by Barbara Lohr
Hunky Hottie’s head lifted. A light had gone on, and she shriveled.
“What type of promotion have you done so far?” Jack persisted. He wanted to know if they’d bought any TV time. Right, like we can afford it.
“Mostly booths at fairs and community events.”
“Word of mouth?” Hunky Hottie broke in, eyes clinging to her lips.
“Yes, of course.” Oh, wasn’t she prim and proper. Today.
“One-on-one?”
“At the fairs, sure.”
Jack tossed down his pen. “Word of mouth won’t get you where you need to be.”
She bit down on a sharp retort. The light in Hunky Hottie’s eyes gleamed, like maybe he remembered meeting her.
Maybe a Chamber of Commerce meeting.
Or maybe a Vegas hotel room.
“Jack, a lot of businesses are built by word of mouth.” Beverly frowned.
Griff and Lee, the other two Tigers, didn’t even look up from their plates. Obviously they wouldn’t be bidding on this project.
“What’s your plan to ship whipped cream cakes nationwide?” Jack asked.
“Dry ice,” Hunky Hottie and Vanessa said at the same time. Instant rapport, just like Vegas. His grin flickered. She hated the liquid warmth that cascaded through her.
“Exactly, Alex.” Beverly nodded. “Dry ice.”
Alex? So that was his name?
Beverly’s attention swung back to Vanessa. “And you’ve done Junior League and the Chamber?”
“Right.” Vanessa nodded.
Alex’s grin had melted, leaving a fierce frown. She was toast. His glance traveled up her legs to her waist and higher—all areas he knew, close up and personal. He gave another tug on his jaunty bow tie. Her body hummed under his scrutiny, and she reached up to her pearls.
Jack continued to drill her about advertising. Jaws shifted. Eyes narrowed. Occasionally they put down their pens to take one more bite of cake. A good sign.
By this time, Griff was glancing at the clock above the door with an exit sign. Lee Rocco was more interested in the cake than conversation. Oh, why wasn’t Wolfgang Russo here? Still, Jack was here. She did need help with an advertorial. Her stalling today was proof that she still wasn’t any good at public speaking. Froze every time.
“Okay, let’s get some numbers on the table.” Jack wanted to wrap this up and leave. So did she, but not empty-handed.
“We’re asking for forty thousand, in exchange for a twenty percent share of the company.” She’d been over these figures a million times.
“You’re going to need more backing to go national,” Alex interjected, jabbing a hand through his hair. How amazingly soft that unruly dark mess had felt. Vanessa curled her palms into tight fists. Would he try to tank this deal?
“I’m out,” Lee managed around his last bite of cake. “Can’t bring anything to the table on this one. Sorry.”
Vanessa gave Lee a short nod. “Thank you for your consideration, Lee.” She refused to act like other women, choking on tears while these guys dumped her.
“Any further questions?” Jillian asked. Her sister always liked all the cards on the table. “No secret agendas, and there are always plenty in any negotiations,” she’d once told Vanessa.
Like a circling pack, the four remaining entrepreneurs tore at them. Questions flew. The heat rose. Her blouse felt glued to her back, and her face was probably as red as that exit sign.
“Fifty-fifty,” Alex finally tossed out. When he pressed his pen to his lips, she shivered, remembering its soft persuasion. “Fifty thousand for fifty percent of your company.”
Next to her, Jillian tensed.
When hell freezes over. Sure, Jillian’s medical bills were mounting, and Vanessa was scrambling to pay everything. But give up half of the family business? She could hardly breathe. Silence blanketed the set. Cheeks stinging, she widened her stance. Thank God for the spandex in this skirt.
If only the banks had advanced her the money. But with this economy? No chance. Every credit card she owned was maxed out by medical bills, the second mortgage on the bakery and her student loan. She needed outside help to launch her over this bad spot.
She needed him.
“Forty thousand for thirty percent of your company,” Beverly offered.
Now they were getting somewhere. “Beverly, can you go any higher?” Vanessa hedged.
Alex exchanged a glance with Jack. “Why don’t the two of us work together, Jack? Forty thousand each.”
Eighty thousand dollars? Vanessa locked her knees so she wouldn’t keel over. Enough for a decent media buy. Enough for a super fast ramp up that would bring results.
Jack nodded. “Definitely a possibility. An Internet guru teamed with a dynamite advertorial.”
Internet guru? In Vegas, Alex had been just been another IT rep. Every guy there was working on an app that would bring a quick million or more. Had Alex actually made it happen?
Beverly played with her pen. Oh, puh-lease, Beverly. Outbid them. The thought of dealing with Alex made Vanessa crazy.
Still, eighty thousand dollars?
“I’m out.” Griff tossed his empty plate onto a side table.
“Thank you, Griff.” Jillian’s voice remained calm while butterflies salsaed in Vanessa’s stomach. Momentum was shifting. They had to close.
“Sorry, but I’m out,” Beverly added, eyes solemn. “I'm not sure I can see a return on my investment.”
Tears prickled in the corners of Vanessa’s eyes. She blinked them back. “Beverly, thank you.”
Their whipped cream cakes were melting. Jillian swayed slightly. Vanessa lifted her chin like a gladiator. Bring it on. And make it fast.
“Eighty thousand for fifty percent of the company.” Alex’s voice curled toward her—seductive and familiar. The knowing glint in his eyes left no doubt that he remembered.
Oh, just shoot me. Never had Vanessa felt more alone. This would be her decision. Jillian had insisted. No bumbling about on national TV. “Forty percent of the company would be more reasonable.”
“Usually I insist on fifty-one percent.” Jack settled back with a smug smile.
Damn. Right here, she could lose it all.
“Fifty percent,” Alex reiterated. “Deal?”
When Jack cleared his throat, Alex jerked, like he’d just remembered this was a joint offer. He kept tapping that damn pen. Her mind spun. What choice did she have?
“Deal.” Her voice sounded firm, but her stomach did an elevator dive. Jillian exhaled, and Vanessa stepped forward for the customary handshakes.
“Look forward to working with you.” Jack’s handshake was perfunctory and cool. Good, she liked cool in a man.
“Alex Compton.” Hunky Hottie took her hand with both of his. “In case you’ve forgotten.” Alex must always sound like he just woke up.
“But I never—” Vanessa clamped her mouth shut. Good grief. This wasn’t the time to remind him that he’d never given her a name. She had to get Jillian home.
“You were terrific,” her sister whispered as they retreated down the hall.
Vanessa squeezed Jillian’s hand. “Thanks for saving me. Just hope we did the right thing.”
“Not a lot of options on the table.”
“Complicated,” she murmured. Jillian knew nothing about Alex and Vegas. Vanessa wanted it to stay that way.
Off to the side, the producer stood waiting, clipboard in hand. Jillian looked like she couldn’t take much more. Vanessa wanted to build a firewall around her sister. A self-employed marketing consultant, Jillian had no health insurance to help her battle Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Vanessa didn’t want her to worry, but they had to build volumes fast. That was the very least she could do for the older sister who had sewn her eighth grade graduation dress and explained geometry when she was failing. Jillian tried so hard to fill in after their mother died.
But now Hunky Hottie was back in Vanessa’s life. Absolutely the last man she ever wanted to
see again.
~.~
As Alex watched the leggy brunette retreat, he was back in Vegas, waking up with a pounding headache. Tequila can do that to you. Running a hand over the rumpled sheets, he’d been pissed off big time. Morning and the woman was gone? This was a first.
The only name she’d given him was Vivien Leigh. Nursing a Bloody Mary, he felt like a total idiot when he did a quick search for a dead actress. As he recalled, his mother had dragged out Gone with the Wind every time a good football game was on. The burning of Atlanta was “a riveting historical moment.”
With that long dark hair and amazing blue eyes, Vanessa did look like Scarlett O’Hara.
Eye of the Tiger had coughed up the woman who’d made him crazy for one night—then dumped him like a bad habit. Her disappearance had stung for at least a week. Then his business took off. No time to wonder about a Vegas hookup.
The camera men snapped off their lights. Alex peeled himself from the leather chair. When Wolf had asked him to take his place on the popular TV program, Alex took him up on it. Life had been good to him, finally. Time to mentor a struggling entrepreneur. He’d felt flattered, since he never finished college.
Now he wondered. What had he gotten himself into? He knew zip about the bakery business. Had he been sucker punched again by a pair of blue eyes? Crazy, but this was the second time he’d raised his hand to rescue Vanessa Randall.
Someone had pumped the air up higher. Staff moved onto the set to clear up. With a wide stretch, Alex shook out his legs. Felt like he’d been in a barrel for four hours. Half the contestants had bread for brains. Eccentric was one thing but machines that sifted sand into gold? Vanessa and her sister had been last with their cake presentation. The project seemed simple, kind of refreshing.
But seeing Vanessa—or Vivien—had blown him away.
“Hey, Professor, glad you could make it today on such short notice.” Jack laid one hand on his shoulder.
“Ah, Jack…?” He hated that nickname with a passion.
Dropping his hand, Jack threw a wry smile. “Sorry, I keep forgetting. But you sure look like a professor in that bow tie.”
Yeah, right. Like Jack looked sorry. His friend didn’t know that the bow tie was Alex’s only resemblance to his professor father. At least, he hoped that was true. “I’ll get you one for Christmas.”
Jack had the grace to chuckle as they stepped over cords and dodged equipment.
“You two,” Beverly chided, hooking her Gucci bag over one shoulder. The woman had style. “Why do I think you're up to no good?”
“Look, they took the deal.” Jack turned to Alex.
“Absolutely,” Alex agreed. “It’ll be fine, Beverly.” Sometimes she could be like an older sister, always looking over his shoulder. Jack might be a player, but Alex wasn’t. Not anymore. When he hit thirty, he’d grown up. At least, he hoped so.
Shaking a warning finger, Beverly walked off the set with Lee and Griff.
Jack turned to him. “Time for a drink?”
Alex checked his watch. “Sorry. Got a date.” He wanted to head back to his condo and shower before he picked up Rhonda. The shower would be ice cold after seeing Vanessa in those damn shoes and postage stamp skirt. Funny, but the outfit didn’t seem to be her style. Her business suit in Vegas had been navy. Or maybe gray?
“Anything serious?” Jack asked.
“Not really.”
“When are you going to settle down?”
“I don’t do relationships. Leaving that for you.”
“Don’t pick me as your poster boy. I’m trying to save my marriage.” Jack adjusted his mauve silk tie. Not looking like a happy camper today.
“Sorry to hear that, Jack.” Yet another reason to avoid the noose.
“I hope to work things out.” Right. Jack wasn’t looking hopeful.
Joe Nemeth, the producer, bustled over with a clipboard and handed them each a paper. “Contact information. We’re filming a few comments in the hallway. Got a few minutes?”
“Sorry, gotta run.” Jack folded up the sheet.
“I’ve got it.” Alex snapped the paper from Jack’s hands. For some reason, he wasn’t keen on the idea of Jack spending a lot of time with Vanessa.
“Great. We’ll talk soon.” With one of his presidential waves, Jack was off.
Joe ushered Alex into the hallway where Vanessa stood with her sister. Although Jillian Randall was pretty, Vanessa had a certain softness to her. Thinking back to that night, his muscles heated and his gut clenched. Funny how that memory could sear him like a flash fire.
A camera man positioned Alex in front of the navy drape. Joe started to fire questions. “So what did you see in Randall’s Cakes that made you bite?” They loved the tiger imagery. Kind of corny.
“We’re here to help young startups who need mentoring.” When he glanced over at Vanessa, she blushed. “Time to give back.” As in, payback time.
Vanessa’s sister turned. “See you at the car, Vanessa?” he heard her whisper, and she disappeared down the hall.
“What type of collaboration do you envision?” asked Joe.
Alex locked eyes with Vanessa. “Guidance. Mentoring.”
“A partnership,” she piped up, voice high. Did he make her nervous? He’d have to work on that.
Joe turned to Vanessa. “Are you excited, Ms. Randall?”
Vanessa didn’t miss a beat. “We look forward to a productive, professional relationship.”
Well now, was she drawing a line with him?
The camera man and producer left. A shopping bag full of cake plates and props sat at Vanessa’s feet. Taking one long, elegant finger, she hooked a curl behind one ear.
Her hair felt like silk on my chest.
He shrugged out of his navy jacket. “God, it’s hot in here.”
When her eyes settled on his red suspenders, a smile tweaked her lips. How she’d teased him about his suspenders that night. “Jillian’s waiting,” she said, dropping her eyes. Long lashes fluttered against her cheeks.
“I’ll walk you out.” After grabbing her bag, he headed through the glass doors and out into the sunlight.
“Wait. I’ve got it.” Her heels clicked behind him.
“Not a problem.” This time, he was calling the shots.
June was fast getting out of the gate, and Chicago heat blasted from the asphalt. Finally, they reached the cool shadows of the parking garage. Vanessa led him to a sensible beige sedan, something his mother would drive. Looked like her sister was napping in the front seat. Although he noticed a baby seat in the back, neither woman wore a ring.
He was good at checking that out.
“Thanks for the help, Alex.” But Vanessa looked annoyed as she clicked open her trunk. When she took the bag, he got a glimpse of a baby stroller. Slamming the trunk closed, she spun around. Arms crossed, she studied her shoes. “So, when do we start?”
He had no clue. Unfolding the crumpled paper, he scanned the address. Oak Park. West side. “I guess a tour is in order.”
Vanessa jerked like she’d been hit with a taser.
“You know, see where the magic happens.”
“Magic?” Fingering her pearls, she frowned.
His mind was working, but his mouth wasn’t. “In Vegas, you wore your hair up,” he finally mumbled. “Well, for a while at least.”
She white-knuckled the necklace.
“Or maybe you’ve forgotten?” Maybe she always tumbled for men at conventions, but he didn’t think so. There’d been a good girl somewhere in all that craziness.
The pearls snapped and went flying. Good God. Squatting, they started scooping them up.
“Now I’ve really done it,” she mumbled, voice thick.
“They’re just pearls.”
“Just?” Her eyebrows disappeared into her long bangs.
Too late, he remembered how his mother loved her pearls. Dumping a handful into her palms, he grabbed the red pocket square from his jacket and started
dabbing at the damn things. “Maybe a jewelry store can clean them. My mother used to have hers checked once in a while.”
They were both breathing heavy in the hot, humid air. “Thank you,” she murmured, cupping one hand over the other. Why wouldn’t she look at him? “No, I haven’t forgotten you, but that was a long time ago. Certainly we can work together without…”
Having sex in an amazing number of positions that would make a Playmate blush?
She gnawed at her lower lip. Weird, but his own lips began to swell.
“Can’t we forget the past?” she finally asked with a defeated sigh that made him feel like Jack the Ripper.
“Absolutely.” If this was how she wanted to play it, fine. But then why did he feel like canceling his date tonight with Rhonda? “Here’s my card.”
“Thanks. I should get going.” She tucked it in a pocket of that little black skirt. Her eyes swept up.
Some things, he couldn’t forget, like long lashes feathering his skin.
Seconds later, he was staring at her tail lights blinking off and on like a stop light. She must ride her brakes. Hands on his hips, he let out a long sigh and took out his phone.
He had a meeting on the West Side the following week.
Maybe he’d surprise her.
Just like she’d surprised him today.
Chapter 2
Vanessa slammed the metal pans around in the sink. No one else in the work room, and the noise made her feel good. She’d been a hot mess since the day of the taping.
The smell of bread and pastries baking usually eased her mind. Not today. Seeing Hunky Hottie again had blasted her world apart. She already had enough drama in her life. Running one hand along the scored work table, Vanessa took a deep breath. She’d grown up learning checkers from Grandpa and doing homework with Jillian at this very table.
Today, the long room felt hot and airless, the overhead fans pushing the heat around. Only the store front and the family quarters upstairs were air conditioned. Lordy, her neck felt sticky, and Vanessa swooped up her pigtails. Her denim shorts and pink tank top clung under the long work apron. Summer could be so dang hot in Chicago.