The Billionaire Date. Leigh Michaels
with cameras. A fan of my ads, are you?”
Oops. Kit told herself. That was a slip. “Not at all. It’s just that they’re a bit difficult to avoid. One would have to quit reading altogether to escape them, and even then there are the billboards.”
He drained his cup and set it on the table with a firm click. “Let’s get down to it, Ms. Deevers. Obviously you don’t have an idea in your head about this fund-raiser. So why don’t you just admit it?”
“Why should I?” she asked cautiously.
“Because we may as well call the whole thing off now, before you make a fool of yourself.”
Kit felt a slow burn start in her toes and work up. “You sound awfully sure I’m the one who’ll look foolish.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No—now that I think about it, you didn’t. I wonder if that means you’re afraid I’ll succeed and you’ll have to eat crow.”
“That possibility doesn’t seem likely.”
“I’ll call it off if you’ll promise to keep your mouth shut about Tryad.”
“You’re not dictating the terms here, Ms. Deevers.”
“Really? Well, no dice.” She eased out of the booth. “I won’t give you the satisfaction of telling people I backed out, and you’re not going to slander my company, either. I’m going to pull this off, Mr. Damn-Your-Arrogance Webster—and you’re going to be so impressed by the time it’s over that you not only won’t run down Tryad, you’ll give us referrals.”
He didn’t move. “Pull it off and you have my promise—all the referrals I can manage. Of course, in the meantime, I can’t wait to hear all about how you’re going to do it.”
Neither can I, Kit thought. So now, all I have to do is figure it out.
CHAPTER THREE
ALISON was already in Flanagan’s when Kit arrived. She was sitting at a table toward the back of the dim little pub, taking advantage of the light from a neon beer sign above her head to read the latest issue of a public relations journal.
The glass of diet cola in Alison’s hand was half empty, Kit saw. That meant she’d been there for a while, and since she wasn’t in a position to look out the front window there was no chance she’d seen Kit walking by with Jarrett.
One down, Kit thought.
Kit pulled out a chair across from her partner and waved at the waitress. “Where’s Susannah?”
“Don’t know.” Alison slid a bar napkin into the magazine to mark her page and set it aside. “She had a meeting with a client this afternoon, and she wasn’t back yet when I left.”
“If it was Pierce at the museum, she might not be back at all.” The waitress brought Kit a glass of Chardonnay, and she sipped it gratefully.
Alison looked puzzled. “You don’t think she’s serious about him, do you?”
“Why shouldn’t she be? I’ve only met him a couple of times, but he seems nice enough, and he’s certainly attractive.”
“He’s not her type. Look at me in disbelief if you want, Kit, but underneath all that froth, our Susannah’s a very steady sort. And somehow, I suspect, Pierce isn’t. She’s no more serious about him than...than you are about Jarrett Webster.”
Kit almost choked. “Oh, well, when you put it that way...” She drew a set of imaginary parallel lines on the tabletop with the base of her wineglass. “Ali, if you had to raise a lot of money for a good cause in a very little time, what would you do?”
“Is this a trick question, or wasn’t I listening at our staff meeting Monday?”
“It came up since then. It’s sort of a competition.” At least that much was the truth, Kit thought.
Alison looked thoughtful, but before she could comment Susannah came in with a swirl of her jersey skirt and sank into the chair across from Kit. “Guess what I just saw, parked straight in front of the brownstone. The most gorgeous black Porsche with Teddy on the license plates. Putting two and two together—”
“And coming up with seven, no doubt,” Alison said. “I thought incredible math was Kit’s specialty.”
“Maybe the car belongs to a bear collector,” Kit said.
Susannah leaned forward. “Then what was Jarrett Webster doing walking down the street toward it?”
“Taking a healthy stroll?” Kit mused. “Or slumming, perhaps?”
“You really don’t know?” Susannah sounded doubtful. “I thought perhaps he was looking for you, but Rita said he hadn’t come into the office.”
“See, Kit? I told you Susannah wasn’t serious about Pierce. In fact, it’s beginning to sound as if she’s got Jarrett Webster on the brain, instead.”
Susannah rolled her eyes. “Ali, you know very well I wouldn’t poach on Kit’s territory.”
“You’re welcome to him,” Kit offered.
“You two and your men,” Alison grumbled.
Susannah sat up straight. “Oh? As if there aren’t any in your life?”
“The men in my life are friends, not romantic interests. And now that we’re on the subject—”
“I’m lost,” Susannah said. “Which subject? Friends or romantic interests?”
“Friends. Two of mine are announcing their engagement tomorrow evening. The party came up rather suddenly, and—”
“And you want to know what to take as a gift? I’d suggest a bottle of champagne. That’s always appreciated.” Susannah flagged the waitress. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m starving.”
“Thanks, darling, but I can figure out a gift,” Alison said. “The trouble is, I’m also supposed to attend a convention banquet for one of our clients. It’s not critically important, I suppose—I mean, I’ll stop by the convention during the day, and it’s not as if we’re in charge of the arrangements for the banquet itself. But I think Tryad ought to be represented, so I was wondering if one of you—”
Susannah shook her head. “Sorry, but I’ve already made plans for the whole weekend.”
“I’ll go,” Kit said. “Tell me where and when.”
“You’re a love, Kitty. I owe you one.” Alison passed an envelope across the table. “Here are the tickets. It’s at the Englin Hotel, main ballroom, eight o’clock.”
“Tickets?” Susannah said. “Plural?”
“Too late, Kit’s got dibs. And you’ve already got plans, remember?”
“I didn’t mean I was volunteering to take over. I just couldn’t help thinking of who Kit might take. As long as there’s an extra ticket—”
“I can’t think of a soul I want to spend the evening with,” Kit said firmly. “At least, not one I could invite to a banquet featuring rubbery chicken and a roomful of strangers.”
“That’s a curse of modern life, you know,” Susannah announced. “Somebody ought to start up a singles club.”
“I hate to burst your bubble, dear,” Alison said, “but someone already has.”
“No, I mean a real singles club—not a dating service, but something to deal with the honest-to-goodness problems of unattached life. The woman who needs a companion for a dull evening at a business banquet, the man who doesn’t know how to do his own laundry—”
“I think you’ve