Synopsis | Reviews | Excerpt
"I’m just a nosy little ad exec who’s
dying to see who invited me to meet you.”
"Listen,
Sherry Whoever-You-Are, I’m very, very busy,” Kit Fleming answered. "If you
could just speed this up, I’d be wildly grateful.”
Sherry became uncomfortably aware that
he had a very sexy phone voice. "Well, you see, I got a delivery tonight, and I
didn’t have anything smaller than a fifty, so the kid had to give me change.”
"Uh-huh,” he said, the grunt tinged with
annoyance. "Fascinating.”
"The twenty he gave me had some writing
on it.”
"Writing?”
"‘For a good time, call Kit.’ And of course,
your phone number.”
Trish Jensen is the bestselling author
of romantic comedies including Against His Will, Stuck With You, and Phi Beta
Bimbo. Visit her at www.trishjensen.com.
"…very funny… The writing was flawless!" -- Aleksandar Petkovski, Goodreads
"Simple yet dramatic especially at the end of the story… I couldn’t help but shed a few tears in the end!" -- Hsiau Wei Chen, Jo’s Sanctuary
"Funny, witty, charming and heart-warming… a fabulous quick read… was an absolute blast… amusing and engaging!" -- Lily Blain, Goodreads
"It had everything a good romance should: a yummy hero, a spitfire
heroine, and a love story with a satisfactory ending. At times light-hearted
and comical, at times serious and emotional." -- Margay Roberge, NetGalley
"I loved this, thought it was witty and reminded me of an
old Hepburn and Tracey film!" -- Emily Heisler, Single Titles
"…the humour imbedded in this novel had me laughing out
loud…… an amazing novel that I would recommend to everyday women who
love romance, a little humour, and a HEA." -- Ashley Martiniello, GoodReads
"A
story that blends liberal doses of laughter with a few smiling tears. I highly
recommend it.” -- Bookbug on the Web
One
"And I-I-I-I-I will always love
you-u-u—”
Sherry Spencer’s mouth snapped shut when
her doorbell rang, startling her into silence. She turned down her radio, then
quickly waved a hand over the nail polish drying on bare toes, before hobbling
to the door and opening it. She sure hoped she hadn’t been singing so loudly
that... By the horrified expression on Timmy Walton’s face,
she had her answer. He’d heard her.
Life wasn’t fair. God had bestowed upon
her a love of music, a gift for writing catchy jingles, and a set of vocal
cords that could warp sheetrock. With a sigh, Sherry managed a rueful smile.
"Hey, Timmy.”
"More candy for you,” the young delivery
boy from Stella’s Sweets said. "Didja land another big account, Ms. Spencer?”
"You can call me Sherry, Timmy,” she
said, taking the box from him. "And yep, the Dippity Diaper account is
officially mine.” Her mouth watered at the heavenly scent of the rich, dark
confections. Gosh, she adored her boss, who knew too well
her... healthy respect for chocolate. Who needed a personal
life when there was chocolate in the world?
Timmy grinned. "Stella says you don’t
look old enough to be in high school, much less be an advertising bigwig.”
Not unused to such observations—in fact,
sick to death of such observations—Sherry swallowed a retort. After all, Stella
and her shop were a godsend. Resisting the urge to rip open the box and gobble
one or two sweets right there, she said, "Hold on,” then hip-hopped to her
coffee table and purse.
"Dang, all I have is a fifty, Timmy.”
Timmy rolled his eyes, and pulled out a
small wad of bills. "Stella always makes me carry extra change on deliveries to
you.”
It was endearing having a local candy
shop owner who took such good care of her regulars, Sherry decided. Then again,
Sherry was probably Stella’s most regular regular. "Keep five,” she said, then
accepted the change.
She waved and shut the door, then
wobbled back to the couch, trying to walk on her heels to save her pedicure.
Tossing the bills on the coffee table,
Sherry reached for the box of chocolates, blessing her sainted boss. But
scribbled words on the top bill—a twenty—caught her eye, and she picked it up
instead. "‘For a good time, call Kit,’” she read aloud, then took in the phone
number, noticing that it had her own area code. "Now there’s an advertising
gimmick.”
The handwriting was flowery. Was it
Kit’s handwriting? Or was it someone’s idea of revenge on Kit? Should she call
Kit and let her know someone was circulating her phone number on currency?
While she debated, Sherry opened the box
of chocolates and popped one into her mouth, moaning as the delicious explosion
of flavor invaded her senses.
At the very least she owed it to her
fellow woman to inform her that someone was bandying her name about. Right? It wasn’t
just curiosity. She might be doing someone a favor. A big one.
Having done a darn fine job of
justifying her action, Sherry picked up the phone and punched in the number. By
the first ring she was having second thoughts. Maybe she should just—
"Yes?” a male voice barked gruffly.
Gulping, she said, "Um, yes, by any
chance is Kit there?”
"Who’s this?” he asked.
Now how should she answer that? Oh,
I’m just a nosy little ad exec who’s dying to see who came up with Kit’s
advertising campaign. "My name’s Sherry,” she said, deciding not to give
him her last name. "I just have a couple of questions for her, and I’d
appreciate—”
"For her? Is this some kind of
joke?”
The incredulity in his voice made her
sit up straighter. For the first time she considered the idea that Kit might
not be a woman. Of course. Kit could also be the nickname of a man. She looked
down at the bill... and started laughing. And once she
started, she couldn’t stop.
"What’s so funny?” the man asked,
sounding exasperated.
Sherry rubbed the back of her hand over
her mouth, stifling her mirth. "Let me guess. You’re Kit.”
"This phone call is over.”
"Don’t hang up!” she said quickly.
"You’re really going to want to hear this.”
The silence hummed across the phone
line, but at least he didn’t slam down the receiver. "You are Kit,
aren’t you? Because I’m only telling this to Kit.”
There was another pause, and then he
blew an exasperated breath. "Yes, I’m Kit. Did Rachel give you this number?”
"Who’s Rachel?”
"My sister.”
"Well now, I’m not so sure. Is Rachel in
the habit of trying to fix you up?”
"Unfortunately,” he said, but his voice
softened perceptibly, and held a hint of a smile. "Listen, Ms.—”
"Sherry. Just Sherry.”
"Listen, Sherry, I’m very, very busy. I
have meetings all day tomorrow, and I need to be prepared. If you could just
speed this up, I’d be wildly grateful.”
Those were the most words he’d said to
her yet, and Sherry became uncomfortably aware that he had a very sexy voice.
She ran a finger under her collar and cleared her throat. "This will be short,”
she said.
"Good.”
"Uh... before I tell
you this, just remember not to shoot the messenger.”
"Oh, boy,” he muttered. "I take it I’m
not going to like this.”
"I sincerely doubt it.”
He took a bracing breath, loud enough
for her to hear. "Let’s hear it.”
Sherry quickly took the plunge. "Well,
you see, I got a delivery tonight, and I didn’t have anything smaller than a
fifty, so the kid had to give me change.”
"Uh-huh,” he said, the grunt tinged with
annoyance. "Fascinating.”
"The twenty he gave me had some writing
on it.”
"Writing?”
"Yes, umm-hmm,” she said, biting her
cheek to keep from laughing. As she saw it, the situation was rather humorous.
She just knew he wouldn’t view it the same way.
"Well? What was on the bill? And if you
answer, ‘In God We Trust,’ this conversation’s over.”
"‘For a good time, call Kit.’ And of
course, your phone number.”
"What?”
"‘For a good time, call Kit,’”
Sherry repeated. "And your phone number.”
He swore. Explosively. Loudly.
Repeatedly. She even had to hold the receiver away from her head a little, just
to keep her eardrum from throbbing.
Once he’d sputtered to a halt, she said,
"So, do you think it was Rachel?”
"No. But I have a good idea who it was.”
He cursed again. "Tear it up.”
"Excuse me?”
"I said, tear the damn thing up.”
"It’s a twenty dollar bill!”
"That’s got my name and number on it!
Tear it up.”
"Now look, Kit, twenty dollars may not
be much to you, but I can eat for a week on that kind of money.”
He swore again. At least, she thought it
was a swear word. She’d never heard it before. "Give me your address. I’ll send
you a replacement.”
"No offense, Kit old boy, but I don’t
know you from Adam. I’m not real certain I want you in possession of my
address. Who knows what kind of nutcase you might be, considering some of your
acquaintances?”
As she reached for another chocolate,
Sherry was treated to a fresh round of swearing. She tsked. "Anyone ever tell
you you have a real potty mouth?”
"Well, what the hell do you expect?” he
practically shouted. "I want that bill destroyed.”
"Where do you live?” she asked.
"Great Falls, why?”
Well, la-dee-da, she thought. She had her doubts about
just how good a time Kit what’s-his-name would be, but she didn’t doubt he
could afford to spend that time in style. "I’ll tell you what,” she said. "I
was hungry for Chinese anyway. Why don’t you meet me at the Peking Delight in
McLean in, say, twenty minutes? We can have a swap meet, so to speak.”
"I don’t have time for this,” he
complained. "I’m a very busy man, Ms. Whatever Your Name Is.”
Sherry’s curiosity died a quick death.
She’d learned all she needed to know. Kit was a first-class jerk. "Fine.
Personally, I don’t give a hoot whether this bill makes it back into
circulation or not. And let’s not forget that I would actually be doing you a
favor, Mr. Very Busy Man. So long—”
"Wait, wait, wait!”
Sherry felt tremendous satisfaction at
the panic in his voice. "Yes?” she said, studying her nails to emphasize her
nonchalance.
"I’m sorry. Really. You just caught me
at a bad time. Listen, I’d like to meet you. I’ll even give you a reward.”
Her hand dropped, as did her jaw. It
took her a full ten seconds to get her vocal cords up and running. "A reward?
Thanks, but no. I don’t expect to get paid for doing a simple human kindness.”
The silence from his end sounded
thunderstruck to Sherry. Apparently the thought of doing something for nothing
was foreign to him. And she wasn’t exactly doing it for nothing, anyway. After
all, the Peking Delight had the best Hunan chicken in the greater DC area.
"Twenty minutes?” he said after awhile.
"Twenty minutes.”
"How will I know who you are?”
Sherry blew out her lower lip. "I’ll be
the thirty-year-old masquerading as a teenager.”
"Huh?”
"I’ll be wearing a Penn State
sweatshirt.”
Kit
pulled his Mercedesinto the parking lot of the strip mall where the Peking Delight was located,
and yanked up the parking brake. He was still fuming. He had no doubt about
who’d pulled this stunt on him, and if he hadn’t wanted to avoid the woman so
badly, he’d pay her a visit and ring her vindictive little neck.
How many of those bills had she put into
circulation? How many more phone calls would he get like this last one?
He supposed he should be grateful to
this Shelley, or Shirley, or whatever the hell her name was, but he couldn’t
quite manage it. She’d sounded too amused on the phone.
He climbed out of his car and looked
around. No thirty-year-olds-masquerading-as-teenagers-wearing Penn-State-sweatshirts
presented themselves. He checked his watch, then strode toward the door of the
restaurant.
"Yoo-hoo, Kit!” a woman called to his
left.
He jerked around, just as a young girl
popped out of a burgundy Mazda. At first glance, he understood her strange
description of herself. She did look to be in her late teens. She had dark,
shoulder-length hair she’d pulled back in a ponytail, delicate, unlined
features, and the bouncing gait of a high school senior.
She was indeed wearing a Penn State
sweatshirt, atop a pair of holey jeans, and blue, high-top sneakers. She raised
her arm and let a bill flap in the breeze. Her grin looked far too smug.
As she approached she checked out every
inch of him, and Kit felt suddenly stuffy and uncomfortable in his suit. He
hadn’t even bothered to change after work, heading directly to his den to
prepare for the following day’s meetings.
She stopped in front of him, still
smirking. "Let the good times roll,” she said, her eyes flashing humor.
"How’d you know who I was?” he asked
suspiciously, staring at those eyes. They were the deepest blue he’d ever seen,
flecked with black the color of her hair and lashes.
Beautiful eyes. Bedroom eyes. They were
the only clue that would place her age at closer to thirty than twenty. There
was a wealth of intelligence in those eyes. They’d lived and learned. They’d
also stolen his breath.
"You were the only angry creature
stalking toward the restaurant at the moment,” she said. "Call it an educated
guess.”
"You wouldn’t be laughing if it were yourname and number on that bill.”
"Now, Kit, lighten up. You should feel
flattered.”
"Flattered! Like hell. That’s a private
number you’ve got there, known to approximately ten people at most.”
"Eleven, now.”
"And who knows how many more?”
Her eyes went round. "You think there
are more of these floating around?”
"Who knows? You called first.”
She grinned again, which irritated the
hell out of Kit. "I’m glad you’re finding this so amusing.”
"Sorry,” she said, smile unrepentantly
in place.
"Yeah, well...” He
fished his wallet from his breast pocket and pulled out a twenty. "Are you sure
I can’t offer a reward?”
That lowered the voltage on her smile.
"No, thanks.”
Kit held out the money. "Give.”
He could tell by the wicked light in her
eyes that she wasn’t quite ready to let this sick joke come to its natural
conclusion. But then with a reluctant little sigh, she handed over the
offensive bill.
Kit looked down at it and breathed out a
short, succinct expletive. He’d know that handwriting anywhere. He contemplated
focusing his energies on planning the perfect revenge, but then decided
Samantha wasn’t worth the effort.
"Recognize the handwriting?” the girl
asked him, leaning over his hands to look at the bill.
He stared down at the top of her head.
Her hair gleamed and the scent of her shampoo wafted up to him. An unmistakable
scent.
"‘Irresistible,’” he murmured.
Her head came up. Fast. "Excuse me?”
"Your shampoo. ‘Irresistible.’”
"Hey, that’s right! That’s the name of
this stuff. How’d you know that?”
She sure was a pretty little thing. Too
bad she was perkier than a cheerleader. Kit hated perky. Perky gave him a
headache.
Not only that, but he wasn’t about to
tell this woman how he recognized her shampoo. She now knew his private number.
"I once knew a woman who used that brand,” he said vaguely.
"Really? Did she like it?” she asked,
cocking her head a little.
"She used it. I suppose she must have
liked it.”
"What did she like about it?”
Kit thought that was a really odd
question, but the girl seemed genuinely interested. "I have no idea. Why do you
ask?”
She shrugged. "I’m in advertising. I’ve
got a pitch meeting with the big shots of the company that makes the product
tomorrow morning.”
That news jolted through him, and he
looked closely at the imp in front of him. Oh, no. This had to be Sherry
Spencer. The young advertising whiz who had an appointment with him the next
day.
He would have laughed at the irony, if
he had a sense of humor left. Luckily, he’d lost his many years ago. "What do youlike about it?”
Her hand came up to sweep back a few
stray strands. She winked and nudged him with her elbow. "Between you and me, I
don’t care much for it. With my regular shampoo I only have to wash my hair
every other day. With this stuff it’s a daily chore. And whoever was dumb
enough to name an egg-based shampoo ‘Irresistible’ must have been having a bad
brain day.” She finally paused long enough to take a breath. "But I always make
it a point to try the products before I start to pitch an ad campaign.”
Tomorrow morning’s meeting was going to
prove very interesting. He almost looked forward to it. Except for the fact
that he’d have to put up with this woman-child bouncing her way through a
presentation.
Well, with any luck a little of the
bounce might bounce right on out of her as soon as she saw him again. "It must
be difficult to come up with ads when you don’t like the products.”
She laughed, which did beautiful things
to her features he’d rather not notice. "I’m in advertising, Kit. I can
prevaricate with the best of them.”
Kit could practically hear the trap
slapping shut around her pretty little neck. "I see.”
She peered up at him. "You don’t smile
much, do you, Kit?”
"I avoid it as much as possible.”
"Yes, I see that.” She glanced down at
the bill in his hand, then back up at him. "I’m still wondering what that
woman’s idea of a good time was.”
"Oh, that’s an easy one,” Kit answered,
as he slowly started shredding the twenty. "Tormenting me.”
"Christian
Fleming is a hands-on
sort, Sherry.”
"So you’ve told me once or twenty
times,” Sherry answered her boss, Fred Simpson, as she packed up her briefcase.
Fred dropped into one of three matching
green guest chairs in Sherry’s office. "He likes to be involved in all aspects
of the business. So if he has his own ideas about which direction he wants to
take his ad blitz, you just smile and come up with it.”
Sherry straightened and propped a fist
on her hip. "Why are you sending me? From what I’ve seen, Bella Luna ads are
the exact opposite of the kind I normally pitch. They’re sexist, artsy and
boring.”
"You might do well not to mention that.
He’s the one who came up with the concept for this last campaign.”
"Oh, I can see right off I’m going to
love the guy.”
"Be your usual charming self.”
Sherry patted Fred’s shoulder. "Leave
everything to me.”
On
the drive to the Bella Luna offices
in Reston, Sherry mentally went over her opening remarks, but her mind kept
straying back to last night. That Kit was a real prize. A booby prize. Good
time, my fanny. God, she’d never met anyone so full of no life. If he
wasn’t angry, he wasn’t anything.
Not once had he cracked even the hint of
a smile. The man obviously possessed all the personality of a rock.
Which was really too bad, considering he
was a handsome hunk. He was six-two if he was an inch, broad in the shoulders
and lean in the hips. He’d looked to be in his mid-thirties, but a very
well-preserved mid-thirties, seeing as his expression never changed enough to
give him character lines.
With his teak brown hair and hazel eyes,
his square chin and superb cheekbones, he could easily model in some of her
ads. As long as the ad didn’t require the model to look like he was enjoying
himself.
Sherry pulled a Mars bar out of her
glove compartment and tore the wrapping with her teeth.
Why he’d taken up so much of her
thoughts since she’d left him at the restaurant, Sherry couldn’t figure. Maybe
because she had a real weakness for wounded animals, and she didn’t believe it
was possible for a man to be that emotionless without having been wounded
enough to erect such a thick wall.
Two minutes later she arrived at the
Bella Luna offices. Impressed, she looked up at the brand-new, five-story
facility. "Nice place. I think you can afford us.”
She parked and entered the lobby. A
security guard checked her name on a list, then gave her directions and buzzed
her through locked doors that led to the elevators. Sherry shook her head. Was
Christian Fleming worried someone would steal his bubble bath recipe?
She had to be checked through at two
more locations on the way up to the fifth-floor suite of offices, so by the
time Christian Fleming’s secretary led her toward the meeting room, Sherry was
just a tad annoyed by the man’s overinflated sense of importance.
So she paused a moment at the outer
doors to smooth her jacket and hair, and plaster a friendly smile into place.
Finally she took a breath and nodded at the secretary, who opened the door with
a decorum that made Sherry wonder if she were being ushered in for an audience
with the Pope.
She stepped into the room, and noticed
two things right away. First, the decor was extremely tasteful, in rose and
varying shades of gray. Second, she was in trouble of Grand Canyon proportions.
Kit Fleming was seated on his throne at
the far, far end of the conference table.
And he was smiling.
Two
Sherry kept her serene smile
determinedly in place as Jim Forbes, V.P. of advertising for Bella Luna,
stepped forward and shook her hand. What she wanted to do was throw her
briefcase at the smirking man at the head of the conference table and run from
the room. But she was a professional, and she wouldn’t let a little thing like
seeing her career flash before her eyes get her down.
The woman who wrote the note on that
twenty dollar bill should be sued for false advertising. Kit Fleming was
proving to be a very bad time.
How dare he not mention what he did for
a living? How dare he bait her into talking about his stupid shampoo? How dare
he look good enough to eat with a smirk on his face?
Sherry allowed herself to be introduced
to the ten or so people attending the meeting. She didn’t remember a single
name, even though she always prided herself on remembering names. So why hadn’t
she put Kit and Fleming together last night to arrive at Christian Fleming, CEO
of Bella Luna Industries, Inc.? Because he’d never told her his last name.
Finally Jim Forbes brought her to the
man himself, who paused just long enough before standing and offering his hand
to make Sherry want to kick him. His grin had faded to a half-smile, but it was
still dazzling enough to make her heart pound. He had brilliant, even white
teeth, and his eyes, looking more green than brown today, glowed with promises
of... retribution.
"Ms. Spencer,” he said, squeezing her
hand. "It’s a pleasure.”
I’ll just bet, Sherry thought. Suddenly she wished she
hadn’t blithely handed over that twenty to him last night. She’d love to whip
it out right about now and start waving it under his nose.
"Mr. Fleming,” she responded, squeezing
right back. "Thank you for giving Simpson & Bailey a chance to help
with your advertising needs.”
He squeezed harder. "This is merely a
brainstorming session, Ms. Spencer. No decision about ad agencies has been made
yet.”
Sherry met him knuckle-cruncher for
knuckle-cruncher. "Well, I’m sure I’m going to have a real good time convincing
you that Simpson & Bailey will be the best agency for you.”
His eyes narrowed and whatever smirk had
been playing around his mouth up and vanished. "Yes, well, let’s get to it,” he
said, dropping her hand.
"Sounds terrific,” she replied,
resisting the urge to rub her aching knuckles. She moved around to the seat Jim
Forbes pointed to, and sat down, dropping her briefcase to the floor beside her
chair. Folding her hands like a good little girl, she raised her eyebrows at
Kit Fleming and waited for him to make his opening move.
God, the man was gorgeous. Today he wore
a charcoal gray suit, with a maroon and gray tie. A power tie. How appropriate.
The man exuded power, even as he sat silently at the head of the table. And it
wasn’t just his seating position, either. There was a radiance about him, and
an ease with which he sat, waiting for his subjects to get comfortable, that
was rather sinfully sexy.
If he had even an ounce of personality,
Sherry would immediately pitch the idea of him acting as spokesman in the ads.
He had animal magnetism to spare.
"Well, Ms. Spencer?” the sexy oaf said.
Sherry jumped a little, realizing she’d
been staring at him. "Oh, yes, of course.” She laid her briefcase on the table
and snapped it open while she began her spiel. Tossing aside her chocolate
stash, she pulled out the stack of handouts she’d brought with her. She gave
background information on her company, on herself; and name-dropped some of
their more prestigious clients.
She walked around the table, passing out
her résumé, pointing out some of the highlights—a few of her most successful
campaigns. Then she returned to her chair and kept silent while she gave them a
chance to leaf through the handouts.
She kept her gaze on Jim Forbes, but her
peripheral vision took in Kit Fleming’s face as well. His dispassionate face.
If her credentials impressed him, he was doing an award-winning performance of
camouflaging it. He tossed aside the sheaf of papers and glanced up blandly.
The toad.
She watched in fascination as Kit nodded
to one of his underlings, who immediately poured him a glass of ice water. A
raised eyebrow directed at another won him a danish from the platter of
pastries sitting on the sideboard. A word growled into the phone had his
secretary scrambling into the room within seconds to hand him a file folder. He
was, if nothing else, a highly effective dictator.
Sherry swallowed her irritation and continued.
"I’ve done some extensive research on your products”—that earned her what
sounded like a barely concealed snort from the head of the table—”and your last
ad campaign. And while I applaud the... aesthetic quality of
your old ads, I think a fresh approach can gain us some market share.”
Sherry started pacing back and forth
behind her chair as she spoke, forgetting for the moment that she’d questioned
the value of one of this company’s shampoos a little over twelve hours ago.
"It’s been proven again and again that humor sells product. I think if we push
Bella Luna cosmetics as sassy and sexy, we’ll appeal to a broader range of
today’s females.”
"Let me stop you right there,” Kit
interjected.
Sherry turned to him, her brows raised
in question. "By all means.”
"It’s also been proven that sex sells.”
"Yes, but—”
"That’s what I want the Christmas push
to be about. Sex. Good sex. Raw sex. Wild sex.”
Sherry was getting a little warm around
the collar. Just hearing the word sex pass from that man’s hard lips was enough
to raise the room temperature several degrees. "Well, of course we’d want to
promote the sexy quality of your products, but—”
"Therefore,” he continued as if she were
nothing more than a seat cushion, "we’re leaning toward hiring a big name to be
our spokesperson.”
"A big name,” Sherry repeated stupidly.
"Like whom?”
"Like Tiffany,” Kit informed her.
"Tiffany,” Sherry said faintly. She was
only the highest paid model on five continents. "Excuse me, but are you
speaking of print ads?”
"Print, television, the works.”
"I see.” She gripped the back of her
chair. "Mr. Fleming, may I have a private word with you?”
He raised one brow elegantly, which
thoroughly irritated her. "Whatever you have to say can be said right here, Ms.
Spencer.”
"All right.” She took a breath. "Are you
out of your mind?”
A collective gasp bounced around the
room. Apparently questioning the CEO’s sanity wasn’t a very bright idea. The
only person not staring at her as if he next expected to see her lying in a
coffin was the big kahuna himself. His expression hadn’t changed an iota.
"Not that I’ve noticed,” he answered
her. "What do you have against Tiffany?”
"I haven’t got a thing against Tiffany,”
she retorted, "other than the fact that I’m not certain she has a full grasp of
the English language.” She tapped her index finger on the table. "The point
here is to get Ms. Everyday America to want to use your health and beauty aids.
You’re not going to get them buying Bella face cream by smearing it over a
cover model’s perfect cheekbones. How many women are going to rush right out
for your cosmetics when you’ve held up perfection as a woman’s goal?”
"Isn’t it?”
"Personal perfection, yes. Trying to get
a woman to be the best she can be. But using Tiffany as a standard of
beauty will only make women resent you.”
"I disagree.”
"You’re wrong.”
Another loud gasp. And this time Fleming
did react. He stared at her as if she’d just spoken Swahili. Obviously, not too
many people took it in their heads to disagree with the idiot. Sherry could practically
see the account flying out the window on hummingbird wings.
"I see,” he said finally, glancing at
his watch. "Well, I have another meeting in five minutes. Thank you for coming,
Ms. Spencer. I’ll be in touch with your firm shortly with my decision.”
And with that Christian Fleming stood
and left the room.
Kit
sat back and swung his
legs onto his desk, stacking his hands behind his head. Closing his eyes, he
tried to wipe out the image of Sherry Spencer, standing there telling him he
was wrong.
If it had been anyone but her, he would
have thrown the person out on his or her rump. Kit had been running this
company since his thirty-first birthday, and for the last five years profits
had steadily climbed. If there was one thing he felt totally confident about,
it was his business decisions.
So why was he even waffling about this?
And why couldn’t he get Sherry Spencer out of his mind?
She was an unbelievably irritating,
stubborn female, and yet he wanted her on this project with an intensity that
baffled him. But on his terms. Kit liked being in control. In fact, he was
passionate about it. He recognized the origin of his need to be in charge, and
realized that in some ways it was a weakness. But he also knew that, in some
ways, it was the reason for his success.
For that, at least, he could thank his
foster parents.
His intercom buzzed. "Your sister’s
here, Kit.”
"Send her in.”
He dropped his feet to the ground and
stood, a grin tugging at his lips. A moment later his sister floated into the
room, looking fresh and lovely. It never ceased to amaze him that twins could
look so utterly different. Rachel’s eyes were the clear blue of the sky, and
her hair was the natural blond of their nordic ancestors on their mother’s
side.
"Hello, darling,” she said, moving
behind his desk and raising on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek. Then she
dabbed at the lipstick stain she’d left behind.
"Hi, sis. What brings you by?”
"I just wanted to give you a personal
invitation to dinner tomorrow night. Jeff and I are having a small party.”
His eyes narrowed as he gazed down on
her perfectly guileless face. Though he’d only found her again two years ago
after a decade of fruitless searching, they’d grown as close as if they’d been
together their entire lives, and Kit could read her like a book. "How small a
party are we talking here?”
She waved. "Just a few close friends.”
"Who are you trying to fix me up with
this time?”
"Christian Tyler Fleming! You have a
suspicious mind.”
"Rachel Brook Strand, you have a
transparent mind.”
She puffed out an indignant breath,
which, of course, gave her motive away. "I don’t have any idea what you’re
talking about.”
"I thought that after the disaster with
Samantha, you’d have learned your lesson. When are you going to stop trying to
fix me up?”
She laid a hand on his cheek. "Once I’ve
seen you happily married.”
Kit shuddered. "Heaven forbid.”
Shaking her head, she said, "I just know
falling in love would do you a world of good. Look how happy I’ve been since
marrying Jeff.”
"You’re the marrying kind, Rachel. I’m
not.”
"Bosh. We’re twins.”
"Who don’t look alike, don’t think
alike, didn’t even grow up alike.”
Her eyes clouded with sorrow, which made
Kit uncomfortable. He should have kept his mouth shut. He hated that she still
felt guilty for lucking out in the adoption roulette they’d been tossed into,
when their mother had felt forced to give them up. It wasn’t Rachel’s fault
she’d been sent to the modern-day Waltons, while he’d wound up with a
not-so-funny imitation of the Bundys.
He raked a hand through his hair. "I’ve
seen firsthand what marriage can do to people, sis. They learn to hate each
other, they take no greater pleasure than tearing each other apart. I’m not
falling into that trap.”
Her eyes misted. "The Howards were not a
typical couple, you know.”
"I know nothing of the kind,” he
retorted. Then, feeling the need to cheer her up, he sighed and said, "All
right, I’ll come tomorrow night.”
"Wonderful!”
"But,” he said, holding up a finger, "I
bring my own date.”
Rachel squealed her delight. "You have a
new girlfriend! How wonderful!”
"No, I don’t have a new girlfriend.
She’s a... colleague.” In that instant, Kit realized who he
meant to ask to act as his buffer between him and whatever single women his
sister had decided to throw at him, and his heart panicked. When had he made
the decision to ask Sherry Spencer out? One night in her company could well
drive him crazy. She wasn’t his type. She had too much energy, too
much... personality.
He liked quiet, sophisticated,
undemanding women. The kind he could walk away from without a backward glance.
He had the feeling that the more he got to know Sherry Spencer, the more
trouble she’d prove to be.
Rachel waved, a knowing smile on her
lips. "Whatever. Eight o’clock, and don’t be too fashionably late.”
His intercom buzzed again, and Kit waved
to his sister as she fluttered her fingers at him and left his office. Still
slightly reeling from the decision he’d come to, he answered absently, "Yes?”
"Fred Simpson from Simpson & Bailey
on line three.”
Kit shook his head, and took a steadying
breath. However bad this plan was, he meant to see it through.
He picked up the receiver and punched
the blinking button. "Fred, I was just about to call you. I don’t know if your
associate has reported on our meeting this morning, but I have to tell you, I
wasn’t very impressed.”
Now that was a lie. He’d been impressed
by a lot of things about Sherry, not the least of which was her unmitigated
nerve. Not the least of which was the way she walked in high heels. Not the
least of which were her shapely legs, and the way she filled out a tailored
suit. Not the least of which was the shrewd and intelligent light in her eyes,
in sharp contrast to the rest of her face. His brain had splintered apart. That
had to be the answer. Maybe he needed a vacation.
Abruptly he realized that Fred had
spoken. "Excuse me?”
"I said, Sherry did report on the
meeting, and I’m sorry it didn’t work out between you two.”
She’d reported she’d failed before he
even had a chance to announce it? She must have a solid hold on her job. Anyone
else would’ve waited for the axe to fall, all the while hoping for a miracle.
"Yes, well, she and I did seem to have our differences in concept.”
"I’m sorry. I have another ad exec I
think will agree wholeheartedly with your vision, and I’d be happy to—”
"Who said I wanted another ad exec?”
"I was hoping I could convince you to
use Simpson & Bailey just the same.”
"I plan on using Simpson & Bailey.”
A shocked silence buzzed through the phone. "On one condition,” he added.
"Actually two. Nope, make that three.”
"And they are?”
"One, I want Sherry Spencer to handle
the account. Two, we can discuss concept again, but if she still doesn’t
convince me, she does it my way. And three, she’s got exactly one chance to
convince me. Tomorrow night over dinner.”
Another stunned silence. "Well?” Kit
said impatiently.
"Can you hold for a moment while I
discuss this with Sherry?”
Normally Kit wouldn’t languish on hold
for anyone, but for some reason this felt important enough to allow it. "Make
it quick,” he said, then punched the speaker button and dropped the phone into
its cradle.
While he waited, Kit tried to read the
latest quarterly report, but the numbers just weren’t sinking in. He felt a
strange agitation, and decided it was because he had the feeling Sherry Spencer
would prove to be more trouble than she—or any woman for that matter—would be
worth.
Several minutes later, the phone clicked
again. Only this time it wasn’t Fred on the line, but the woman in question
herself.
"Mr. Fleming?” she said, her tone about
fifty degrees below zero.
He picked up the phone. "Ms. Spencer.”
"I’m pleased you’re willing to hear me
out again. I’d be happy to schedule a meeting in the next few days—”
"The meeting’s scheduled, Ms. Spencer.
Tomorrow night, eight o’clock.”
"But—”
"I have a dinner engagement I have to
attend tomorrow night, and I’m not looking forward to it very much. I was
hoping I could put in an appearance and get our meeting out of the way, all in
one shot”
Silence. Kit was fairly certain she was
deciding whether to feel insulted or relieved. When she finally spoke, he could
tell relief had won out. Which he found rather annoying. "All right, Kit my
man, it’s a deal.”
"Fine.”
"How should I dress?”
Some small demon grabbed Kit by the
tail. "In something sheer?”
"In your dreams, Fleming.”
Only this young woman would have the
audacity to address him so familiarly. Which told him several unflattering
things. One, she didn’t consider him a physical or emotional threat. Two, she
wasn’t all that worried about losing the account. And one and two led him to
observation number three. He did not have control over this lady.
Which made her dangerous.
