A SURE THING? Read online

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  "Hey, honey—what's takin' so long to get a refill? Let's get on the stick." Jack Witherspoon's impatient voice cut across the dining room as he raised his empty coffee cup and shot the waitress a glare. He then returned his attention to Jilly and shook his head. "Cripes, I get better service at the diner. For the airs this place puts on, you'd think they could hire some decent help. At least someone smart enough to keep the coffee coming. How hard is that?"

  Jilly bit the inside of her cheeks to hold back the reply that trembled on her lips. Everything in her longed to tell Jack to be fruitful and multiply—but not exactly in those words. As embarrassing and rude as she found his behavior, it certainly wouldn't endear her to him to point out that most people did not slug back a full cup of coffee every twelve seconds and that to keep his coffee cup filled would require the waitress to remain standing next to their table.

  And he probably wouldn't appreciate a reminder that this was a restaurant, not a pig trough, although his table manners indicated that he wasn't aware of the distinction.

  The waitress approached, bearing an ornate silver coffeepot. As she refilled Jack's cup, she said, "I'm sorry, sir. We were brewing a fresh pot."

  "Well, leave this one right here and go brew another one. I don't feel like waiting 'til lunchtime to get another cup."

  Color suffused the young woman's face, and she pressed her lips together as she walked away, no doubt to keep from telling Jack to go to hell, which is what Jilly wanted to do—right after she slapped him upside his rude head. Treating restaurant servers like dirt was one of her hot buttons. She'd worked in a pub during college, and her mom still waitressed at the same restaurant where she'd worked for the past twelve years, ever since Jilly's dad had died.

  She swallowed her anger and kept her professional mask firmly in place. She wasn't quite sure what she'd expected from Jack Witherspoon, but it seemed that a man in his mid-fifties who'd risen to the level of prominence that he had would have more class. And manners. Yet, she'd successfully dealt with many clients she hadn't particularly liked. The trick was to keep things strictly business and not let her personal feelings and preferences muddy the waters. Like her personal feelings that Jack Witherspoon was an ass and that she wanted to pop him in the eye. Hmmm. That made him the second person in the last six hours she wanted to do that to. The other one being a certain co-worker who was currently her roommate. An image of Matt instantly popped into her mind. Matt undressed, wearing only a towel…

  "So tell me about the ideas you've worked up for me, Jilly," Jack Witherspoon said, leaning back in his chair and stirring a spoonful of sugar into what had to be his eighth cup of coffee.

  At last. Blinking away the distracting image of her unwanted roommate, she adjusted her glasses and began, "The biggest complaint consumers have about the current operating systems on the market is that they're undressed."

  Jack raised a brow. "Undressed?"

  "Er, I meant unstable. Unstable." She cleared her throat. "Therefore, we'll emphasize your Lazer System's biggest selling point—no crashing. Also, the sophisticated defense mechanism that limits data damage due to viruses will enthuse many buyers." She reached down into her black leather case and pulled out her laptop and a manila folder, setting them both on the table.

  Once she'd opened the laptop, she turned it on. "I've prepared a brief PowerPoint presentation to give you an idea of the concept I've worked up for Lazer." Her fingers flew across the keyboard, then she turned the screen so he could see the slide-show presentation she'd prepared.

  "We'll plan a full media blitz. Go nationwide with radio spots on all the highest Arbitron rated stations in major cities. Full-page black-and-white ads in all the major newspapers and journals, and full-page, four-color ads in the top twenty magazines. Thirty-second television spots to air during prime time on all the major networks." She tapped the touch pad and the image of the logo and slogan she'd drawn up appeared. "Lazer. Precision in computing. Accuracy in results. It doesn't get any better."

  Another image of Matt instantly flashed in her brain. Matt, about to drop his pants, a sexy smile on his face, saying in a husky, suggestive voice, It doesn't get any better.

  Heat flooded her cheeks and she blinked rapidly to dispel the distracting image. When the slide-show ended, she passed Jack the folder with hands that weren't quite steady. "I … I've worked up some preliminary cost figures along with a revenue analysis, as well as a time frame for the ad placements for six- twelve- and eighteen-month periods."

  He pulled a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket and slid them onto his nose. He fired out a barrage of questions and seemed to approve of her answers, which thankfully, didn't include the word "undressed." Based on the questions he asked, it was obvious that, though he might be lacking in the tact and manners department, he was razor-sharp when it came to business.

  While he studied her revenue and market share projections, she took the opportunity to lean back in her chair, draw a much needed cleansing breath and cast a surreptitious glance at her watch. Eight thirty-five. Excellent. She still had a good twenty minutes to wrap things up before Matt appeared.

  Since Jack was still engrossed, she looked around the tastefully decorated dining room, her gaze panning over the cream walls, the brass sconces, and the enormous marble fireplace where a cheery fire burned, lending an air of warmth and coziness to the room. She noted the framed paintings doffing the wall, all depicting pastoral vineyard scenes. A row of windows overlooking the snow-covered winery. An antique cherry sideboard. A glass-front cabinet filled with an array of colorful wine bottles. A brightly lit Christmas tree in the corner. Guests enjoying their breakfast.

  Matt Davidson watching her from the table directly behind Jack.

  When their eyes met, he lifted his coffee cup in salute with one hand and gave her a thumbs-up with the other.

  Anger arrowed through her and she pressed her lips together. Damn it, how long had he been sitting there? If it was more than fifteen minutes, from his vantage point he would have witnessed her entire PowerPoint presentation, not to mention her verbal blunder. So much for their truce. It certainly hadn't taken him long to slip into spy mode. She gave herself a hard mental slap for thinking, for even half a second, that someone as ambitious as Matt could be trusted.

  Well, this was good. She was glad. She'd needed this wake-up call to prove to her pulsating hormones and traitorous body that, yeah, okay, she really did need to get out and have a social life—and Matt was definitely not the guy to contemplate being social with.

  Without giving him the satisfaction of shooting him the "you're scum" glare he so richly deserved, she returned her attention to Jack. He glanced up at her, then slipped off his reading glasses.

  "This is very impressive, Jilly. I like your ideas, and the ads you designed are eye-catching and unique. Just the sort of concept I want for Lazer."

  She smiled. "I'm glad you like them. Naturally I'd be happy to rework anything you feel needs tweaking."

  "Great." He closed the folder, then consulted his watch. "Since you and Matt Davidson are both with Maxximum, I guess you know I'm meeting him at nine."

  She somehow resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose. "Yes."

  "That boss of yours," Jack said with a chuckle, shaking his head, "Adam Terrell, is quite the sly fox, sending you both out here this weekend."

  Jilly could easily think of half a dozen things other than sly fox she'd like to call Adam Terrell right now. "Well, you know Adam," she said, praying her smile didn't appear as forced as it felt.

  He glanced again at his watch. "Unless there's something else, I'd like to head back up to my room before I meet with Matt. Couple of phone calls I need to make."

  "Of course." She closed up her laptop. "I thought you might enjoy a private tour of the winery followed by a wine tasting this afternoon. Is three o'clock convenient for you?"

  "Sounds good. I'm having a massage at one, so that works out fine."


  "Then I'll meet you in the lobby at three."

  He nodded, then left the dining room, never looking in Matt's direction. The instant Jack was out of sight, Jilly pushed back her chair. Before she could rise, Matt slipped into the chair Jack had just vacated.

  "Very nice presentation," he said, the chilly edge in his voice matching the ice in his glare.

  She flicked her gaze over him as if he were something she'd just scraped off the bottom of her shoe. "Well, I guess you would know, seeing as how you saw fit to spy during my time with Jack."

  "I wasn't spying. I was drinking coffee. It's hardly my fault that there aren't soundproof barriers and six-foot walls between the tables here."

  "You could have had your coffee in the Bistro, or the bar, or you could have called room service. I should have known better than to trust you."

  "Right back at ya, kiddo."

  "What does that mean?"

  "Why don't you just throw me over your shoulder and burp me, 'cause you obviously think I was born yesterday." His gaze wandered over her from head to toe, then he leaned forward until his face was a mere foot away from hers. There was no mistaking the anger simmering in his dark blue eyes. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing with your sexy skirt and sexy shoes and sexy hair." His gaze settled for several seconds on her mouth. "And sexy red lips."

  Jilly stared at him, outrage pumping through her veins. "Not that I owe you any explanations," she said in a low voice that throbbed with anger, "but you should know that just because the 'casting couch' is alive and well in advertising, doesn't mean that everyone lies down on it. I told you I don't play dirty and I meant it. Unfortunately for me, you obviously can't say the same. Just don't judge other people by your own lack of standards. When I'm on the job, I conduct myself in a professional manner, in both my dress and my conduct. Always." She stood, then looked down at him with a scathing glare. "If you think my skirt and shoes and hair and red lips are sexy, then that's your problem."

  Picking up her laptop, she turned, and without a backward glance, walked swiftly from the dining room.

  Matt stared after her, an uncomfortable feeling invading his chest. A feeling he didn't like one bit. A feeling that suggested he'd just made a big mistake. There was no doubt she was pissed off. Was her outrage genuine, or an act? It certainly seemed real, but if she planned to seduce Jack Witherspoon, she certainly wouldn't admit it. His suspicions lingered, but in all fairness he had to admit there was nothing blatantly sensual about her attire.

  If you think my skirt and shoes and hair and red lips are sexy, then that's your problem.

  Yeah, well, he did think they were sexy. Sexy as hell. And that definitely was a problem.

  The question was, what did he intend to do about it?

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  Chapter 4

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  Jilly steamed into room 312, annoyed at Matt Davidson, but even more annoyed at herself. After pushing the door closed with a hard hip-check, she kicked off her shoes, set her laptop on the dresser, then plopped onto her back on the freshly made bed, her stockinged feet hanging over the edge of the forest-green, grapevine-embroidered comforter.

  What on earth was wrong with her? Never before had her mind veered off course like that during a presentation. And why—despite the fact that her mind knew Matt Davidson was insufferable—was her body not falling in line with the program? His insinuation that she was trying to charm Jack Witherspoon with more than her creative ideas was insulting and infuriating. But what made it even more infuriating was the fact that while ninety-nine percent of her was outraged at his innuendo, there was unfortunately that one percent—some errant feminine chromosome she was beginning to dislike intensely—that quickened at the notion that Matt thought anything about her was sexy.

  "Augh!" She plunged her fingers into her hair—her loose, sexy hair—and fisted her hands. She squeezed her eyes tight, hoping to ward off the sound of her excruciatingly honest inner voice, but it tapped her on the shoulder.

  Hey, Jilly, her inner voice said. Let's be honest here, okay?

  You did wear a skirt and heels and your hair down and red lips with the thought of enticing a man—but that man wasn't Jack Witherspoon.

  She blew out a long sigh filled with resignation and frustration. As much as she'd like to lie to herself, what was the point? While she wouldn't compromise herself by dressing sexy for a client, deep down she knew she'd tried to look more alluring than she normally would, hoping that Matt would notice. And obviously he had. And obviously he thought she was playing the sexy card to win Jack's favor.

  And yes, while that was insulting, she couldn't really blame him. After all, he didn't know her. He had no way of knowing that she would never stoop to something like that. That her sense of fair play and her integrity balked at such underhanded tactics. That she'd rather lose fairly than win unfairly. All he really knew about her through their frequent head-butting was that she was highly competitive, extremely ambitious, and wanted very much to land the ARC account. That, coupled with the fact that many women—and men—in their industry did use sex to get ahead … well, it really wasn't unreasonable or unthinkable that such an assumption would cross his mind. If their situations were reversed, she would have thought the same thing.

  She rose and paced to the window. The thick green drapes were pushed back, allowing daylight to flood the room. Drawing aside the sheer, cream curtain panel, she looked out at the snow-covered vineyards. Row upon row of bare vines, held in place by thick wooden stakes and a trio of horizontal cables, stood at attention like a battalion of soldiers. With the harvest season over, the vines resembled thick stems with gnarled fingers pointing upward toward the gray, snow-leaden sky.

  Fat white snowflakes drifted downward, beckoning Jilly to come out and play in the winter wonderland. Since she wasn't meeting Jack until three, and she had no desire to remain in this room where the tantalizing fragrance of Matt's musky cologne still lingered, she gave in to the beckoning. She crossed to the closet and pulled out her favorite pair of jeans and a thick, cable-knit sweater, ignoring how disturbingly intimate Matt's clothes looked hung next to hers.

  She changed in quick order, slipped her suit onto a hanger, and was just preparing to lace up her sturdy snow boots when she heard the door lock click. She looked up just as Matt, laptop case in hand, strode into the room.

  He halted at the sight of her, and for several seconds silence swelled as they stared at each other. Annoyance at his earlier assumption mingled with a tingling awareness of his dark good looks and masculinity. Whew. He might be a pain in the butt, but there was no getting away from the fact that he was a damn fine-looking pain in the butt.

  Finally she glanced pointedly at her watch. "It's barely nine-fifteen. Your breakfast meeting didn't take very long."

  "Jack sent a message that he was delayed and rescheduled our appointment for ten. Thought I'd come back up here where it's quiet and review my presentation."

  She raised her brows. "Are you sure you didn't come back up here to check on my whereabouts? To see if maybe I was what had delayed Jack?"

  He hesitated a moment, then said, "I have to admit, I'm relieved to discover you here."

  A humorless laugh escaped her. "Don't you mean surprised?"

  "No. I mean relieved." He shrugged. "With maybe a little surprise thrown in."

  Humph. For an answer, she returned her attention to lacing up her boots. "I'll be out of here in just a minute."

  "Fine." Without another word, he crossed to the desk, set his laptop on the polished oak surface, then flicked the On button. Peeking at him from under her lashes, she watched him settle himself in the chintz-covered wing chair, then pull a disk from his laptop case and insert it into the computer. Seconds later a frown pulled down his brows. His gaze scanned the screen, and his frown turned into a scowl.

  She heard his fingers tapping away on the keyboard, then a muffled curse. She pressed her lips together and kept lacing. Clearly something was wrong
. Well, too bad. It wasn't her problem. Whatever disaster had befallen Matt Davidson, he most likely deserved it.

  Done with her lacing, she looked up, and her gaze involuntarily flicked over to him. His face was pale, his lips flattened into a thin line, and a muscle ticked in his jaw.

  Before she could clamp a hand over her mouth, she found herself asking, "Problem?"

  With his gaze still glued to the screen, he dragged his hands down his face. "Ever have the day from hell?"

  "Frequently. Today, for instance, is a front-runner, thanks to you."

  He shot her a glare. "Ha ha. You're a real laugh a minute."

  "Thank ya, thank ya verra much," she said in her best Elvis impersonation. "I'll be here all weekend. So what's wrong?"

  "Well, yesterday was my latest day from hell. Everything that could go wrong, did." His gaze returned to the screen, and his fingers resumed typing. "And I've just discovered that the day from hell simply keeps on giving and giving."

  "Meaning what?"

  "My laptop crashed yesterday. Got infected with the Missionary Position virus that's wreaking havoc everywhere."

  Sympathy instantly overrode Jilly's annoyance and she winced. "Ouch. I've heard that virus is especially bad."

  "You're not kidding. I turned on the computer and this little dancing naked guy appeared, then pffft," he snapped his fingers, "little dancing naked guy gave an evil chuckle, said, 'You're screwed,' then proceeded to hump his way across the screen and delete all my files."

  Her eyes widened. "Yikes. That is bad—and undignified to boot."

  He shot her a glare. "Don't you dare laugh."

  "I wouldn't dream of it. My computer got fried by the Lollipop virus last year, so I know how awful it is. Did you bring the laptop to Maxximum's IT department? I took my machine to them when it was infected, and they were able to recover most of my files."

  "I left it with them yesterday afternoon and filled out an emergency requisition for a new laptop." He nodded toward the machine in front of him. "This is it."