The Billionaire Date Page 9

  In utter frustration, Kit threw every dart she could find at her new target. But even that didn’t help.

  Kit was packing up the sketches and examples of the design she’d present to the board of the child abuse hot line service when Alison tapped on her office door. “Can I talk to you sometime?” she asked. “I need a favor.”

  “Come on in. Just give me a couple of minutes while I finish this, all right? My presentation isn’t till after the auction, thank heaven, but if I don’t get my support materials organized while the idea’s fresh in my mind, I’ll probably forget half of what I need.”

  Alison perched on the very edge of the high-backed stool beside Kit’s drawing board to wait.

  It was funny, Kit thought, how different the three of them were. If Susannah was the one doing the waiting, she’d no doubt have flopped wrong-end-to on the chaise, propping her feet on the raised pillow section and letting her long blond hair spill over the foot. Kit would have probably paced. But Alison sat, hands folded atop a manila envelope on her lap, patient and still and ladylike as always—refusing to waste her energy on something that didn’t deserve the effort.

  Perhaps those differences helped to explain why they worked together so well, Kit thought. They balanced each other like a high-wire walker’s pole.

  She slid the last page of notes for her presentation into place, tied the portfolio’s strings and put it safely into the side pocket of her briefcase. Then she tugged her office chair around till it faced the drawing board and said, “What’s up, Ali?”

  “Oh, it’s this video script. Rita’s typed the first draft, and I wondered if you’d have time to critique it before I run through it again.”

  “Is this the Windy City promotional film?” Kit held out a hand for the envelope.

  Alison nodded. “You don’t have to look at it right now, of course. I’ve got about three weeks before the production team meets for the first time, but if there are big changes—”

  Kit nodded. “You’ll want plenty of time to tackle the work.” She riffled the pages. At first glance, it looked like Alison’s usual careful and professional effort, but Kit was too experienced to believe that any project couldn’t be improved. “Will it be all right if I get it back to you in a day or two?”

  “That would be great. Thanks, Kit. This is a terribly important project for Tryad, and you have such a good eye for what doesn’t work in video.”

  Kit laughed. “Too bad I don’t have the same vision of what does! We could really use a specialist, you know. A production person with video experience.” She sighed. “Maybe by the end of the year we’ll be able to find the money to hire one.”

  Alison didn’t comment. “Kitty, about the bachelor auction—”

  “If you’re worried about all the time I’m spending on it...”

  “Not really. I’m worried about you, and how you’re going to manage it all in such a short time. And so’s Sue, only she’s mainly concerned that you’ll end up breaking your heart over Jarrett Webster.”

  “You could have fooled me. I thought she was trying to push me at him.”

  “She’s trying to keep your sense of the ridiculous in focus.”

  “Well, if she has extra energy, I’d rather she help out with something that matters.” Kit managed to smile. “It’s going to work out fine, Ali. I’m in for another week of agony, but we’re getting the kind of attention no firm could buy. And with all the new clients we’ll end up with, maybe we can hire not only that production assistant but another secretary.”

  “We’ll need them, if all those clients materialize,” Alison said dryly. “Thanks for looking at the script. I hate asking you, when you’re already overloaded.”

  “Paying work comes first,” Kit said.

  Alison paused in the doorway. “Want me to tell Susannah to lay off the jokes about you and Jarrett?”

  Kit shrugged. “No, don’t bother. She’d think it meant I was getting serious.”

  At two minutes after seven, when Jarrett’s shadow fell across her desk, Kit didn’t bother to look up. “You’re late,” she said crossly.

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “You didn’t. Actually, you raised my hopes, because I thought perhaps you’d decided to give tonight a pass. But I should have known I couldn’t be quite that lucky.” She pushed her chair back from the desk and looked at him. Tonight there was no casual leather jacket. He was wearing a deep gray pinstripe suit, silvery silk shirt and maroon tie. He looked, she thought, as if he’d just stepped out of a boardroom.

  “I could say I was making up for being early last night. In fact, however, I waited downstairs for a bit, but since there didn’t seem to be an escort around I came on up.”

  “Susannah had a date, and it’s Alison’s night for volunteer work. And Rita, who’s the only one who manages to keep regular hours around here, left at five.”

  Jarrett frowned. “Leaving the door unlocked?”

  “It’s a business office.”

  “But it’s after business hours. This may be a nice neighborhood, but still—”

  “How sweet of you to be concerned about my safety. Actually it’s only been about ten minutes since Alison left.”

  The line between his brows didn’t smooth out. “You could give me a key, so in the future—”

  “Or I could leave the door locked, ignore the bell and the phone and leave you standing on the sidewalk. Now there’s an idea!” She slid her list of bachelors into its folder and filed it in her desk drawer. “You’d better get busy on your dream date, you know, or all the celebrities who have volunteered will overshadow you.”

  “Celebrities?”

  “Perhaps I should say well-known people. I’m not even having to hunt them down now. They’re calling me.”

  “Congratulations.” He sounded abstracted. Maybe even, she thought, a bit disappointed.

  Kit tried, without much success, to hide her smile. She was going to enjoy listening to his apology when this was all over. “Yes, this auction is going to be the biggest event Chicago’s seen in years,” she mused. “Ticket sales are ahead of what I’d projected, and I’ve been asked to do a television interview. By the time it’s done, Tryad will have clients standing three deep in line. What kind of dream date are you going to offer? At the rate I’m going, you’ll have to come up with something wonderful to stay in the running as the star of the evening.”

  “Maybe I won’t specify what it is till after the bidding’s over.”

  Kit frowned. “And make it sort of a grab bag? Do you really believe the bidders would go for that? I mean, even for you, I don’t think these women would put out big money without knowing what the prize is.”

  “Kitten, you shock me. You’re finally admitting that I have my attractions?”

  Kit thought over what she’d said and found the unintentional compliment. “Don’t get a big head about it,” she recommended. “I can admit the average woman would find you attractive without actually feeling the sensation myself.”

  He leaned against her desk, arms folded, and smiled at her. Kit would have sworn the floor rocked under her feet.

  How perfectly silly, she told herself, to react that way. It was one thing to find him handsome and magnetic—no woman in her right mind would deny that. But she wasn’t crazy enough to let that personal appeal of his knock her off balance, any more than she’d cuddle up with a cobra. So much for Susannah’s concerns about her....

  Still, she fiddled with her paper-clip dispenser for a moment so she didn’t have to look at him, until the adrenaline rush had faded a bit and she was fairly sure her voice wouldn’t crack. “Would you like to hear who I’ve snared just this afternoon? One of Chicago’s aldermen and a minor rock star.”

  “I’m duly impressed. Let’s celebrate with dinner.”

  “Well, that would certainly be better than the strippers. Unless, of course, the opera is in town?”

  Jarrett pulled her trench coat from the hook on the back of
her office door. As he helped her into the Porsche, parked once more by the fireplug, Kit paused to wave at the bay window of the neighboring house. The corner of the lace curtain dropped hastily into place. “I wonder if the paparazzo realizes he’s being staked out, too,” she murmured. “Mrs. Holcomb probably knows every time he takes a breath.”

  “Is he back?”

  “At the moment, he’s under the juniper bushes across the street. I can just see the end of his telephoto lens. Shall we stop and tell him where we’re going to dinner or make him try to tail us?”

  Jarrett glanced at his watch. “Actually, I’ve got one quick stop to make first, if you don’t mind.”

  “It’s fine with me, as long as I can use your car phone while I’m waiting. I could probably convince a couple more people to join the fun if I tell them where I’m calling from.”

  “Oh, you’re invited, too.”

  “Invited where?” Kit asked warily. “If it’s some sort of formal occasion, I’m hardly prepared for it. Maybe I’d rather wait in the car.”

  The Porsche rolled to a smooth halt for a red light and Jarrett turned his head to study her. The leather seat cradled Kit comfortably, but it was so low-slung that it was impossible to keep her hemline in place. Her trench coat had fallen open and her narrow-cut skirt had ridden well up, and Kit had to fight the urge to tug it down to her knees. The last thing she wanted to do was let Jarrett guess that every instant his gaze rested on her raised her skin temperature by a full degree.

  And just when, she asked herself, had that become a problem? Get a grip, girl, she told herself firmly.

  “I really hate being a back-seat driver,” she said finally, “but the light’s turned green.”

  The Porsche slid through the intersection and up a ramp onto the freeway. “Actually,” Jarrett murmured, “I was thinking you might feel a bit overdressed.”

  Kit waited a moment, but he didn’t volunteer anything else, and she refused to gratify him by begging for information. How bad could it be, anyway? If, in her oatmeal-colored skirt and sweater, she was overdressed, then Jarrett was going to stick out like the Pope at a beach barbecue.

  Still, Kit was startled when the Porsche turned in to the parking lot of one of the largest suburban shopping malls. “You need to buy some socks, I suppose? Or pick up your dry-cleaning?”

  “Oh, no. It’s a cocktail party.”

  “At the mall?”

  Jarrett helped her out of the car and took her arm to guide her toward the entrance. “The Milady Lingerie store is showing some new fashions for its best customers, and I told the manager I’d pop in for a few minutes. You wouldn’t want to miss that kind of excitement, would you?”

  Kit pretended puzzlement. “I don’t suppose that’s a multiple choice question?”

  The store was located on a prominent corner in the main section of the mall. Its single side window, discreetly draped with heavy beige-on-beige brocade, featured a mannequin wearing the scarlet satin teddy made famous by the current month’s magazine ads.

  “Nice,” Kit conceded. “Rent the most visible location and then design the store so people have to come inside to get more than a peek. Plus the repetition when people see the same design in the window as in the ads must make the entire campaign even more effective. Is that the manager’s idea or a chain-wide custom?”

  Jarrett’s eyebrows lifted. “Haven’t you ever seen a Milady Lingerie store before?”

  “Not a one. There are segments of the market you have yet to win over.”

  “Then you’re in for a treat.”

  “I can’t wait,” Kit said dryly.

  A discreet distance from the entrance, Kit spotted a half dozen women marching up and down carrying signs. Sexist, one of them said. Unfair to women, proclaimed another. Milady Lingerie exploits females, said a third.

  She grinned. “Aren’t you touched? A real live protest march—and all in your honor, no doubt.”

  Jarrett glanced at the women and shrugged. “So?”

  “Aren’t you going to try to get them thrown out?”

  “Why? It’s a free country. They have a right to their say.”

  Kit said thoughtfully, “It’s also terrific—and free—publicity.”

  A smile tugged at Jarrett’s mouth. “That, too.”

  “I see a camera coming right now, in fact. I don’t suppose you hired them?”

  “The camera crew or the demonstrators? Sorry to disappoint you, but I didn’t think of either one.” He pulled open the heavy walnut door and gave a little bow. “Welcome to my world.”

  His world, Kit realized the moment she stepped across the threshold, wasn’t quite what she’d expected.

  She’d never given a thought to what the interior of a Milady Lingerie store would look like. If pressed, she’d probably have pictured red velvet and black feathers, rows of suggestive costumes and the heavy scent of perfume—the kind of atmosphere she’d expect to find behind the scenes at a bordello.

  Instead, the atmosphere was closer to a drawing room than a boudoir. Gilded chairs, upholstered in the same heavy brocade as the draperies, were scattered in small groupings across carpet so lush and thick that Kit swore she was walking on a cloud. An Impressionist-style watercolor formed a focal point above a fireplace where a gas log blazed. The room was a sea of beige and cream and the palest of pink—shades that would flatter every woman, no matter what her hair color or the tone of her skin.

  There were no racks of lingerie. There weren’t even mannequins inside the store. Instead, a half-dozen models mingled with the customers, displaying with their every movement the luxurious sheen of satin robes, the soft rustle of silk slips, the glamour and glitz of lacy teddies.

  Kit muttered, “No wonder you said I’d feel overdressed.”

  “The personal fitters are in the private rooms,” Jarrett said. “If you see anything you’d like to try on—”

  “Thanks anyway. Not tonight.”

  He grinned. “If you mean you’d rather wait till I can fit you myself—”

  Kit glared at him.

  “Jarrett!”

  It was hard to believe that a single word in so soft a drawl could rake across Kit’s nerves like a carpenter’s rasp, but the voice was painfully familiar. Suddenly she was back in the reception hall after that fiasco of a fashion show, listening to Heather’s mother calmly shifting the blame for the failure onto Kit’s shoulders. Kit turned toward the woman, determined this time to face trouble head-on.

  “My goodness,” Colette said. “I thought sure the reports were mistaken.”

  “And it’s nice to see you again, too,” Kit said sweetly.

  The woman looked Kit up and down and turned to Jarrett. “I hate to interfere in your business, Jarrett, but surely, if you wanted to do a fund-raiser, you could have hired any public relations firm in the city. Why would you settle for her? And a bachelor auction! Of all the silly, stupid ideas to come up with, that is absolutely—”

  Kit interrupted. “You’re coming, of course?”

  “Are you joking?”

  “That’s too bad. I think you’d especially enjoy the swimsuit event.”

  Jarrett smothered a chuckle.

  Kit let her eyes widen as she looked at him. “Oh, hadn’t I told you about that? I’m serious, Jarrett. Swimsuit competitions are such a hit with the men who watch beauty pageants that I thought it’d be a nice touch for the auction, as well. And I think we’ll have a tuxedo parade, too, before the main event begins, so all the bidders can judge for themselves what’s available. After all, since beauty pageants feature a promenade of evening gowns, it’s only fair if—”

  Heather appeared beside her mother. Kit could hardly believe her eyes. The girl was wearing a duplicate of the scarlet satin teddy on display in the window. Despite her full figure, she looked particularly young and awkward in the too-sexy outfit. “Isn’t this wonderful, Mother? Hello, Jarrett! I love your new line. I’ve tried on everything tonight, but this is still my fav
orite.” She spun around dramatically.

  “I’m delighted to know you’re still young enough to enjoy dress-up games,” Jarrett said calmly. “I’ll make sure they save one at the warehouse, so someday when you grow up and can wear it for real, it’ll be waiting for you.”

  Heather stuck out her lower lip. “That’s very rude of you, Jarrett.” She brightened suddenly. “Did you see the marchers outside making fools of themselves?”

  “Heather,” Colette said fondly. “Of course he saw them.”

  Heather ignored her mother. “Aren’t they ludicrous? And a bit pathetic, too, especially the one with the sign saying, We Are Not Sex Objects.” She laughed. “I’ll say they’re not! There isn’t one of them who could wear this teddy properly.”

  “Neither can you.” Jarrett’s voice was cool. “So be a good child and quit trying to play Lingerie Lady, all right?”

  Heather put her nose in the air, but she marched off toward the back of the store.

  A model in a brief black costume swept up to Kit and handed her a makeup bag of the same beige brocade as the furnishings. “Here’s a small gift just for coming tonight. Inside there are a number of samples and prizes, but there’s also a gift certificate toward any Milady Lingerie merchandise, valid anytime in the next thirty days. It might be for ten dollars, it might be a hundred, but every lady is a winner.”

  “Thanks,” Kit began, “but—”

  “And if you use that certificate tonight, we’ll add a bonus,” the model went on. “So if there’s anything you’ve been dreaming of, anything at all to please yourself or the man in your life...”

  Colette said, under her breath, “Now that’s what I call a waste of a perfectly good gift certificate.”

  The model glanced uncertainly at her, then at Kit, and when her gaze came to rest on Jarrett her smooth patter faltered for the first time. “On the other hand, I guess you don’t need a gift certificate, do you? You’re probably drowning in lace and satin.”

  Kit tried to fight the warm blush that flooded her cheeks. She couldn’t help sneaking a look at Jarrett. He was looking particularly angelic and agreeable, and she wanted to elbow him in the solar plexus—hard.