CHAPTER TWO

      EITHER HER HEARING had gone or the man was a raving lunatic—and there was no doubt in Kit’s mind which side of the bet she should put her money on.

      She glanced at Rita and found her unabashedly listening. The receptionist was practically leaning over her desk to catch every syllable, and that alone would have told Kit how crazy the situation was. Rita was the perfect secretary, involved and interested but absolutely never nosy. Till now.

      “Would you like to come into the conference room, Mr. Webster, so we can discuss this?” Without waiting for an answer, Kit headed for the archway into what had once been the brownstone’s dining room. She stopped inside the doors and waited till he’d crossed the threshold.

      He paused, eyeing the gleaming finish of the golden oak pocket doors standing half open between the conference room and Rita’s office. “Shall I close these for you?”

      Kit put a fingertip into the catch of each door and pulled, and the perfectly balanced panels slid into place with no more than a whisper of sound. “Thanks, but I’m perfectly capable.” She turned to face him and caught the appraising look in his eyes. Before she could stop herself, she added, “I’m not one of your usual helpless dolls, Mr. Webster.”

      He didn’t rush to answer, and he didn’t—as she’d half hoped he might—stop surveying her. “No, you’re certainly not.”

      Kit wished she could believe that was a compliment. Then again, she told herself irritably, if she honestly thought the man was trying to flatter her, she’d be even more furious with him, so she ought to be glad he hadn’t made that mistake.

      “In fact,” Jarrett Webster went on, “I’d say you’re a woman who’s full of surprises. Saturday it was peekaboo blouses and wads of tissue paper, and today—”

      Kit didn’t want to listen to his opinion of her wardrobe. She’d always liked the simple cut of the cream-colored shirtdress she was wearing—until right this moment, when suddenly it felt as plain as a plastic bag and just as transparent “I shouldn’t think you’d be amazed by that sort of thing.”

      “Oh, I very seldom see tissue paper put to that use,” he assured her.

      “I’m quite aware that most of the women you know have chosen figure-enhancing methods more permanent than tissue paper. But as for half-clad females, I’m sure you’re an expert.”

      He considered and nodded. “That’s true. And I must say the first thing I noticed about you was that you’ve got the nicest pair of...”

      Kit gasped, tried to smother the sound and choked with the effort. Her eyes started to water, and she could feel herself turning red.

      “Shoulder blades I’ve ever seen,” Jarrett finished smoothly. “Why, Ms. Deevers, what did you think I was going to say?”

      Kit managed, finally, to stop coughing, but the lingering tickle in her throat would have kept her from talking even if she’d had something to say.

      “Today, of course, you look amazingly professional.”

      “Thanks,” she managed to say. “I think.” She took a firm grip on herself. “If we can get down to business now, Mr. Webster... I do have other projects waiting for my attention.”

      “You amaze me.” He moved a leather-covered chair out from the conference table and with a graceful turn of his hand invited her to sit

      Kit ignored the gesture and remained on her feet. “It’s very kind of you to—what was your offer? Give me a second chance?”

      “An opportunity to make good where you failed before,” he said helpfully.

      “However, Tryad is very busy this season, and I’m afraid we don’t have time just now to devote to any more charity fashion shows. You might try us again next year.”

      Not that it will do you any good, she added to herself. But at least I’ll have twelve months to come up with a good excuse for why I still don’t have time.

      Jarrett stood his ground. “You don’t seem to understand, Ms. Deevers. This isn’t optional.”

      Kit frowned.

      “By the time the fashion show was finished and the costs paid, the grand sum left for fighting domestic abuse was eighty-seven dollars.”

      Kit shrugged. “Better than nothing, don’t you think?”

      “A somewhat cynical attitude.”

      “Perhaps it is—but frankly, I’m astonished there was that much left over.”

      “Meaning that if you’d expected it, you’d have increased your fee in order to eliminate the excess?”

      “Meaning, Mr. Webster, that the entire affair was mismanaged.”

      “You admit it, then?”

      “I’m stating a fact—but it was hardly my fault. Within the constraints of my contract, I did everything I—”

      “You were in charge.”

      “Not entirely, and not from the beginning. By the time I got involved—” But why should she try to explain? It was obvious he wasn’t going to take her explanation seriously. He certainly wouldn’t take her word over Colette’s and Heather’s, and Kit would end up sounding as if she was trying to shift the blame onto anyone but herself.

      “But you were responsible for the show itself, right?”

      Kit hesitated. “That’s true.”

      “A show that was off schedule, out of sync and excruciatingly slow-paced.”

      “If you’re going to compare it to professional affairs, Mr. Webster—”

      “I’m not. I know perfectly well it was an amateur event with models who’d never been on a runway before. But it could have been an enjoyable one.”

      Kit