Leigh Michaels - The Billionaire Date

“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 wanted to tell him to talk to the models themselves about that little problem.

“Besides, a large part of the fund-raising effort was focused not on ticket sales but on the reception afterward. The hope was that after an enjoyable show, the guests would donate generously for their refreshments. However, after sitting through that fiasco, two-thirds of them left in disgust rather than stick around to drink tea. Since they weren’t present, they didn’t contribute, and—”

“I’ll take my share of the blame,” Kit said honestly.

His eyebrow twitched. “That’s refreshing.”

“I used very poor judgment. Instead of standing in for the two models who didn’t show up, I should have just poked my head out from behind the curtain at the gaps and announced that the ensemble the audience should have been seeing was unavailable because the model was too irresponsible to find a substitute. Would you have liked that any better? I thought not. Look, Mr. Webster, I’m sorry the damned fashion show didn’t raise a zillion dollars. But I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.”

“That’s where the second chance comes in.”

“Now wait a minute! I’ve told you—”

His voice softened till it felt like warm, rich lotion against her skin. “Are you afraid you can’t meet the challenge, Ms. Deevers?”

“Not in the least. With my hands tied, I could do better than that mishmash of amateur do-gooders did. With a month to work on it, I could raise ten thousand dollars, minimum. But the fact remains that I don’t have a month. Tryad can take only a certain amount of time away from our regular client base for nonprofit causes, and we already have all the charity projects we can afford. I’m awfully sorry and all that, but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do. Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Webster.”

Kit could tell from the way his gaze hardened that Jarrett Webster knew a dismissal when he heard it. She was almost surprised, for she doubted he was on the receiving end of a snub very often.

He didn’t move, though. Kit walked across the room to the sliding doors, but Jarrett didn’t take the hint. He seemed to be as firmly planted in the conference room as a willow tree on the bank of a pond, and his words dropped into the silence with the same effect as a rock into water. “I’ll pay for your time.”

With one hand on the pocket door, Kit turned in astonishment. “What?”

“I said, I’ll foot the bills—not only the charges for your time, at your regular rates, but the basic costs of whatever event you create.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer. “Your challenge is to raise enough money above and beyond those costs to show me that you’re not incompetent, after all.”

“Why not just give your money directly to a shelter somewhere?”

“Are you saying you can’t do it?”

“Of course not. But I don’t understand why—”

“Because you’re going to take my money and multiply it. Instead of giving, say, a couple of thousand dollars directly, I invest it with you, and you’ll turn it into—What was it you said? Ten thousand, minimum? In a month?”

“I may have said that, but—”

“Backing down, Ms. Deevers?” He shook his head sadly. “I’m disappointed in you. It’s such a worthy cause, you see. And besides, if you don’t take this challenge—”

Kit wanted to ignore him, but the question hung in the air like a plume of toxic gas, threatening to choke and smother her. “What if I don’t?”

“If you don’t succeed, or if you don’t even have the guts to try, then I will take great pleasure in telling everyone I deal with exactly why Tryad is a good firm to stay away from.”

Kit gasped. “That’s not fair!”

“If you don’t believe in your abilities, Ms. Deevers, why should I cut you any slack? I think I’d be doing a public service, frankly, to let your prospective clients know what they’re getting into.”

“That’s not what I mean. It’s not fair to blame Tryad as a whole for something that was my doing.”

“I thought,” he said gently, “that you said it wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t, but at least I was involved. My partners weren’t. It has absolutely nothing to do with them.”

Jarrett shrugged. “You’re part of this firm, so whatever you do reflects on them.”

“Yes, but—” She stumbled to a halt, unable to think of a telling argument.

“Take it or leave it.” Finally, he moved, striding with the easy grace of a lynx toward the door where she stood. “I’ll leave my card with your receptionist.” The sleeve of his linen blazer brushed Kit’s bare arm. The contact stung as if she’d been whipped with nettles.

“Wait!”

He turned. He was less than a foot from her, and Kit had to look a long way up into his face. There were flecks of gold in his dark brown eyes, and tiny lines at the corners. Those must come from the time he spent on that sailboat with the current Lingerie Lady.

“Your complaint is with me,” she said desperately.

“Not with Tryad. So I’ll make you a deal.”

He shrugged. “You’re not exactly in a good place to be dictating terms, you know.”

“I’ll do a campaign for you, and I’ll do my best to raise at least ten thousand dollars.”

“Somehow,” Jarrett mused, “this sounds familiar. Almost as if I’d said it myself.”

“But I’ll do it on my own time. You don’t have to pay me a dime, but in return, you have to promise that Tryad doesn’t come into it.”

He looked thoughtful. “You mean, you want me to promise that if you fail—”

“I won’t fail!”

“In that case,” he said gently, “you—and Tryad—don’t have a thing to worry about, do you? Shall we shake hands on our deal, Ms. Deevers?”

Kit didn’t walk him to the front door, as all three of the partners usually did with their clients. Mostly, she admitted, it was because she wasn’t so sure she could still walk.

She heard the front door close and sank against the conference room wall with a thud. How had he managed to turn things so neatly against her? She’d made a perfectly reasonable proposition, and he’d shot it down without even bothering to take aim.

She wanted to pound her forehead against the door.

A couple of minutes later Susannah came in. “He’s gorgeous,” she said.

“I suppose you were hovering in the hallway so you could get a good look?”

“Of course not,” Susannah said with dignity. “I was supervising Rita’s typing.”

“Bet she loved having you leaning over her shoulder.”

“I wasn’t. I was sitting on her desk—I had a much better view of the conference room door that way. Kit, he’s twice as terrific as his pictures. No wonder you... Are you all right?”