The Billionaire Date

by Leigh Michaels

  Of course, she reminded herself, he was far more apt to be curt and cool than warm and welcoming. If he’d been in any mood to apologize—or even to explain—he’d had all day Sunday to call her and do so. The fact that he’d remained completely silent didn’t show much promise.

  “This is Kit Deevers, calling for Mr. Webster,” she said.

  The secretary’s voice was calmly professional. “I’m afraid Mr. Webster isn’t available at the moment.”

  Kit wondered if that meant he was unavailable only to her. She wouldn’t be surprised. On the other hand, she told herself, she probably wasn’t important enough for him to go to any great lengths to avoid her. “In the next few days, I’ll be writing a check for the funds we raised with the Dream Dates Auction last weekend, and I’m calling to ask how the payee should be listed.”

  “I’ll certainly give him the message as soon as possible.”

  She gave no hint of when that might be, Kit noted. Had Nancy been so eager to cash in her two weeks in the Caribbean that they’d already left?

  “You might also ask if he’d like me to mail the check to him so he can present it, or directly to the charity.” That, Kit thought, would make it clear—in the unlikely event she hadn’t gotten her point across in the ballroom Saturday night—that she wasn’t expecting to see him again.

  With everything possible done for the moment, she put the dream dates file aside and turned to the new project Alison had detailed over breakfast. There was no doubt the company’s conveyer belt had caused injury to a worker, but someone at the injured man’s work site had circumvented at least three built-in safety measures that would have prevented the injury. The touchy question, Kit decided, was how to get that across to the public, particularly Industrial Dynamics’ other customers, without appearing to bad-mouth the one who’d had the problem.

  With relief, Kit plunged into work, and hours later when the telephone on her desk rang she looked at it almost blankly for an instant with her mind still on conveyer belts before thinking, It’s Jarrett....

  Her heart was skipping like-an Irish jig as she picked up the phone. It wasn’t that she expected this conversation to make any real difference, she told herself firmly. Still, Jarrett might have had a change of heart

  But it wasn’t Jarrett, only Rita, and Kit’s heart settled sadly into place, a leaden lump in the center of her chest.

  “You’ve been so absorbed all day that I thought I’d better call to remind you,” the secretary said.

  “Of what?”

  “You have an appointment with the child abuse hot line people this afternoon.”

  Kit drew a sharp breath. “To deliver the finished campaign for their new phone number. You’re a darling, Rita. I’d have forgotten it for sure.”

  “It’s at four o’clock,” Rita added, “so I’ll probably be gone by the time you get back. That’s the other reason I’m bothering you now. There’s a message for you from Mr. Webster.”

  A message? She’d told Rita to screen her calls today, as all three of them did when an important project loomed. But she had no doubt Jarrett was capable of charming Rita and getting through her most determined objections. Or hadn’t he asked to speak to Kit?

  “It’s just the name of a domestic violence organization,” Rita said. “The secretary said you’d know what it meant.”

  A secretary. He hadn’t called himself. The last bit of feeble hope in Kit’s heart crumbled into dust.

  She was a fool, she told herself curtly, to hope that she might be important enough to him to rate an apology—or even an explanation.

  That is the end of that, she thought. At least now she could face the future, because she knew for certain there was no reason to look back.

  The people at the child abuse hot line service hadn’t seen the media campaign she’d created for them, and they were duly impressed by the finished product. Kit explained the process, answered questions, gave advice and received compliments—though she wasn’t quite sure what she was saying. Despite the warm reception, by the time she left, she felt almost as if she were escaping.

  The business day was done. Of course, there was plenty of work waiting in her office—but she was hardly in a frame of mind to accomplish much, and there was no point in putting in hours. Better to start fresh in the morning.

  Which left the problem of what to do with herself tonight. Sit at home and think about evenings just past—evenings spent with Jarrett? Not a good option. But going out somewhere was no guarantee she wouldn’t still be thinking of him.

  Her key ring had slid clear to the bottom of her handbag, and she practically had to dump the contents of the bag on the hood of her car before she could find her car key. Obviously, it was time to clean out the mess. She couldn’t believe the amount of junk that had collected in the bag in a matter of weeks.

  Well, that would entertain her for part of the evening, she thought dryly—even though, as an excuse for staying home, it was on a par with washing her hair.

  She picked up a tiny beige brocade makeup bag and debated for a moment whether she should put it in her purse or dump it in the nearby garbage can. She hadn’t opened it since the barely clad model had thrust it into her hands at Milady Lingerie.

  It seemed so long ago, she thought wistfully. That evening, Jarrett had treated her as if she was really a part of his world, and—though she hadn’t yet realized how she felt about him—she’d responded like a woman in love.

  She held the bag over the garbage can for a long moment. Then, her fingers trembling, she slipped it into the pocket of her blazer.

  She knew it was silly to imagine that going to the store might help her recapture the glorious glow she’d felt when she was with him. But her body seemed suddenly to have a mind of its own, and instead of driving toward the lake and home, she turned toward the suburbs.

  The front view of Milady Lingerie was still a treat to the eye, even though some of the romantic atmosphere was diluted by the sunshine that streamed through skylights in the mall’s main walkway.

  Or perhaps, Kit admitted, it only seemed less romantic because today she was alone.

  There were other changes, too. No marchers were carrying signs. Jarrett’s policy of making no fuss seemed to have discouraged them faster than any amount of legal action could have.

  I could have told them they needed public relations advice, she thought.

  The red teddy was gone from the window, and a lavender silk dressing gown, trimmed in what looked like antique tatting, had taken its place. Kit wondered if the new magazine ads were already on the stands or if the store’s manager had jumped the gun a bit.

  She fingered the satin bag in her pocket for courage and went in.

  There was no one in sight. Not a customer, not a clerk. And since there was no merchandise within view, either, Kit couldn’t help but wonder how on earth Milady Lingerie turned a profit. How did a prospective customer decide what she wanted to buy? Or know what to ask for?

  A young woman came from the back of the store. “Hello. What can I help you with today?”

  “I don’t...” Kit almost stammered. She glanced toward the door. “I’ve got a gift certificate, but I’m not sure—”

  “So at the moment you’re just looking?” The woman smiled. “Aren’t we all? Come to the fitting rooms and we’ll measure you first. Then we can really have fun selecting the things that will flatter you most.”

  Before Kit could demur, she found herself standing in a fitting room in nothing but her underwear. While the fitter worked, Kit looked around in surprise. With its velvet fainting couch and the watercolor on the wall, the room looked more like a boudoir than the utilitarian dressing nooks most stores provided.

  “You have lovely posture,” the fitter murmured. “That straight back will carry off almost anything we stock.”

  “I’ve been told my shoulder blades are my best feature,” Kit said dryly.

  “Well, it’s not a bad thing. Unlike some pretty faces, shoul
der blades last forever. And as for your coloring, you’ll look wonderful in peach and ivory and teal... Let me go and get a few things for you to look at.”

  She brought silky underthings and lacy nightwear, satin slippers and a bathrobe as light and delicate as gossamer. And after they were tried on and exclaimed over, she went after another load.

  Before long, silk and satin and lace were not only piled high on the fainting couch but had spilled onto the carpet, and Kit was revising her opinions of the way Jarrett ran his business.

  Everything was lovely. Everything was just the right shade to flatter her. Everything was a perfect fit. And Kit had no idea how she could possibly choose an item or two from among the beauty strewn around her.

  Which, from Jarrett’s perspective, must be the whole point. If every woman who walked into Milady Lingerie reacted like this...

  “I really can’t buy all of this,” Kit said helplessly. Even to herself, she didn’t sound convincing.

  The fitter laughed. “Heavens, nobody can buy everything she looks good in. But we’ll make a list of what you like best, and then on your birthday or Christmas, your significant other can come in and do his shopping the easy way. And he’ll get the right size, too—which, if he’s anything like my husband, makes a pleasant change.”

  Except, Kit thought, my significant other won’t be shopping for me. The lump in her throat threatened to choke her.

  She picked up a dainty confection in cream-colored silk and lace, with satin ribbons and delicate embroidery. Of all the lovely things the fitter had brought, this was the closest to the white lace outfit Jarrett had supposedly designed especially for her. Or perhaps he would have settled on black velvet, after all. She would never know.

  “I’ll take this,” she said. Her voice was almost gruff.

  She handed over not only the gift certificate but her credit card to cover the balance, and picked up her bag—heavy, satiny paper in the same neutral beige as the furnishings in the drawing room.

  It was a foolish purchase, Kit knew. She wasn’t sure what the garment was called, and she would probably never wear it. But she’d keep it forever.

  She stepped into the drawing room, bag in hand, and froze as Jarrett, sitting on the love seat before the fireplace, looked up from a magazine and got lazily to his feet. “Hello,” he said. “Did you find something you like?”

  The drawing room was spacious. It was impossible that he was physically blocking her from reaching the doorway. All she had to do, Kit knew, was walk past him and into the mall. But her feet seemed to be glued to the carpet.

  Where the words came from, she didn’t know. “It’ll do. I always think it’s such a shame to waste a gift certificate.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d consider modeling your purchase for me? Because of the gift certificate, in a sense I paid for it, so it would be only fair if—”

  “You can certainly afford it. And remember? I told you a long time ago I wouldn’t be caught dead modeling for you.”

  “In the magazine ads, no. I’d already thought better of that. But I thought perhaps in real life—”

  She faced him squarely. “If you hope this kind of talk is going to get you off the hook, Jarrett, forget it. Why did you pull strings? And why did you do it all behind the scenes? So you could still go around Chicago telling tales about Tryad?” Her voice cracked. “About how I took the credit for a success that wasn’t mine at all—”

  “Is that why you’re so upset, Kit? Not that I did those things, but because I didn’t tell you I was doing them?”

  “Give the man an award for sensitivity,” Kit snapped. “You deliberately led me into embarrassing myself, and now—”

  “No, Kit.” His voice was almost gentle. “There was nothing deliberate about it. And the only one who seems to be worried about the possibility of you being embarrassed is you.”

  Kit’s hands clenched on the back of a wing chair. She was vaguely surprised that her nails didn’t cut the brocade upholstery. “You—”

  “I’d hoped that after a couple of days to think it over, perhaps you’d calm down enough to listen to my side of it,” he said. “But if not—”

  “You may as well go ahead,” Kit said reluctantly. “I’ve got nothing to lose by hearing what you have to say.”

  He looked at her for a long moment as if debating, then sat on the arm of the love seat. “I was furious about the mess that fashion show turned into. It was a waste of time and resources.”

  Kit couldn’t argue with that. She nodded stiffly.

  “It wasn’t the fault of the people who contributed to it that their money hadn’t done any good. But they’d made a donation in good faith, so it was impossible to go back and ask for more because what they’d already given was wasted. So a good cause was cheated—”

  “And you thought I was the one doing the cheating.”

  “It certainly looked bad for you, especially since everyone connected with the fashion show told me the same things about what had happened.”

  “People like Colette and Heather,” Kit said bitterly, “who eagerly blamed all the problems on me.”

  “Exactly. They’re the reason I decided to check you out.”

  Kit was startled. “They... But I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve learned, over the years, to believe about ten percent of what those two females tell me. The trouble sometimes is knowing exactly which ten percent is the truth. So I went to Tryad to check you out myself. Were you the cold and scheming sort who’d steal from a desperate cause? Or had you gotten stuck in circumstances?” He added thoughtfully, “You greeted me very ungraciously that afternoon, if you recall.”

  Kit remembered, all right—she’d been nervous and defensive, on edge and wary. “I didn’t even ask you to sit down.”

  “That’s right. You were a very cool customer. The kind, I thought, who wouldn’t care much about any cause, especially if it got in the way of your profits. So, in anger, I gave you a challenge. If you succeeded, you would at least make up for the mess the fashion show had turned into. But if you tried to pull a single stunt—”

  “Then you’d have good cause to ruin me.”

  “Better than Colette’s and Heather’s opinions, that’s sure.”

  “Well,” Kit mused, “I suppose it’s some comfort that at least you didn’t condemn me on their word.”

  “I gave you my ultimatum. And then you did two things that were really strange.”

  “Only two?” Kit’s list would have been a whole lot longer than that.

  “You didn’t seem concerned about yourself but about your partners—and somehow that didn’t sound like the hard, cold woman I thought I was seeing. And then you pulled off that press conference to announce the auction and really threw down the gauntlet—and I was fascinated. You’d taken on a tremendous job, more than I’d even dreamed of asking.”

  “Too bad you didn’t tell me I didn’t have to go to such lengths.”

  He smiled. “It was too late for that—you’d made sure of it. I still didn’t know, though, quite why you were doing it. Was it my threat or your own nature that was making you work so hard? And I kept reminding myself that just because you weren’t pulling any obvious tricks this time didn’t mean you weren’t capable of it.”

  “So you watched.”

  “And I started quietly pulling a few strings.”

  “For the sake of the cause?” Kit asked, almost bitterly. “Or to make sure there was enough money that it would be worth my while to steal some of it?”

  “At first, maybe. But by the end, I did it because I wanted you to succeed.”

  “You should have told me what you were doing.”

  He nodded. “You’re no doubt right, but I thought it didn’t make any difference. You’d never know that I had anything to do with it, and your glorious success would give you and Tryad a boost. It would help make up for my doubt and the threats I’d made.”

  She thought it over. “Why?” she asked
finally. The word was little more than a whisper.

  “You’re a puzzle, Kit. An enigma. I wanted to stick around till I could figure out which was the real you—the efficient and cool lady who had everything under control or the scatterbrained, hodgepodge female who couldn’t even put her clothes on right.”

  “Don’t tease me about that,” she said softly. “I never pretended to be any competition for the Lingerie Ladies.”

  His gaze drifted over her from head to foot. “Don’t you know,” he asked soberly, “that you are shatteringly lovely, and that you always will be?”

  Kit gulped. She didn’t dare let herself take him seriously. All she could do was try to make a joke of it. “If you make one more remark about my shoulder blades, Jarrett Webster—”

  “Oh, there are women who have more perfect shapes than you, and women whose faces are technically more beautiful. But you are an original, Kit, and part of your attraction is the fact that you are uncertain of your charm and unaware that you are special.” His voice dropped even lower. “And you are very, very desirable.”

  The mere word was enough to set off a reaction that rocked Kit to the core. Longing flickered through her veins like fire consuming living grass, slowly, sensually, irrevocably.

  “And yet,” Jarrett said. “sometimes you weren’t uncertain at all. You knew exactly what you thought of me. You were putting up with me, no more. Whenever I made any move toward getting serious—”

  Kit frowned. If he was talking about all the times he’d suggested they have an affair—well, that was hardly what she’d call serious.

  “You’d back. away or turn it into a joke. I mentioned the Riviera, and you suggested an army tent in Iceland.”

  “You meant that?” she whispered.

  “When I offered you two weeks in the Caribbean—two weeks that could truly have been paradise—you shrugged it off as if you didn’t care.”

  There was no denying the pain in his voice, and Kit could feel herself healing as he spoke. She didn’t know if he would ever call what he felt for her love—but she didn’t care. The emotion, not the name, was what counted, and she knew that he, too, felt this tie between them.