Jacquie D’Alessandro - A Sure Thing?

"Thanks to a deadline, a date with my computer, working up some new ideas," he said.

She waggled a glossy-nailed finger at him. "You know what they say about all work and no play, Matt."

"Yup. That's me. A dull boy. Burning the midnight oil." Which was the gospel truth. Since today was Thursday, and he'd be leaving for Chateau Fontaine after work tomorrow, that didn't leave him much time to gather his thoughts and pull together a knockout presentation. He'd probably be pulling an all-nighter. Not that he had anything better to do. Ever since his breakup with Tricia last Christmas, his social life had flatlined. But that was okay by him. Work was a lot safer and a helluva lot less trouble than women.

A movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye and he turned, then barely suppressed a groan. Speaking of trouble and women, Jillian Taylor, the worst combination of those two things was heading down the hallway in his direction. As usual, her dark hair was pulled back into a severe, neat, reserved chignon. In fact, everything about her screamed severe, neat and reserved. Her hairstyle, her discreet makeup, her tailored suit.

Today she wore brown pin-striped, double-breasted, with slim pants and shoes that looked like high-heeled tassel loafers. A "don't mess with me" aura surrounded her like a force field. Thanks to his experience with Tricia, he recognized July's type only too well-her reserved exterior hid a cold, competitive, ambitious interior. From his first day at Maxximum, he'd realized she could mess him up the same way Tricia had. From that moment on, he'd pegged Jilly Taylor as the one to beat. Public enemy number one.

Though he firmly kept himself out of the office gossip loop, he wasn't deaf, and on several occasions in the break room he'd heard male co-workers refer to Jilly as the Freeze Queen-a full rank up from the title of Ice Princess with which he'd mentally dubbed her. The few times he'd found himself wondering if her office nickname was directed at something more personal than her aloof demeanor, he'd banished the thought to the Siberia of his subconscious. What business was it of his whether or not she ever thawed that cool exterior? Been there, done that, have the scars from the knife in my back to prove it.

An image of Tricia flashed through his mind-Tricia with her sultry blue eyes, come-hither smile and promises of love. Annoyed that he'd allowed his former fiancée to enter his thoughts at all, he firmly pushed aside the memory, relieved that it now only brought irritation rather than the gut-twisting sense of betrayal it once had. But it was hard not to have thoughts of her sneak into his mind whenever Jilly Taylor was around, raising his "Danger Approaching!" radar, since Jilly and Tricia were so clearly cast from the same mold. Oh, they didn't look anything alike-Tricia was blond and petite and favored more feminine styles in contrast to Jilly's dark coloring and tailored suits. But they were both smart and talented-and very, very ambitious. Just the sort of coworker who should come with a warning sign tattooed on their forehead.

He narrowed his eyes, watching Jilly pause to exchange a brief word with someone. Then she walked toward him once again, her head down as she studied the papers she held. Even from a distance, Matt could see that her lips were pursed in concentration, and that her brows were bunched in a frown. She walked with a brisk, no-nonsense stride, her black, slim rectangular-frame glasses perched on her nose.

Yes, she was the epitome of professional competence, and as much as he hated to admit it, she was immensely talented. She'd started working at the agency the year before him, and they were both on the fast track to promotion. But after I land ARC, you'll be left in the dust, Jilly.

Something that felt suspiciously like his conscience pricked him, but he firmly swatted the feeling aside. It was every man for himself in this business.

As Jillian neared Debra's desk, she glanced up from her papers. Her gaze zeroed in on him, and her steps slowed. Her expression remained coolly professional, but he'd caught that flash in her eyes, the one clearly indicating she wasn't thrilled to see him. He bit back a smile at that slight ruffling of her always-in-place feathers. Some perverse part of him enjoyed rocking her boat, though she had never lost her cool around him. What would it take to really break through that professional veneer and get her fired up and out of sorts?

He'd expected her to march right on by, but she surprised him by stopping. Matt inhaled and caught a whiff of the elusive scent he'd noticed the first time he'd sat next to her in the conference room. As always, Jillian Taylor smelled fresh and clean-like clothes that had dried outdoors in the spring sunshine. Since it was winter, it couldn't be her clothing that smelled that way. Must be something they used at her dry cleaners. Either that or the Ice Princess had discovered a fragrance called Clean Laundry, which he highly doubted.

"Debra, Matt," she murmured in a voice that somehow managed to sound both smooth and a bit husky, as though she'd just slipped from between silk bedsheets. She looked at him over the top edge of her glasses. "Nice job with the Heavenly Chocolate account. Very clever, fresh and hip."

He searched for a sign of insincerity in her expression or voice, but found none. Man, she was good. "Thank you. It was a 'sweet' deal."

Her lips didn't so much as twitch. "Of course, I would have given you a run for your money if I hadn't been laid low with the flu."

"I know you would have. But I still would have been the one to bring in the account."

"I'm sure you like to tell yourself that."

He smiled. "Well, I'm glad you're feeling better."

She smiled back. "I'm sure you like to tell yourself that as well. How are you doing on the Fabulous Feline Food account?"

"Fantastic. But you know me-I'm a creative magnet. I'm like catnip."

"Hmmm. I think I feel a hairball coming up." She turned to Debra, effectively dismissing him as if she were the Queen of England and he a lowly footman. "Is Adam in?"

Debra nodded. "He's expecting you."

With a nod at both of them, she strode down the corridor, then knocked on Adam's door. Seconds later she disappeared into the office, closing the door behind her.

Matt's competitive and suspicious instincts kicked into gear. What sort of meeting were the two of them having?

"Well, now I understand," Debra said, pulling his attention back.

He looked at her, and the speculation gleaming in her eyes made him nervous. "Understand what?"

"Why you haven't picked up on any of the signals I've sent your way. Your receptors are all clogged up." Her gaze shifted pointedly toward the door where Jilly had just disappeared. "I saw those sparks between you."

An incredulous laugh escaped him. "You couldn't be more wrong."

She hiked a skeptical brow. "I know sparks when I see them."

"Well, if you saw sparks, they definitely weren't those kind of sparks. More like sparks of annoyance."

"Doesn't matter," Debra said, with a knowing gleam in her eye. "Any kind of sparks can start a fire."

At seven-thirty that evening, Jilly plopped down into a booth across from Kate Montgomery at their favorite Chinatown eatery for their standing Thursday night dinner "date," a weekly tradition since their college graduation six years earlier. Jilly slapped her hands on the Formica table and shot her best friend a broad grin. Kate worked at a law firm on Park Avenue and specialized in tax law. Jilly loved her in spite of the fact that she was gorgeous, brilliant and savvy. Indeed, clad in what Jilly suspected was most likely an Armani suit, her pale blond hair falling softly about her shoulders, Kate reminded Jilly of a young Grace Kelly.