the warmly interested glow in her eyes.
    "Laugh," she said simply. "It