The Billionaire Date

by Leigh Michaels

  But even if he managed to arrange the results, she reflected, he’d still be on display. He’d have to stand in the front of the Westmoreland Room on a stage, under a half dozen white-hot spotlights, while a group of women debated his worth.

  And that in itself, Kit thought happily, would be a triumph to be savored. Any man who put women on display as Jarrett did, month after month, deserved to be treated like an object. It would be fascinating to see his reaction to that—and Kit would be right up front watching.

  Unless, of course, he did as she still expected he would and refused to take part. Which was why she’d arranged to make this the most public announcement of her career, so any objection or excuse Jarrett offered would have to be equally public.

  Of course, now that it was far too late to back out, Kit would have given anything to be able to wander out of the room, down the grand staircase and away from the hotel to lose herself in the crowds on Michigan Avenue.

  Not that she’d have to go so far to find a crowd. With five minutes to go till the official start of her press conference, there were already as many reporters milling around the Westmoreland Room as there were butterflies in Kit’s stomach. Enough, in other words, to mount a major exhibit at the natural history museum. There were even a couple of video cameras from Chicago’s mostwatched television stations.

  Kit was startled by the turnout. It must be a slow news day. She might get even better coverage than she’d hoped for. True, she’d called in all the favors she’d managed to accumulate—and more—in order to get these people here without giving a hint of what she was going to announce. In fact, she realized, she now owed more good turns to more people than she would be able to pay back in two lifetimes.

  But despite all the trump cards she’d played, she hadn’t expected so many people to show up. In fact, there was only one person she’d expected to be there who wasn’t.

  Did Jarrett suspect that the best way to mess up Kit’s plans was to have nothing to do with them? Fortunately for her, she’d worked out a scenario that covered that eventuality, too.

  Or hadn’t he gotten her message? She’d called his private number this morning and told the icy-voiced secretary who’d answered that she’d like him to meet her for coffee at the Captain’s Table, right off the Englin’s main lobby, at five o‘clock sharp. Then she’d bribed the maitre d’ with a sizable tip to give Jarrett a note as soon as he arrived, directing him to the Westmoreland Room, instead.

  But if he’d been busy all day and hadn’t checked in with the secretary... Or if he hadn’t taken the message seriously...

  The sweep second hand of her watch crossed the hour, and Kit took a deep breath, stepped to the podium and tapped the microphone. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for coming. I’m Kit Deevers, of Tryad Public Relations. I have a short statement, and then I’ll take a few questions.” She glanced at the page that lay on the podium and cleared her throat.

  “Domestic violence is an issue that concerns us all. As individuals we can’t do much about the causes of that violence, but each one of us can help to repair the damages. We can help to provide shelter to women and children who have been abused. We can help them make a fresh start.

  “Those things require money, and I’m here today to talk about a new, fun and exciting way for Chicago to raise money for the cause of domestic violence.”

  She raised her chin and looked over the room. “Jarrett?” she asked, deliberately letting her voice quiver. “Are you here? No? I’m afraid Mr. Webster has been delayed. At least, I hope he hasn’t stood me up.” She gave a nervous little chuckle.

  Nobody in the room laughed. In fact, there was an uneasy silence, as if the reporters were embarrassed for her.

  The things I’ll do in a good cause, Kit thought. Like letting myself look like an idiotic, helpless bit of fluff!

  She cleared her throat again. “He’s authorized me, though, to tell you—”

  There was a stir at the back of the room, and a tall, dark-haired man appeared, making his way easily and without hurry through the crowd. A smile here, a touch on the shoulder there, and within half a minute Jarrett was leaning on the podium beside her, looking earnestly into Kit’s eyes. “Stand you up?” he asked. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  His voice was husky, and she could imagine how it sounded, magnified by the microphone. She thought he’d probably planned it that way.

  She gave him her best stunning smile and turned to the crowd. “I’m so glad he’s here to give me moral support,” she confided.

  “My pleasure,” Jarrett said.

  Kit looked at her prepared statement again, trying to hide the satisfaction she was sure was twinkling in her eyes. This was better than she could have hoped. “Mr. Webster is known to all of you, I think, as the chief executive officer of Milady Lingerie and as a leader of Chicago society. I’m glad to announce that he’s giving his time and his support to this wonderful cause by offering to be the grand prize in the very first Dream Dates Auction.”

  She didn’t look at him. She didn’t have to. He’d propped an arm on the podium next to her, and she felt his muscles stiffen.

  “The lady who makes the largest donation at the auction will get to spend an entire weekend with Mr. Webster. He hasn’t told me exactly what the weekend’s activities will include, but I’m sure, with Mr. Webster’s reputation, it will indeed be a dream date.”

  There was a spattering of surprised comment and some applause.

  Don’t let it go on too long, she told herself. Let him get slapped in the face before he has a chance to think.

  She raised her voice and cut across the chatter. “Are there any questions for Mr. Webster?” She stepped back from the podium, her bright smile inviting him to take over.

  The look he gave her promised reprisals later.

  “What’s the date?” a reporter called.

  “Of the auction?” Jarrett said. “The fifteenth of this month. Twelve days from today, to be precise. Or do you mean the date I’m offering?” He shook his head. “Sorry, but Ms. Deevers won’t let me tell you that. She says she doesn’t know, but really she wants to keep it as a surprise so she can sell more tickets.”

  Kit’s jaw dropped in reluctant admiration. The man was fast on his feet, that was sure.

  “And I think she’s being far too modest,” he went on. “She’s only talked about me. She hasn’t told you a thing about all the other bachelors she’s lined up to take part in this great cause. Perhaps you’d like to do that right now, Kit?”

  He stepped back just a little, every line of his body an invitation for her to share the podium. Kit’s feet felt as if they were mired in molasses.

  “You do have others?” he asked gently. “Not just me?”

  “Of course,” Kit said. “I didn’t want to take attention from your premier position. In fact, I’ll be making announcements throughout the week, as more sign on—so, as they say, stay tuned. Thank you all very much for coming.”

  Chairs scraped. The noise level increased as reporters paused to chat to one another. A couple headed for the front of the room.

  Jarrett cupped a hand over the microphone. “One would think you were anxious to get rid of all these nice people,” he observed. “I wonder why.”

  Kit didn’t answer.

  “And you’ve cut your time even shorter, too. Are you eager to have all this behind you?”

  “Of course not.” Kit’s voice was tart. “I’m having such a lot of fun.”

  “I must say I’m disappointed about giving up the raffle idea, though. The effort I wasted on turning a few scraps of black lace into a design suitable for you...”

  She glared at him.

  A smile tugged at the corner of Jarrett’s mouth. “Kit, dear,” he murmured, “where on earth did you get the idea that I’m not a good sport? Oh, yes—this is going to be fun.”

  Kit arrived at work early the next morning, but she didn’t even get through the front door of Tryad’
s brownstone before she was greeted by a chorus. Alison leaped from the bottom step, waving a newspaper. “Are you crazy?” she almost shrieked. “A bachelor auction’s bad enough, but dragging Jarrett Webster in on it, and making yourself look like a fool—”

  From her perch on the marble-topped radiator in the little alcove near the door, Susannah asked, “Can’t you think of a more interesting question than that, Ali? I want to know if you’re planning to bid on him yourself, Kit.”

  “Why would I want him?” Kit closed the door and leaned against it.

  “Why else would you set up this whole affair?”

  “Because I’m an idiot,” Kit said.

  “You can say that again,” Alison muttered. “Do you know what this makes Tryad look like?”

  “A dating service?” Susannah asked brightly.

  “No. That one was your idea.”

  “And it wasn’t a bad one, either.”

  Alison ignored her. “What got into you, Kit?”

  Kit took a deep breath. “I didn’t have any choice about involving Jarrett. It’s sort of a bet. I have to raise ten thousand dollars for his favorite charity—”

  Susannah leaned forward. “Or what do you lose?”

  “Has it occurred to you, Sue,” Alison said tartly, “that we may not want to hear the answer to that question?”

  “Speak for yourself. I’d like to know.”

  Alison ignored her. “What do you need Sue and me to do, Kit?”

  Kit didn’t realize how heavily the stress had been weighing on her until Alison’s offer eased the load a fraction. “Bless you, Ali.”

  “Well, we’re obviously all in this together.”

  More than you know, Kit thought. “The first thing I need is a date with Pierce. You don’t mind, do you, Sue?”

  Susannah’s eyes widened.

  “I mean, for the auction,” Kit added hastily. “Do you think he’d agree? All he has to do is take the winning bidder to dinner or a show or something. In fact, I need every available man the three of us know—and I need them in a hurry.”

  Alison looked thoughtful. “Do you mean you went into that news conference last night and promised a bachelor auction with only one bachelor signed on? Kitty—”

  “No,” Kit said simply. “I went in without anybody. I didn’t believe for a minute that Jarrett would agree to it.”

  “I think,” Susannah said, “she’s lost every last marble she ever had.” She was apparently talking to the ceiling. “Alison’s right.”

  “The difficulty,” Alison pointed out, “is what we do about it now.”

  “Oh, that’s simple. We pitch in and help make it a success.” Susannah slid off the radiator and started up the stairs. “I’ll go call Pierce right now.”

  The front door latch clicked. Rita was coming to work right on time, Kit thought, moving away from the entrance so the secretary could open the door.

  On the third step Susannah wheeled. “Unless—what is it you lose if you don’t come up with the ten thousand bucks, Kit?”

  Kit was the first to see that Rita wasn’t alone. Behind her, filling the doorway, was Jarrett, tall and dark and elegantly turned out in a charcoal gray suit and the whitest shirt Kit had ever seen.

  “Didn’t she tell you?” he asked easily. “She’s going to sleep with me.”

  “Oh, in that case,” Susannah said brightly, “I won’t call Pierce.” With a swirl of her skirt, she disappeared up the stairs.

  Alison shook her head. “I said I didn’t want to know,” she muttered as she retreated to her office.

  Rita quietly went to her desk, put away her handbag, touched up her hair and turned on her computer.

  Kit was left in the center of the entrance hall, face to face with Jarrett, who seemed quite content to stand quietly with one hand braced on the golden oak door frame and watch her.

  “What are you doing here?” she said finally. “If you want to call a halt to this—”

  “I’d have done it last night.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. You’d have looked like a fool.”

  “Which was exactly what you were hoping for, wasn’t it?”

  Kit didn’t answer.

  “So now you’re stuck with the bachelor auction.” She lifted her chin. “It’s a great idea, and I’m looking forward to getting on with it. As you pointed out, I have only twelve days and a lot of things to do. So state your business and get out, so I can go to work. At least, I assume you have something to say? You didn’t just cruise by so you could drop that bombshell about me sleeping with you?”

  “That’s what you call a bombshell?” He shook his head sadly. “Kit, dear, I’m afraid you may be in for some surprises. I came to ask how I can help make this auction a success.”

  “Oh, sure. As if you intended to do anything at all.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “Why wouldn’t I? After all, what’s most important just now? I’d say it’s that we raise all the money we can for a good cause.” He sounded almost pious, but Kit didn’t miss the sparkle in his eyes. “So I’m going to help in every way I can.”

  “And commit a little sabotage on the side?”

  “You’re a suspicious sort, aren’t you, Deevers?”

  “You can’t deny you’d like to see me lose.”

  He paused as if to consider the question. “Well, there would be certain benefits to me—”

  Kit felt her face begin to warm. I will not dignify that crazy statement of his by commenting on it again, she told herself.

  “But I suppose it would be selfish of me to put my personal preferences ahead of the greater good.” He nodded, as if he’d convinced himself of something critical. “So I’ll pitch in and do my best.”

  Right, Kit thought. Like I’m going to believe him. “I’ll have to think about what you might be able to do,” she said mildly. “Later, of course, when we have the program in order, you can make copies and fold and staple them. But for now—oh, I have it. I’ll start you calling the list of grocers to ask if they’ll donate snacks. That’ll take a couple of days, at least, so come on up, and I’ll find you a phone and the yellow pages and get you started.”

  It was the first time she’d ever seen him come close to losing his composure, and Kit had to exert all her self-control to keep her face straight.

  Jarrett glanced at the gold Rolex on his wrist. “I’m afraid you misunderstood, Kit.”

  She feigned shock. “You didn’t plan to plunge in right this minute?”

  “I think I’ve mentioned next year’s lingerie collections? I just realized I’m late for a meeting with my design team.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Kit murmured. “Well, whenever you have a few minutes to volunteer, I’ll be happy to see you. There’ll be plenty of work for you.”

  That, she thought with satisfaction, should keep him out of my hair for a day or two at least.

  “And just think,” she said mildly. “It’ll be a much greater satisfaction for you if you’ve given me every opportunity and all the help you can—and I blow it and fail anyway.”

  He grinned. “Exactly. You know, I am impressed by how clearly you see things, Kit.” With a little bow, he pulled open the massive front door and was gone.

  Kit took the stairs two at a time and shut the door of her office firmly behind her. She crossed the room in three strides and tugged two sharp-pointed darts from the big corkboard where she’d posted last month’s Milady Lingerie ad.

  Her first throw was slightly off, landing in Jarrett’s left nostril. The second hit dead center, right between his eyes.

  How clearly she saw things—indeed.

  Unfortunately, the thing that was clearest to Kit was that the situation was only going to get worse.

  The evening newspapers were even more wildly speculative about the Dream Dates Auction than the morning ones had been. Though Kit had long known that Jarrett was news in any context at all, she was stunned at the quick turn the talk had taken.

  One
of the society columnists had gone so far as to start calling Chicago’s prominent bachelors to see who was involved. Most of them, to Kit’s relief, had refused to answer either way instead of denying all knowledge of the auction. It seemed, Kit thought, as if they were waiting to see whether the Dream Dates affair was going to be the stylish event of the year or some crazy plan that no one with sense would take part in. It was obvious she’d have to move fast. She had to have something dramatic to announce, and soon—or the no comments would change into denials, and that would be death to the whole plan.

  Susannah poked her head into Kit’s office at the end of the day and caught her rereading the society column. “Maybe you should send that columnist a thank-you note for making out your list for you.”

  Kit didn’t look up. “Having a list is one thing. But it’s unbelievably difficult to get phone numbers for these guys, and as for getting through the secretaries...”

  “Put Jarrett to work on it. He knows everybody, doesn’t he?”

  Kit said glumly, “As if he’d make an effort.”

  “Oh, that’s right—he wants you to lose.” Susannah settled herself on the corner of Kit’s desk. “You could always offer to sleep with him regardless. Then he’d throw himself into the fray with enthusiasm, I’ll bet.” Her eyes narrowed. “Not funny? Sorry, Kitty.”

  Kit shrugged. As if, she thought, with all the women in Jarrett’s little black book, he’d go out of his way to sleep with me!

  “Well, at least you’ve got Pierce,” Susannah went on cheerfully. “It’s nothing fancy, I’m afraid. All I could dig out of him was lunch at the museum’s restaurant and a guided tour of the new collections, but—”

  Kit tossed her pencil aside. “That’s what Pierce thinks is a dream date?”