Truth about Cats

by Anders, Robyn

  Jennifer sipped on a cup of coffee. She seemed perfectly cool and collected despite sitting only inches from Rick. Unfortunately, he couldn't say the same for himself. He was in the state of perpetual arousal he seemed to find himself in whenever Jennifer got near.

  The terrible thing was, he could have switched seats with Eric. It would have been easier on him, and probably made the flight a lot more pleasant for Jennifer.

  "What do you think, Jennifer?" he asked. "I'm not sure I see the connection between tattoos and soap operas."

  Jennifer cleared her throat. She'd gone out on a limb in her first week of work pushing for this meeting. He wanted to know whether she'd done it out of sound business strategy, or because she wanted to go to New York.

  "Eric is right about the value of the publicity," she answered. "But it's more than that. Hudson Media has tried to enter the Internet market twice and stumbled both times. They need to move forward with a non-traditional approach. You don't get more non-traditional than an e-tattoo social media empire."

  That was the main reason he'd agreed to go along. Still, it pleased him that Jennifer had recognized the situation. "Here I thought you hated the Internet."

  She frowned. "I do my job."

  Obviously he'd managed to hurt her feelings. Damn.

  "All right, so that's why Hudson Media wants to do business with us," he said. "Still, what do we get? How many soap opera fans will be running out and getting tattoos?"

  "Two things," Jennifer answered. "Temporary tattoos are a big hit with women from all backgrounds. Did you know that they make up seventy-three percent of the unique visitors to tattoo.com?"

  "Yeah." He didn't manage the day-to-day business, but he watched the numbers.

  "They also make up ninety percent of our temporary tattoo purchases."

  "Now that I didn't know." He should have looked for the female angle earlier. What else had he missed because of his mental blind spots?

  "Besides, only thirty-eight percent of our revenue comes directly from tattoos. We've got to start thinking of ourselves as an entertainment and social event company. Tattoos are a part of our ‘live dangerously’ image, but they shouldn't limit what we do."

  Despite himself, Rick was impressed. Over the past few months he'd started broadening the site focus. Jennifer had picked up the need in a week-and-a-half on the job. "Impressive."

  "Jennifer is a quick study." Eric was always willing to defend his employees, even though, in this case, Jennifer didn't need defending. "She has a valid point about Hudson's interest," Eric added. "Besides, think what we could do with a few million dollars."

  That brought up the heart of the issue. "Money doesn't come without strings. I don't want to give up control to a bunch of New Yorkers."

  Jennifer laughed. "Sometimes you sound a lot like my father. He goes on about how Yankee-Easterners, as he calls them, are out to ruin the country."

  Being compared to her father should have bothered him. Still, whatever you said about Tom, at least the man was a Texan. Rick grinned. "That’s only part of it. The big deal is, they're still caught up in television."

  Jennifer nodded. "And we can't let them suck us into the mindset. If we do a deal, we've got to set the direction."

  For a woman who had been an unsuccessful sales clerk two weeks previously, Jennifer seemed have stepped up to a high level of public relations savvy in record time. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to change her attitude toward him. Their one night of pleasure hadn't been repeated, despite Rick's not so subtle attempts at seduction every time Jennifer showed up on his doorstep to take care of the cats.

  "Bottom line," Rick concluded, "We're agreed. If we can keep control, we'll look to do a deal."

  "Right," Eric and Jennifer said simultaneously.

  Rick looked at her. He liked this confident and smart version of Jennifer.

  Rick opened his laptop. "I've updated the prototype we discussed last Friday." He didn't bother adding that the extra hours from not being able to sleep had helped. "Let's run through it one more time."

  "It'll blow them away," Jennifer said after studying his work. Her voice had that throaty quality that had always riled him up. He shifted the notebook on his lap and wished he'd pulled down the meal tray.

  "You've been busy," Eric commented.

  "I have to earn my pay too."

  The remainder of the flight passed quickly, with Jennifer and Eric making minor suggestions in market positioning, but with fundamental agreement on the strategic recommendations and artistic direction.

  Still, Rick couldn't help wondering whether the positive vibes he got resulted from being on the right track, or from the gentle warmth he caught from Jennifer's body.

  After the usual rough landing in LaGuardia, they headed for their hotel.

  "Want to finish this up in the bar?" Rick suggested. After four hours sitting three inches from Jennifer, he wouldn't be getting to sleep any time soon.

  Jennifer yawned. "We've got it down pat."

  "I agree, let's call it a night," Eric said. "Bags under our eyes won't make a good impression on Sophia DiGratten."

  "Who?" Rick asked.

  "Sophia DiGratten. She's Hudson Media's V.P. of strategic something. They think she hung the moon. She's also their biggest star. You know, the one with the dark hair and enormous, uh--"

  "I don't watch much TV"

  Eric shook his head. "Sometimes you amaze me, buddy. Sophia DiGratten just happens to be the biggest thing to hit the young American male since Pamela Anderson. We're counting on you to use that male magnetism to win her over."

  "Better shine your shoes and polish your smile," Rick told him. "Because my male magnetism evaporated."

  ***

  The buzz of her alarm clock awakened Jennifer from a groggy sleep.

  She reached out to smack the snooze button but the radio wasn't where it was supposed to be. Instead of popping it directly, she caromed it off the nightstand and onto the floor.

  As much as the loud crash, missing the button yanked Jennifer to a slightly higher plane of awareness. This wasn't her clock radio. That meant she wasn't at home. Where was she?

  A vague memory of flying from Dallas to New York popped into her conscious mind. Right. She wasn't hung over, she was suffering her normal reaction to late-night flights.

  But she was in New York for a meeting. What was she doing in bed?

  She reached for the clock radio, found its electric cord, and yanked the whole thing into bed with her. Seven o'clock. How had it possibly gotten so late?

  Her brain still wasn't fully functional, but the shot of adrenaline got her body into action. She practically flew from the bed, splashed water on her face, turned on her shower, and started to yank off her P.J.'s.

  A thump at her door stopped her. Could Rick have decided he needed to tell her something before the meeting? Maybe he was already waiting.

  Leaving the water running, she opened the door and peeked out.

  No Rick.

  The morning newspaper lay just outside. Apparently that explained the thump.

  She bent down and reached for the newspaper but couldn't quite grab it without sticking more than her arm out the door.

  She glanced up and down the hallway. Nobody coming. Trying to move as quickly as Rick had when he'd been practicing his Taiwan Bo that day she hit him with the fish, she slipped outside, grabbed the newspaper, and turned--just in time to see her hotel room door close.

  She was locked out.

  For twenty seconds, she just stood there. This couldn't be happening. Especially after Carla had teased her about locking herself out on purpose.

  She took a deep breath and fought back her momentary panic. She could deal with this. There was a house phone at the end of the hall near the elevator. She could call the lobby and get a maid up here to open her door with no one the wiser.

  She headed down the hall.

  The elevator dinged and she heard the door slide open. Male voices emerg
ed.

  Panic took over.

  Jennifer ran down the hall and pounded on Rick's door.

  ***

  Rick took another sip of his coffee and then clicked the last link. He'd researched Sophia DiGratten and was impressed with what she'd done for Hudson Media since she'd moved into the front office. She had a sharp mind behind those soft curves.

  A frantic sounding hammering on the door broke through his concentration.

  He stood, put the computer on the desk, and opened the door. "Yeah?"

  "There's someone coming. Let me in." Jennifer pushed past him.

  "Out for a little walk, were you? Your outfit is very New York."

  Jennifer looked down as if seeing herself for the first time. She looked very attractive in her shorty pajamas. Each inhalation threatened to free her attractively full breasts from the confines of the snug black silk.

  "I got the employee discount when I worked at Schilling's," she told him. "Not that it's any of your business."

  "It might be slightly my business. This is my hotel room."

  More than half of Jennifer's blush would have been hidden if she'd been fully dressed. He could barely resist the temptation to toss her over his shoulder and carry her to his barely used bed.

  "I told you there was someone coming down the hall. I had to come in here before they saw me."

  "I don't count?"

  "You've already seen me naked."

  "I remember."

  "Wipe that silly grin off your face and call housekeeping."

  "Sure. Want me to order champagne?"

  "I swear, can't you men ever think about anything but sex?"

  He considered, then shook his head slowly. "Guilty, I'm afraid."

  "I'll make the call then." She walked over to the phone near his bed, bent over and picked it up.

  Her black panties barely covered a delightfully pert bottom. Damn.

  Rick unzipped his suit case and yanked out an extra T-shirt and tossed it in Jennifer's direction. Then he switched the shower to all cold and stepped in without bothering to strip off his own T-shirt and jeans.

  The water carved icicles into his body. In Dallas in the summer, you could take a bath in what came out of the cold side of the sink. New York was obviously a lot closer to the North Pole.

  "I'm sorry I busted in on you like this," Jennifer told him through the bathroom door. "I made an idiot out of myself and I took it out on you."

  Rick found the terry robe the hotel provided, pulled it on, and stepped out of the shower stall. For the moment at least, the cold water had done its job although he wasn't sure how long that would last once he saw Jennifer.

  "Did you see the shirt I tossed you?" he called.

  "Uh, yeah. I put it on."

  "Good." It was probably safe from him to come out of the bathroom.

  Jennifer still looked good enough to eat, but he thought he could retain his sanity at least long enough to get her back to her room.

  "They'll be here in a few minutes," she told him.

  "I hope so, as much as they're charging us. Uh," he glanced around the room looking for something to talk about other than how absolutely appealing she looked in his T-shirt. "Do you want a cup of coffee?"

  "I'm going to make us all late, aren't I?" Her words tumbled out way too fast, as if she couldn't make herself stop talking. "This could be a big deal and I'm ruining everything. I hate it when I do that. You gave me a chance and you've worked so hard on that prototype and Eric has all of the financials and I'm just running around like an idiot with no clothes on." Her chin wobbled and her face took on a look that was simultaneously blotchy and absolutely precious.

  "If you cry," Rick warned her, "I'm going to kiss you. This is your last warning."

  "I'm not going to cry. I'm going to spit." Still, Jennifer actually giggled. "Oh you, uh, you man."

  "You'd better believe it."

  "It's too bad I don't want to be your little pet. I think you'd take good care of me."

  "You have no idea."

  Jennifer had a real problem with this pet thing. He would have thought the success she was already having in the job would give her more confidence. It had about some things, but it hadn't helped with the idea of a relationship.

  "A cup of coffee would be nice," she told him, finally answering his question.

  He poured, then found a couple of slices of toast left over from the breakfast he'd ordered in an hour before.

  "See if you can force these down. You need to eat."

  "You're always taking care of me, aren't you?"

  Rick had been around long enough to recognize a no-win situation. If he was nice to Jennifer, she thought he was treating her like a pet. Being a jerk wasn't a good situation either. Besides, caring for her pleased him.

  "Sit down and eat," he ordered.

  "Yes sir."

  She finished the toast and downed half the coffee. "We are going to be late, aren't we?"

  "Probably."

  "I know. I'll take my shower and get ready here. When the maid comes, you can get my clothes from my room."

  "I'm not sure--"

  "If I don't get started, we'll be even later." Without waiting for an answer, Jennifer headed for his bathroom. "If you peek, I'll turn you from a rooster to a capon," she warned.

  Damn.

  Chapter Ten

  "That's our first cut at how our two companies could work together." Rick gave the assembled Hudson Media executives one of his rare but dazzling smiles. "Of course we're anxious to hear your ideas."

  Jennifer took a drink of ice water and tried to still her racing heart. The man was pure brilliance. He had fully incorporated everything she and Eric had suggested, but somehow Rick had made it more. If Hudson Enterprises didn't buy in, they should have their heads examined.

  That is, if they looked past Rick's appearance.

  He couldn't help looking good. Sophia DiGratten's eyes had widened when he'd stalked into the room. His faded jeans, cowboy boots, and black T-shirt made him look all male. Still, he didn't fit the New York board-room mold. All of the Hudson Media junior executives wore well-tailored suits.

  Jennifer shot another look at Sophia DiGratten.

  The impeccably dressed actress and executive touched an appreciative tongue to her lips. "Comments, people?"

  "We're wasting our time," a young man declared. "The last thing we need is a low-class cowboy telling us how to run our business."

  Rick's eyes narrowed as he stared at the overdressed and undermuscled male.

  Jennifer remembered the day half the football team had made fun of Rick's clothes. He'd blacked four of their eyes before they finally held him down and beat the stuffing out of him. If he reverted to form, the meeting would be over--and they all might end up in jail.

  "Uh, that's what I think, anyway," the young man concluded lamely, caving in to Rick's hard stare.

  "Any sensible comments," DiGratten growled.

  "Well, the demographics--"

  At another glare from DiGratten, the baby executive shrank back into his chair.

  "In that case, you can go," DiGratten interrupted.

  Jennifer couldn't believe DiGratten was dismissing them after dragging them all the way to New York. Maybe she didn't like every detail Rick had presented. Maybe Rick's jeans and t- shirt made her discount what he had to say. Still, he'd shown an incredible mastery of the facts and strategies for the two businesses. Even a TV star should be able to see the synergy.

  "Not you," DiGratten told Jennifer when she reached for her laptop bag. "My guys, out." Her trained voice snapped with the kind of authority Jennifer knew she could never project.

  "There is a reason your previous Internet ventures failed," Rick commented.

  "I'm fully aware of that. I've booked us reservations for lunch. We can talk about it there. If you'll follow me?"

  Jennifer didn't want Rick following DiGratten anywhere. The woman had to be well over forty, but nothing in her face or body
hinted at it. Her hips wiggled with a come-hither that even Jennifer could feel. Rick's tongue had to be falling out.

  DiGratten made casual conversation about the soap opera business as they rode a sleek limousine south toward Greenwich Village.

  As they turned off Fifth, Jennifer started to get an uncomfortable feeling. Could they really be going to the Vielle Mouton, her father's favorite New York hangout?

  The limo coasted to a familiar stop. La Vielle Mouton restaurant catered to a crowd that liked to spend money. A salad ran fifty dollars and you couldn't get a bottle of wine for less than two hundred. It was also famous for its snooty atmosphere. The maitre d' had been known to toss out even movie stars who failed to dress according to his standards. Jennifer couldn't imagine a place less suited to Rick's comfort.

  "Ms. DiGratten, how nice to see you again," the maitre d' said as the party entered. "And could it be little Jennifer Hollman? How wonderful that you're up from Texas."

  DiGratten gave Jennifer a look as if seeing her for the first time. "You've been here?"

  "Mr. Hollman used to visit us quite often," the maitre d' said as Jennifer unsuccessfully sputtered for an answer. "I haven't seen Miss Jennifer for years now. You look lovely, my dear."

  "How nice," DiGratten said, before Jennifer could answer. She couldn't tell if DiGratten was pleased or jealous at being upstaged.

  "We have your private room reserved," the maitre d' murmured to DiGratten. "Your guests won't feel uncomfortable."

  He hadn't intended Rick to hear, but he hadn't counted on Rick's excellent hearing. Rick's facial muscles tightened into a grimace.

  "Maybe we should go someplace a little less formal," Jennifer suggested.

  "Nonsense," DiGratten replied. "We'll be fine."

  The Maitre d' showed them to a second floor room with a view of the street below.

  DiGratten ordered a bottle of wine that would have cost over a hundred dollars in a Dallas restaurant. Jennifer didn't want to think about what it cost here.

  The wine steward returned with the bottle and presented it to Rick. He stared at it blankly.

  Jennifer's face burned. For all his intelligence, Rick was still the boy who'd begged for scraps to eat. Obviously he'd meant it when he told Jennifer he wasn't rich. At least he hadn't adopted the lifestyle of the rich. He had no idea how to handle this type of a restaurant.