It Takes a Rebel. Stephanie Bond
fixed.
He stretched tall into a mighty yawn, then padded barefoot to the closet they used as a supply room. He’d have time to slide into his deck shoes before the broad got there. Jack shook his head at the neat shelves, the bins of miscellaneous office supplies and the various tools. His brother had inherited their mother’s penchant for order, while he had inherited their father’s tendency toward turmoil.
God rest his father’s sweet soul, the old man was still doing them favors. Paul Stillman, ever the generous spirit, had once stopped on New Circle Road to assist a motorist, only to discover the man was none other than Alexander Tremont, owner of the Tremont department store chain. Tremont had been on his way to a meeting at his flagship store in Lexington, Kentucky, and their father had given him a lift. When the two men hit it off, Tremont had promised the Stillman & Sons agency a chance at his business once his contract with a high-powered agency had run its course.
Last week, Al Tremont’s secretary had phoned to keep his promise. Saddened to learn of their father’s passing, Tremont nonetheless set an appointment to discuss ideas for a new ad campaign. Derek had been ecstatic when Jack told him, and considered cutting short his honeymoon, but Jack had assured him he could handle the presentation.
And he could handle the presentation, he told himself. He’d already performed some rudimentary research by calling acquaintances to ask what the hell the store sold. He still had nearly twenty-four hours until the Tremont appointment, and he always did his best work under pressure. If history repeated itself, his most creative ideas would strike him around three o’clock tomorrow morning.
He pulled down a tool belt and strapped it low around his hips. Begrudgingly, he lifted the stepladder to his shoulder—might as well change the two expired overhead lightbulbs while he was at it.
Upon closer inspection, the bookshelf was in worse shape than he’d thought. He ended up reinforcing the brace under each shelf and tightening every screw that held the piece together. Once the unit was stabilized, he positioned it against the wall, then knelt to start replacing the heap of books, binders and periodicals.
Two minutes into the pile, between volumes of advertising trade magazines, he stumbled across an old friend—the 1997 Playboy “Southern College Coeds” issue. A dog-eared page took him directly to the University of Kentucky offerings. Wow, still impressive. And by chance, he’d spotted the blonde in the cropped T-shirt at the next football game he’d attended. What was her name? Jack peered more closely. Oh, yeah—Sissy. He and Sissy had shared some good times.
“Excuse me.”
At the sound of a woman’s voice, Jack jerked his head up and slapped the magazine closed. In the doorway of their disheveled office stood the most drop-dead gorgeous woman he’d ever had the pleasure of setting his eyes upon. His body leapt in unadulterated admiration. The woman was…tight. Tight black hair bound away from her face. Tight skin over sharp cheekbones and a perfect nose. Tight set of her mouth and chin. Tight tailored pale blue suit that hugged every curve of her long body. Tight look from her haughty blue eyes. Tight grip on the black briefcase she held.
To say the IRS rep didn’t look anything like what he’d expected was an understatement of laughable proportions. “Yes?” He adopted a charming expression. His mind raced ahead to the drinks, the dinner, the bed they were destined to share.
“I’m looking for Mr. Stillman.”
Oh, and a husky voice, too. He’d surely died and gone to heaven. “You found him,” he said, then tossed the magazine to the floor and walked toward her.
“You’re Derek Stillman?” she asked, not hiding her surprise.
“No, I’m his brother, Jack, the better looking one.” He grinned. “Derek is out of town, but I’ve been expecting you.”
“Oh?” she asked, scanning the contents of the office. “You know who I am?”
“Sure,” he said cheerfully. “Derek and I were just discussing the meeting on the phone.”
Suddenly he realized the unkempt appearance of their office might run in their favor—the woman could certainly see they weren’t hiding income. He laughed and gestured around. “As you can see, we’re not exactly the cream of the advertising agencies.” He made a rueful noise. “A month ago we were on the verge of bankruptcy, and now we’re just hanging on by the skin of our ass—um, teeth, so this shouldn’t take long.”
“Indeed,” she said, her enunciation clipped. “I believe I’ve seen enough.” She turned as if to leave.
He panicked. “Wait—what about our appointment?”
“Consider it canceled.”
Jack nearly whooped with relief—Derek would be ecstatic that the audit had been dismissed, but he wasn’t about to let this creature just walk out of his life.
“You don’t have to be so hasty,” he drawled, strolling closer. “There’s a silver lining to every cloud.” When she turned back, he angled his head at her and gave her his most devilish grin. “How about dinner?”
One thin jet eyebrow shot up. “With you?”
He winked. “I grill a mean steak.”
Her smile was, of course, tight. “I’m a vegetarian.”
Jack blanched. He’d heard of vegetarians, but he’d never met one. “Well, I grill a mean…head of cabbage. What do you say?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I say ‘no.’ Goodbye, Mr. Stillman.”
“Wait,” he said, trotting after her into the reception area, where they kept a desk, a phone and an extinct computer for appearances. The two weeks’ worth of mail nearly obscured the top of the dummy desk.
She turned again, her mouth pursed, her gaze chilly.
He spread his hands. “At least give me your card so I can prove to my brother that you were here.” He’d call her and eventually wear her down—he always did.
The black-haired beauty hesitated, then withdrew a gold business card holder, extracted a card, and flicked it down on the corner of the reception desk. She opened the door and exited to the hall. Jack caught the door and stuck out his head to watch her walk away. Head up, her stride was long, and she never looked back as she disappeared around the corner.
Jack whistled low and under his breath. “Tight little behind, too.” Spirits high, he turned back to the door and laughed aloud. The Stillman & Sons Advertising Agency sign on the outside of the door dangled crookedly by a thin chain. He’d been meaning to fix that, too, but the disrepair had undoubtedly been a bonus. He couldn’t wait to call Derek, and he couldn’t wait to call the mystery woman. He loved a gal who played hard to get.
Jack lifted his arm and patted himself heartily on the back. Derek was always complaining that he didn’t pull his weight around the office, but from what he could see, running the place was a pure cinch. The auditor was practically in his pocket; in fact—he cracked his knuckles with one sweeping motion—maybe he’d be able to negotiate some sort of tax-free status between the sheets. He grinned—when he was hot, he was red-hot. Closing his eyes, he could practically feel the imprint of Tremont’s handshake tomorrow as they agreed on a deal even more lucrative than his brother could have imagined. Humming in anticipation, Jack walked back into the messy reception area and picked up the card the smoky siren had left.
Then he nearly swallowed his smooth tongue.
Alexandria Tremont, Director of Marketing & Sales, Tremont Enterprises.
WHEN ALEX REACHED the parking lot, she was still marveling over the sheer audacity of Jack Stillman. She swung into her sedan, banged the door closed, and scoffed as she turned over the key in the ignition. The man was a joke, and a lame one at that. She wheeled out of the parking lot that was as shoddy as the so-called professional office buildings around it, making a wild guess as to the owner of the dusty black motorcycle sitting at a cocky angle.