The Billionaire Date

Susannah stabbed a bite of honeydew melon. “Very well, actually. The Cartwright show opens next month. It’s not only the biggest the museum has hung so far, but ticket sales are well beyond what we projected in our original proposal.”

Alison frowned. “So you’re saying we missed the boat on the estimate?”

“Of course not, Ali. We did a better-than-fantastic job on the promotion, that’s all. Don’t be fusty.”

“All right,” Alison said reluctantly. “But keep that factor in mind the next time. While we’re writing a proposal is no time to be modest.”

“Or overconfident, either,” Kit said. “As we were on the fashion show.”

“That’s next on the list to discuss. How’d it go, Kit? Aside from Jarrett Webster, I mean.”

Kit ignored the jab and looked at the bit of toast she held. She hadn’t realized she’d shredded it. “It’s over,” she said. “And believe me, that’s the best I can say for the whole event.”

She was wrong, of course. It wasn’t over. But—fortunately for her—she didn’t know that for the better part of three days.

Kit was stretched out on the chaise lounge in the corner of her office, staring at the textured pattern on the ceiling above her head and brainstorming a campaign to publicize a new phone number for a suburban child-abuse hot line, when Susannah put her head around the corner from her own office. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t think you were working,” she said when she saw Kit’s pose, and started to withdraw.

Kit sat up. “I’m not getting anywhere,” she admitted. “So come on in. You can pick my brain if I can work on yours.”

Susannah grinned. “That’s the best bit about having partners, isn’t it? What one of us can’t think of, the others can. Of course, there’s also the fact that we can share celebrations.”

Kit looked at her more closely. Susannah’s face seemed to glow, and there was a light in her eyes. “Sue, you can’t mean Pierce finally got around to proposing?”

“Why couldn’t I? Though he didn’t, as a matter of fact.” She pulled a tall stool away from Kit’s drawing board and swiveled it to face the chaise. “It’s something wonderful.”

“More wonderful than Pierce? I thought—” Too late, Kit saw a shadow drop over Susannah’s face, and she would have bit her tongue off if the action would let her take back the careless words. “I’m sorry. What is it, Sue?”

The light reappeared in Susannah’s eyes. “He’s discovered a fantastic private collection. It’s incredible, Kit—a whole group of very valuable paintings, along with some rare pottery and some bits of terrific textiles. And the owner has agreed in principle to donate them to Pierce’s museum.” She jumped up, obviously unable to sit still. “Just think of all the fun we’ll have when it’s time to create a publicity campaign to announce that!”

“Sounds great—or at least a lot more fun than phone numbers for child-abuse hot lines. Can I help?”

“Of course. I’ll need both you and Alison, and every bit of expertise we all have. This is going to be immense, Kit. It’s not only a major expansion for the museum, it could mean enormous things for Tryad.” She struck a ballerina’s pose in the center of the office and began to spin.

“Watch it,” Kit said mildly. “Keep that up and you’ll drill through the floor and end up in the reception room dancing on Rita’s desk.”

Susannah laughed, stopped spinning and flopped on the stool once more. “Who’d have thought five years ago, when you and Alison and I all ended up in that stupid advertising class together, that it would lead to this?”

“Not me,” Kit said lazily. “I never even expected to be in public relations, you know.” It was funny, she thought. Now she couldn’t imagine any other way of life. She certainly couldn’t contemplate any job that didn’t include Susannah and Alison, her own office with its view of the treetops of Lincoln Park and the kind of creative work she loved.

“All the work we’ve done is starting to pay off in a big way,” Susannah said with satisfaction.

The intercom on Kit’s desk buzzed, and she frowned at it. “That’s funny. I asked Rita not to disturb me for a couple of hours, at least, while I worked out this campaign.”

“My fault,” Susannah said contritely. “She must have heard me up here and figured you were finished.”

“Don’t fret. Neither of you are interrupting anything important. All I could think of was a bunch of dancing rabbits singing the new phone number, so I suppose that means the real answer will hit me about two in the morning and I’ll stay up all night to work out the details.” She pushed a button. “Yes, Rita?”

The receptionist’s voice was unusually clipped. “There’s someone here to see you, Ms. Deevers.”

Ms. Deevers? Rita was being awfully formal all of a sudden. Kit’s gaze dropped to her calendar, lying open on her desk blotter, and focused on the blank block of time she’d protected specifically for this project. “But I don’t have a client scheduled.”

“I know,” Rita said.

She sounded as if she had something clenched between her teeth, Kit thought. And if Rita, who had twenty years of experience as an executive secretary, reacted that way...

Foreboding dropped over Kit like a mosquito net, whispering down around her, tempting her to try to fight free of its restraint. “I’ll be right down.”

Kit’s office was at the front of the brownstone’s second floor, as far as possible from the stairway. She passed Susannah’s empty office and paused for an instant at the bottom of the steps to gather her strength and to note the way afternoon light filtered through the stained glass panel above the front door. Then she crossed the narrow hall into what had been the formal parlor when the brownstone was a private home. Now it was Rita’s office and the reception room.

Relief flooded the secretary’s face as Kit came in, but the concern didn’t entirely vanish from her eyes. She looked silently from Kit to a figure in the corner, and Kit followed her gaze.

The man in Rita’s office stood with his back to her, apparently studying a framed poster on the wall. He didn’t seem to hear her come in.

But Kit didn’t need to see his face to know who stood there. In fact, she didn’t need to see him at all. The instant she’d stepped through the doorway she’d felt the blast of personal power she’d so quickly come to associate with Jarrett Webster.

She had to clear her throat before she could speak. The necessity annoyed her, and she tried to do it discreetly. But he obviously heard the small noise, and he turned, his movements lazy and graceful, to face her.

Deliberately, Kit did not offer to take him to her office or even to the conference room next door. She stood with one hand on the back of a chair and said coolly, “What can I do for you, Mr. Webster?”

“Oh, it’s the other way around entirely.”

Kit frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m here to give you something, Ms. Deevers.”

Had she left something behind at the fashion show? She wasn’t aware of missing anything, except for the poise and decorum she’d sacrificed that afternoon. Or...

Surely he couldn’t mean he’d learned how wrong his perceptions had been and had come with an apology!

“Last weekend you had a challenge to face.” Jarrett Webster’s voice was very deliberate. “And you botched it miserably.”

I knew it couldn’t be anything as sane and straightforward as an apology, Kit thought. She couldn’t help bristling. “I don’t think you understand the pressures of working with—”

“I’m not interested in excuses. I’m going to give you a second chance, Ms. Deevers.”

“How lovely of you.” She didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “Though why you should think I want one—”

“Oh, I don’t expect that you do. But it’s what you’re getting, nevertheless.” He paused and added very gently, “I’m giving you a challenge. You’re going to make up for what you wrecked.”

CHAPTER TWO

EITHER HER HEARING had gone or the man was a raving lunatic—and there was no doubt in Kit’s mind which side of the bet she should put her money on.

She glanced at Rita and found her unabashedly listening. The receptionist was practically leaning over her desk to catch every syllable, and that alone would have told Kit how crazy the situation was. Rita was the perfect secretary, involved and interested but absolutely never nosy. Till now.

“Would you like to come into the conference room, Mr. Webster, so we can discuss this?” Without waiting for an answer, Kit headed for the archway into what had once been the brownstone’s dining room. She stopped inside the doors and waited till he’d crossed the threshold.

He paused, eyeing the gleaming finish of the golden oak pocket doors standing half open between the conference room and Rita’s office. “Shall I close these for you?”

Kit put a fingertip into the catch of each door and pulled, and the perfectly balanced panels slid into place with no more than a whisper of sound. “Thanks, but I’m perfectly capable.” She turned to face him and caught the appraising look in his eyes. Before she could stop herself, she added, “I’m not one of your usual helpless dolls, Mr. Webster.”

He didn’t rush to answer, and he didn’t—as she’d half hoped he might—stop surveying her. “No, you’re certainly not.”

Kit wished she could believe that was a compliment. Then again, she told herself irritably, if she honestly thought the man was trying to flatter her, she’d be even more furious with him, so she ought to be glad he hadn’t made that mistake.

“In fact,” Jarrett Webster went on, “I’d say you’re a woman who’s full of surprises. Saturday it was peekaboo blouses and wads of tissue paper, and today—”

Kit didn’t want to listen to his opinion of her wardrobe. She’d always liked the simple cut of the cream-colored shirtdress she was wearing—until right this moment, when suddenly it felt as plain as a plastic bag and just as transparent “I shouldn’t think you’d be amazed by that sort of thing.”

“Oh, I very seldom see tissue paper put to that use,” he assured her.

“I’m quite aware that most of the women you know have chosen figure-enhancing methods more permanent than tissue paper. But as for half-clad females, I’m sure you’re an expert.”

He considered and nodded. “That’s true. And I must say the first thing I noticed about you was that you’ve got the nicest pair of...”

Kit gasped, tried to smother the sound and choked with the effort. Her eyes started to water, and she could feel herself turning red.

“Shoulder blades I’ve ever seen,” Jarrett finished smoothly. “Why, Ms. Deevers, what did you think I was going to say?”

Kit managed, finally, to stop coughing, but the lingering tickle in her throat would have kept her from talking even if she’d had something to say.

“Today, of course, you look amazingly professional.”

“Thanks,” she managed to say. “I think.” She took a firm grip on herself. “If we can get down to business now, Mr. Webster... I do have other projects waiting for my attention.”

“You amaze me.” He moved a leather-covered chair out from the conference table and with a graceful turn of his hand invited her to sit

Kit ignored the gesture and remained on her feet. “It’s very kind of you to—what was your offer? Give me a second chance?”

“An opportunity to make good where you failed before,” he said helpfully.

“However, Tryad is very busy this season, and I’m afraid we don’t have time just now to devote to any more charity fashion shows. You might try us again next year.”

Not that it will do you any good, she added to herself. But at least I’ll have twelve months to come up with a good excuse for why I still don’t have time.

Jarrett stood his ground. “You don’t seem to understand, Ms. Deevers. This isn’t optional.”

Kit frowned.

“By the time the fashion show was finished and the costs paid, the grand sum left for fighting domestic abuse was eighty-seven dollars.”

Kit shrugged. “Better than nothing, don’t you think?”

“A somewhat cynical attitude.”

“Perhaps it is—but frankly, I’m astonished there was that much left over.”

“Meaning that if you’d expected it, you’d have increased your fee in order to eliminate the excess?”

“Meaning, Mr. Webster, that the entire affair was mismanaged.”

“You admit it, then?”

“I’m stating a fact—but it was hardly my fault. Within the constraints of my contract, I did everything I—”

“You were in charge.”

“Not entirely, and not from the beginning. By the time I got involved—” But why should she try to explain? It was obvious he wasn’t going to take her explanation seriously. He certainly wouldn’t take her word over Colette’s and Heather’s, and Kit would end up sounding as if she was trying to shift the blame onto anyone but herself.

“But you were responsible for the show itself, right?”

Kit hesitated. “That’s true.”

“A show that was off schedule, out of sync and excruciatingly slow-paced.”

“If you’re going to compare it to professional affairs, Mr. Webster—”

“I’m not. I know perfectly well it was an amateur event with models who’d never been on a runway before. But it could have been an enjoyable one.”

Kit wanted to tell him to talk to the models themselves about that little problem.

“Besides, a large part of the fund-raising effort was focused not on ticket sales but on the reception afterward. The hope was that after an enjoyable show, the guests would donate generously for their refreshments. However, after sitting through that fiasco, two-thirds of them left in disgust rather than stick around to drink tea. Since they weren’t present, they didn’t contribute, and—”

“I’ll take my share of the blame,” Kit said honestly.

His eyebrow twitched. “That’s refreshing.”

“I used very poor judgment. Instead of standing in for the two models who didn’t show up, I should have just poked my head out from behind the curtain at the gaps and announced that the ensemble the audience should have been seeing was unavailable because the model was too irresponsible to find a substitute. Would you have liked that any better? I thought not. Look, Mr. Webster, I’m sorry the damned fashion show didn’t raise a zillion dollars. But I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.”

“That’s where the second chance comes in.”

“Now wait a minute! I’ve told you—”

His voice softened till it felt like warm, rich lotion against her skin. “Are you afraid you can’t meet the challenge, Ms. Deevers?”

“Not in the least. With my hands tied, I could do better than that mishmash of amateur do-gooders did. With a month to work on it, I could raise ten thousand dollars, minimum. But the fact remains that I don’t have a month. Tryad can take only a certain amount of time away from our regular client base for nonprofit causes, and we already have all the charity projects we can afford. I’m awfully sorry and all that, but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do. Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Webster.”

Kit could tell from the way his gaze hardened that Jarrett Webster knew a dismissal when he heard it. She was almost surprised, for she doubted he was on the receiving end of a snub very often.

He didn’t move, though. Kit walked across the room to the sliding doors, but Jarrett didn’t take the hint. He seemed to be as firmly planted in the conference room as a willow tree on the bank of a pond, and his words dropped into the silence with the same effect as a rock into water. “I’ll pay for your time.”

With one hand on the pocket door, Kit turned in astonishment. “What?”

“I said, I’ll foot the bills—not only the charges for your time, at your regular rates, but the basic costs of whatever event you create.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer. “Your challenge is to raise enough money above and beyond those costs to show me that you’re not incompetent, after all.”

“Why not just give your money directly to a shelter somewhere?”

“Are you saying you can’t do it?”

“Of course not. But I don’t understand why—”

“Because you’re going to take my money and multiply it. Instead of giving, say, a couple of thousand dollars directly, I invest it with you, and you’ll turn it into—What was it you said? Ten thousand, minimum? In a month?”

“I may have said that, but—”

“Backing down, Ms. Deevers?” He shook his head sadly. “I’m disappointed in you. It’s such a worthy cause, you see. And besides, if you don’t take this challenge—”

Kit wanted to ignore him, but the question hung in the air like a plume of toxic gas, threatening to choke and smother her. “What if I don’t?”

“If you don’t succeed, or if you don’t even have the guts to try, then I will take great pleasure in telling everyone I deal with exactly why Tryad is a good firm to stay away from.”

Kit gasped. “That’s not fair!”

“If you don’t believe in your abilities, Ms. Deevers, why should I cut you any slack? I think I’d be doing a public service, frankly, to let your prospective clients know what they’re getting into.”

“That’s not what I mean. It’s not fair to blame Tryad as a whole for something that was my doing.”

“I thought,” he said gently, “that you said it wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t, but at least I was involved. My partners weren’t. It has absolutely nothing to do with them.”

Jarrett shrugged. “You’re part of this firm, so whatever you do reflects on them.”

“Yes, but—” She stumbled to a halt, unable to think of a telling argument.

“Take it or leave it.” Finally, he moved, striding with the easy grace of a lynx toward the door where she stood. “I’ll leave my card with your receptionist.” The sleeve of his linen blazer brushed Kit’s bare arm. The contact stung as if she’d been whipped with nettles.

“Wait!”

He turned. He was less than a foot from her, and Kit had to look a long way up into his face. There were flecks of gold in his dark brown eyes, and tiny lines at the corners. Those must come from the time he spent on that sailboat with the current Lingerie Lady.

“Your complaint is with me,” she said desperately.

“Not with Tryad. So I’ll make you a deal.”

He shrugged. “You’re not exactly in a good place to be dictating terms, you know.”

“I’ll do a campaign for you, and I’ll do my best to raise at least ten thousand dollars.”

“Somehow,” Jarrett mused, “this sounds familiar. Almost as if I’d said it myself.”

“But I’ll do it on my own time. You don’t have to pay me a dime, but in return, you have to promise that Tryad doesn’t come into it.”

He looked thoughtful. “You mean, you want me to promise that if you fail—”

“I won’t fail!”

“In that case,” he said gently, “you—and Tryad—don’t have a thing to worry about, do you? Shall we shake hands on our deal, Ms. Deevers?”

Kit didn’t walk him to the front door, as all three of the partners usually did with their clients. Mostly, she admitted, it was because she wasn’t so sure she could still walk.

She heard the front door close and sank against the conference room wall with a thud. How had he managed to turn things so neatly against her? She’d made a perfectly reasonable proposition, and he’d shot it down without even bothering to take aim.

She wanted to pound her forehead against the door.

A couple of minutes later Susannah came in. “He’s gorgeous,” she said.

“I suppose you were hovering in the hallway so you could get a good look?”

“Of course not,” Susannah said with dignity. “I was supervising Rita’s typing.”

“Bet she loved having you leaning over her shoulder.”

“I wasn’t. I was sitting on her desk—I had a much better view of the conference room door that way. Kit, he’s twice as terrific as his pictures. No wonder you... Are you all right?”

“Just jolly,” Kit said under her breath.

“Well, good. You look a little stunned, though. Let me guess what happened. He was so impressed by you that he wants Tryad to take over Milady Lingerie’s public relations?”

“It has nothing to do with Tryad.” And it’s up to me to keep it that way, Kit reminded herself. I have a month to raise ten thousand dollars or...

No, she reminded herself. She didn’t have a month. She had only her personal time—whatever remained after her normal workload. The only thing she’d succeeded in doing with the brash bargain she’d tried to make was to cheat herself. If she’d kept her mouth shut, at least he’d have been paying for her time, and she’d have a full thirty days to pull this off.

But at least, she thought, the fact that she wasn’t getting a cent out of the deal meant that she’d have less money to raise overall. Perhaps, if she tried hard enough, she could convince herself that was a positive note.

“You mean...” Susannah gave a shriek that rattled the brass and crystal chandelier above the conference table. “Then he was asking you for a date?”

Alison’s head appeared around the door. “I can hear you two all the way in my office,” she pointed out. “What in heaven’s name is going on in here? And if it’s some sort of party, why didn’t you invite me to join in the fun?”

“Because it just happened,” Susannah said. “Very unexpectedly. Jarrett Webster popped in out of the blue and—”

“Did not ask me for a date,” Kit cut in hastily. “Look, this is private and personal, and I really don’t want to—”

Susannah nodded wisely at Alison. “She doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Do you think that means she has something to hide?”

“No doubt. I’ll have to think what the secret might be, though. If it isn’t business and it isn’t a date, then—”

“Stop it!” Kit said firmly. “Both of you!” She turned sideways to slide between them and out the door, and the last view she had as she started up the stairs was of two astonished faces in the doorway of Rita’s office.

Then the irrepressible Susannah said, “Kit’s just a little touchy today, wouldn’t you say, Ali? I wonder if that means she’s in love?”

Forty-eight slow and painful hours crept by. By Friday afternoon, Kit still hadn’t heard from Jarrett, and she was beginning to hope that somewhere, somehow, someone had told him what had really happened to mess up the fashion show. If he learned that she hadn’t been responsible for the mix-ups...

Not likely, she told herself. Who was going to admit it, after all? Not Heather, that was sure, or her mother. And neither chance nor divine providence was apt to step in to change his mind and rescue her, either.

Even if he did learn the truth, Kit might not be entirely off the hook. Unless he was man enough to apologize, which she frankly doubted, she might not even find out that he’d seen the light.

And in the meantime, she didn’t dare take a chance on waiting. She couldn’t put off the necessary work for another moment.

She’d opened her big mouth and now she was going to have to back up her boast with action. Three lousy weeks and ten thousand dollars to raise.

Kit knew all the tricks. Professional fund-raising wasn’t particularly difficult, and in a city the size of Chicago ten thousand dollars wasn’t a great deal of money, either. Except that it was a whole lot more difficult to raise money for an amorphous general cause like fighting domestic violence than for a specific one like putting a new roof on a women’s shelter. Why couldn’t the man have been more precise?

“Because,” Kit muttered, “it would have been helpful if he had, and he knows it.”

So how was she going to pull it off?

Susannah, she knew, could come up with that amount in a matter of days for her favorite museum—but the museum had a mailing list of supporters. And a couple of months ago Alison had reached out and touched Chicago’s corporate trusts and charitable foundations, and in mere hours she’d raised enough money to fund a video production on the benefits of living and working in the Windy City.

Kit had her contacts, too, but she didn’t think simply calling them up to ask for money would be likely to solve this problem. She suspected Jarrett wouldn’t be particularly thrilled if she handed him a few big checks. Too easy, he’d probably say. The money would no doubt have been donated anyway, without her interference.