Jacquie D’Alessandro - A Sure Thing?

Drawing a resolute breath, he opened the door. "Sure, come on… in."

His words faltered as he took in her appearance. His gaze traveled over her, his brain noting that her fire-engine red suit was tasteful, flattering, and conservative. All his nerve endings, however, noted that it hugged her curves and showcased her legs in a way that made him feel as if someone had set a match to his towel.

His wayward gaze jumped upward. Their eyes met, and his jaw clenched at the unmistakable awareness simmering in her golden-brown depths. Then he noted the dark, silky curtain brushing her shoulders. "Your hair is down," he said in a voice ripe with suspicion.

She raised her brows and looked at him as if he'd just escaped from a mental ward. "What are you-the hair police? Listen, unbound hair may possibly be illegal in certain parts of the world, but here's a news flash-New York isn't one of them."

"You always wear your hair pulled back." He should have known better than to trust her. Here she was already breaking their "play fair" rule. He didn't doubt for a minute that this new look, which was decidedly softer and sexier than her usual severe hairstyle, was an attempt to use her feminine charms to sway Jack Witherspoon. The question was, exactly how many of her feminine charms would she be willing to use to win the account?

"I don't always wear it pulled back. Some days, like today, I just happen to have a good hair day."

Good hair day? She could say that again. Those thick, glossy raven curls had him fisting his hands to ward off the overwhelming urge to sift his fingers through them.

"And before you cast aspersions on anyone else's coif," she said, her eyes alight with amusement, "you might want to check your own. You've got a kind of 'finger-in-the-light socket' look happening right now-" her gaze roamed over his shaving cream-covered face and her lips twitched "-Santa."

Annoyance snaked through him. "That's from towel-drying. Not primping."

She blinked, then laughed. "Primping? Me? You've got to be kidding. I'm about as low maintenance as you can get. Since we're forced to share space this weekend, you'll be relieved to know I don't take an hour in the bathroom. I do, however, require a minute or two to brush my teeth, which is what I'd like to do now-if you don't mind?"

Decidedly irritated, but not certain if the feeling was directed more at her or at himself, Matt stepped back, out of the doorway, and she breezed in, her shiny black, high-heeled pumps clicking against the white ceramic tile floor. He breathed in and his senses were inundated with the delicate fresh scent of clean laundry.

"Thanks," she said, reaching for the toothpaste and toothbrush resting in a water glass in the corner. He tried to busy himself with his razor, but found himself immobile as the intimacy of them sharing this small space hit him like a punch in the gut. The sight of her bent over the sink sent his heart into overdrive, and he had to draw a deep, steadying breath-which didn't help at all since it only served to fill his head with her elusive fragrance.

Before he roused himself from his stupor, her toothbrush landed back in the glass with a soft clink, and she patted her mouth dry with the corner of a hand towel. Without so much as glancing at him, she tossed out a breezy "thanks," then exited the bathroom. Seconds later she reappeared in the doorway, clutching the handles of a black leather laptop case.

"I'm leaving," she said. "I guess I'll see you later."

"I guess so."

She hesitated, then said, "In the spirit of fair competition, especially as this is the holiday season, I wish you luck. May the best man win."

"Right back at you, Jilly."

She left the room, the door closing behind her with a muted click. He narrowed his eyes at that closed door. Fair competition? We'll see, Miss Wearing My Hair Down. But no matter what, Matt intended to see that the best man did indeed win the ARC account.

"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. Un stable ." 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."