The Billionaire Date. Leigh Michaels
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Webster’s voice was level. “And her fees will cut into the amount you were able to raise for the emergency shelter, I suppose?”
“I’m afraid the results are going to be extremely disappointing,” Colette confided. “It’s such a worthy cause, too, and it would have been nice for the girls to be able to make a contribution that meant something.”
“We worked awfully hard,” Heather added. “And I suppose Ms. Deevers did her best, too. But...” Her voice trailed off as if the threesome was moving away.
Kit was livid. The words were true enough, but the note of doubt in Heather’s voice implied that Kit might have sabotaged the show on purpose.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on controlling her breathing and her temper. She told herself it didn’t matter what anyone thought as long as she knew she’d done her best. It wasn’t her fault that the situation had gone from bad to impossible.
And why should she care what Jarrett Webster believed, anyway? It wasn’t as if she wanted to impress him. As far as she was concerned, the man was no more important than a drop of rain in the ocean.
“In fact,” she said under her breath, “the very idea of anybody in his line of work raising funds for domestic violence is almost laughable. Unless—I suppose he could have thought the money was to promote violence instead of fight it?”
The thought brought a smile, and with a fraction of her self-esteem restored, Kit pushed herself away from the pillar. She was going to change her clothes and go home. Damn Jarrett Webster, anyway. And Heather, and her mother, and all the other debs....
She didn’t see him until she crashed directly into his broad chest.
Jarrett caught her by the elbows, preventing her from sprawling on the floor. For a single effortless instant he held her upright, and Kit felt as light and insubstantial as a dandelion seed floating on the wind. Then, efficiently but without gentleness, he set her on her feet.
Bemused, she shot a quick glance at him. Where had he come from? And perhaps more importantly, exactly when? Had he heard what she’d said? Perhaps not. She’d done no more than mutter to herself, and the hall was still noisy. And she certainly hadn’t heard him, so perhaps...
There was no telling from his expression, she realized. His brown eyes were chilly, but of course that wasn’t any surprise, considering what Heather and Colette had told him. Coming on top of their first encounter, he must think she was an imbecile.
Jarrett Webster’s voice was as soft as the silk Kit wore. “I see at least you got that dress on in the right direction.”
She lifted her head and stared into his face, determined not to be intimidated. The dress was a beauty, and she knew she didn’t look at all bad in it. He had no cause to make nasty cracks.
“Not that it would make a lot of difference,” he went on dryly.
Puzzled by his tone, Kit slid a nervous hand over the slender skirt and glanced at the front of the dress.
Her eyes widened in shock. Their collision had knocked her tissue paper stuffing loose. One wad had slid sideways and ended up under her arm, where it resembled a threatening tumor. The other had popped up in the precise center of the low-cut neckline.
“Damn,” she said.
For the first time, she saw a glint of humor creep into Jarrett Webster’s eyes, but before he had a chance to burst out laughing, Kit turned sharply on her heel and darted toward the dressing room.
Running wasn’t her style, but it was just as well she’d acted on the impulse, she told herself as she irritably stripped off the black silk dress. If she’d stayed around another instant, she’d have probably kicked him.
Not that he didn’t deserve it.
Kit was running behind schedule on Monday morning. When she arrived for their weekly planning breakfast, her two partners were already sitting in their favorite booth at the restaurant just around the corner from the brownstone that housed Tryad’s offices.
Susannah Miller glanced at the dainty watch that dangled on a gold chain around her neck and said, “She’s late.”
“I noticed.” Alison Novak didn’t look up from her notebook or stop scribbling. “I wonder if that means she had an exciting weekend.”
“No doubt. She thought she was going to meet Jarrett Webster himself, you know. And if she did, and if he’s anything like he appears in his ads—”
“You mean maybe she spent the rest of the weekend with him?” Alison considered and shook her head. “No. She’d be even later if that’s what happened.”
Kit slid into the booth. “I wish you’d stop talking about me as if I’m not here.”
“All right,” Susannah said agreeably. “So, now that you finally are here, tell us what happened. Did you meet the king of lingerie?”
“In the flesh,” Kit said. She reached for the lone empty cup, filled it with coffee and savored the aroma. “The trouble is, it was me who was in the flesh—and very little else—at the time.”
Susannah blinked. “Darling, you were supposed to be running the fashion show, not modeling for Jarrett Webster. Of course, it might have advantages for the firm. And for you, of course. Does this mean you’re going to be his Lingerie Lady next month?”
Kit almost choked on her coffee. “Are you kidding? I hardly fit the profile.”
“Well-chosen word,” Alison murmured. “They do all seem to have interesting profiles, and we’re not talking Roman noses, either.” She pulled a glossy fashion magazine from a capacious canvas bag under the table and thrust it at Kit. “I thought you might like to hang this on your office wall.”
Kit took the magazine reluctantly. “I didn’t know you’d taken to reading this sort of thing.”
“Only to keep up with our clients,” Alison said repressively.
Susannah looked skyward. “The sacrifices we all make for the sake of business.”
“It’s just too bad I didn’t find it last week or you could have asked him to autograph it.”
Kit slid her fingernail down the bright-colored coupon that served as a page marker and opened the magazine. She wasn’t surprised at the image that greeted her, even though she’d never seen the photograph before, for all of Milady Lingerie’s ads were similar. Each month’s campaign featured a new, young and stunningly attractive woman, usually buxom and long-haired—and anonymous. Because the models were never identified by name, everyone called them the Lingerie Ladies.
Each ad included a pair of photographs, spread lavishly over two full pages. The larger, main shot always featured the model provocatively posed and wearing a revealing bit of lingerie. In the other photograph, smaller and usually tucked into a corner of the ad near Milady’s distinctive logo, the Lingerie Lady wore street clothes and was pictured with Jarrett Webster—founder, owner and principal designer of Milady Lingerie.
This month’s Lingerie Lady was flaxen-haired, with pouting red lips that precisely matched the scarlet satin teddy she was wearing in the main photo. In the smaller shot, she was on the deck of a sailboat leaning against a smiling Jarrett Webster, her windblown hair teasing his tanned face.
“Another blonde,” Kit muttered.
“What do you mean?” Susannah craned her neck to see the photo.
“Nothing. It just seems that more often than not lately the Lingerie Ladies are blond.”
“I had no idea you were keeping statistics,” Susannah murmured.
“I’m not! I just wonder where he finds them all.”
“And what he does with all of them after the photo sessions