It Takes a Rebel (23 page)

"Found them in the Dumpster," Tuesday said. "Slapped a coat of paint on them, and they're as good as new. Marion helped

me hang them this morning."

"Marion?" Jack's eyebrows shot straight up. "After nearly crippling the man, you're on a first-name basis?"

"He's feeling much better. I gave him another adjustment last night, and he threw away the board."

"Last night?" Jack asked, then held up his hand. "Wait, I don't want to know." Sounded as though everyone was having

success in the romance department except him.

He pushed through the doors again into the back office where Stripling sat, sipping tea, and looking as limber as a willow

switch. Tuesday followed him.

"Well?" The man's Adam's apple bobbed. "Did you bet the horse to place? I saw in the paper that she won, and the payout

was pretty good."

Making a sympathetic sound, Jack shook his head. "No, Stripling, I didn't bet the horse to place like you told me."

The man's thin shoulders fell.

Jack grinned and whipped out another envelope. "I bet her to win! Seventy-five dollars for a two dollar bet, and I put your

entire hundred on her."

Stripling's jaw opened and closed as he lunged for the envelope. "Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness!"

"Oh, my goodness is right," Tuesday mumbled, frowning. "If that horse had come in second instead of first, you would have

lost his money."

"But if I had bet the horse to come in second—"

"—like he
told
you to—"

"—the payout wouldn't have been as good." He shrugged. "What can I say? I was feeling lucky."

"And just how much did
you
pocket?" she asked.

"Well," Jack drawled as he pulled out the last fat envelope. "I hate to brag, but I cleared just under five gees."

Stripling whistled low. "You're going to have to claim that money on your personal income tax form, you know."

Jack frowned in his direction, then his attention was diverted by the opening of the front door. When had Tuesday hung a bell

on it to announce visitors?

"That must be the furniture," Tuesday sang, then strode toward the front.

A few seconds passed before her words sank it. "Furniture?" Jack croaked. "What furniture?"

He jogged to the front just as a huge man in a yellow slicker walked in, holding a clipboard and directing two young men

who had a desk hoisted on their shoulders.

"You Stillman?" the man asked.

"Yes. What's this all about?"

The man sucked his teeth, then read from the clipboard. "I got an order here for two desks, two file cabinets and two leather

chairs. That'll be three thousand, two hundred dollars, cash on delivery."

"What?" Jack's temples nearly exploded. "I didn't order all this stuff." He whirled to Tuesday. "Did
you
do this?"

She blinked, her face innocent. "I distinctly remember you saying Friday that you were going to win enough money to buy the

new equipment the agency needed."

"But … but I didn't mean— Hey, watch that leather coat in the hallway, buddy!"

Tuesday snatched the envelope out of his hand and counted bills as she talked. "The Salvation Army will be here in a few

minutes to pick up the old furniture, so it'll be out of the way by the time the computers arrive."

"Computers?" Jack asked wearily.

"My daughter-in-law works at a computer store across town—I got you a great deal." She handed him the balance of the

money, along with two aspirins and a cup of water.

Jack swallowed the pills dry. "Tuesday," he said, holding on to the wall for support. "Did it occur to you to ask me first?"

"No," she said matter-of-factly. "Because it's my job to get things organized around here."

He thought he might pass out—Derek certainly would when he found out. "There … is … no …
job!"

* * *

& Sons Advertising Agency. With a rueful shake of her head, she remembered coming here only last week, marveling at the

whirlwind of events that had taken place since. Had she really known Jack for only a few days? Odd, but the man had plowed a

disruptive furrow through her life that bespoke a much longer relationship than existed. And a much more meaningful one.

Shaking off her wayward thoughts, she retraced her steps down the hall, noting that at least the carpet had been cleaned, and

the sour, mildewed smell was gone. When she twisted the doorknob, she noticed that the agency sign had been repaired. And

when she stepped inside, the transformation was nothing short of remarkable—furniture, plants, music,
cleanliness
. A matronly

black woman turned from a file cabinet and flashed a friendly smile. "Now you must be Ms. Tremont."

Alex blinked because she hadn't called ahead. "Um, yes. Have we met?"

"I just knew it from Mr. Stillman's description of you," the woman said. "I'm Tuesday, the agency's office manager."

"Pleased to meet you," she said, extending her hand. The agency must be rebounding if they had hired an office manager. And

purchased new furniture. And cleaned. "I should have called—Mr. Stillman isn't expecting me. Considering the weather, I

thought I might give him a ride to the television station."

"Well, now that's mighty nice of you," the woman said, beaming. She gestured toward a love seat, covered with a lush moss-

green velvet. "Won't you have a seat? I'll let Mr. Stillman know you're here. Would you like some hot tea?"

Alex took the proffered seat and nodded dumbly. "Yes, please."

"Cream and sugar?"

"Both, please."

The woman disappeared through a set of swinging half-doors that she didn't remember. She heard the rumble of at least one

male voice, maybe two. A couple of minutes later, the office manager emerged, bearing a cup and saucer. "Here's your tea. Mr.

Stillman is on a conference call with a client, but I let him know you were here, so I'm sure he'll be right out."

"Thank you." On a conference call with a client? She just assumed he was spending all his time on the Tremont's account, but

he had mentioned doing business with Phillips' Honey, and after all, his brother was still out of town. Alex picked up the cup

and smiled. "What extraordinary china."

Tuesday smiled. "Mr. Stillman insists on nice little touches around here."

The black doors swung out and an older man appeared. "Tuesday," he said, "do you have time for lunch?"

The woman shook her head mournfully. "The phones have been ringing off the hook around here, I'd better not."

So they were busy, Alex thought, sipping her very tasty tea.

"Want me to pick up something for you?"

Tuesday passed on his offer, and when the man left, Alex asked, "That wasn't the other Mr. Stillman, was it?"

"No, that's Mr. Stripling. He only comes in when it gets really crazy around here."

Alex pursed her mouth. Darn—the agency was busy. And so different, she found it hard to believe things could have changed

so much in a week's time. Was it possible that Jack had set her up that first day to lay a foundation for his presentation?

"Tuesday, how long have you worked for the agency?"

The woman looked heavenward. "Can't rightly say how long I've been working here—seems like forever."

"And has the office always looked like this?"

"Ever since I've been here." Then she smiled. "Oh, you're talking about that day Mr. Stillman was trying to get your goat."

She laughed, slapping her thigh. "That man and his elaborate schemes."

Alex's mouth fell open.

Tuesday's face shone with affection. "Yes, he's a rebel, that one, but it worked, didn't it?"

She couldn't believe it—layers just
kept
peeling off the man.

"My ears are burning," Jack said, strolling in and turning his full-fledged grin toward Alex.

Alex swallowed hard. Funny—just the sight of him set every part of her aflame. "Um, hi. I came by to … um…" Darn it, why

had
she come by?

"To make sure you weren't late to the studio," Tuesday supplied, then disappeared through the swinging doors.

"Right," she parroted, feeling all of twelve years old. Standing, she experienced a bad premonition about the commercial

shoot, but a second later she chided herself—she would be watching him from a distance—how dangerous could the man be

across a room, surrounded by cameras and lights?

"Give me a minute," he said with a devilish wink, jerking his thumb toward his office. "I just need to grab my thong."

* * *

Sammy Richardson was not only
not
a man, she was the most female woman Alex had ever seen. Alex suspected that if she'd

been a male cartoon character, this would be the point where her eyeballs would bulge out of her head and drop on the floor.

Sammy's long, long hair was a thousand shades of natural blond, and her skin was one shade of a natural golden glow. Stunning

was the only word to describe her long, curvaceous body, magnificent in jeans and a man's shirt. Old friend? Yeah, right.

"Hello," she managed to say. "I'm Alex Tremont."

"Nice to meet you." Sammy's handshake was firm, her gaze direct and friendly. "Perhaps we can talk about what you're

looking for today while Jack goes to hair and makeup."

A frown crossed Jack's face, but he left with an assistant, grumbling. Alex followed Sammy to a makeshift desk a few feet

away from a myriad of sets surrounded by cameras and lights. "Okay, let's talk about the shoot," she said without preliminaries.

"My people will be here in a half hour, ready to start."

Alex opened her notebook. "Tremont's is considering hiring Jack Stillman as a spokesman."

"Good decision," the woman interjected smoothly.

Bristling at the woman's knowing tone, she said, "We're
considering
hiring Mr. Stillman. The outcome will depend on the

success of this shoot."

"What mood are we going for here?"

She squirmed, pushing the tentative slogan across the table: Tremont's. Because clothes do make the man. "Um, you know …

persuasive, compelling…"

"Sexy?" The woman's mouth curved into a catlike smile.

"Um, yes."

"Jack can certainly handle that assignment," Sammy murmured, seemingly a hundred miles away.

"Yes, he can." Alex agreed pleasantly, ridiculously tempted to let the woman know that she wasn't the only one in the room

who knew the particulars of Jack's carnal skills. When she realized how trampy that sounded, she clamped her mouth shut,

mentally kicking herself. Trying to steer the conversation back to business, she withdrew a folder of the reduced images Jack

had presented at the first meeting, along with a storyboard. "The two female models I requested from the agency we use should

be here soon."

Sammy's eyebrows rose. "Just two? Jack
has
settled down."

Alex frowned. "Building on Jack's original ideas, I'd like to focus on four settings—the gym, the backyard barbecue, the

office, and the, um, bedroom."

The woman nodded, making notes fast and furious. "Let me call props with this list, and we'll be good to go as soon as Jack

is ready and the models get here."

Alex studied the woman while she spoke on the phone, a little awed by her sparkling beauty. Sammy and Jack would make a

spectacular-looking couple, she acknowledged, wondering how recently they'd been involved and why their relationship hadn't

worked. And her stomach felt strange at the thought of them together.

Sammy hung up the phone and smiled broadly. "The props will be here in ten minutes. Let's take a look at the sets."

"So," Alex ventured as they picked their way around the equipment, "you and Jack go way back."

"Oh, yeah," the woman said. "Way back. We even lived together for a while, but I wanted to get married."

"Oh." Alex paused for casual effect. "And he didn't?"

Sammy laughed, a melodious sound. "Jack? The man is a rolling stone—he'll never commit to anything or anyone. I was

astounded when he told me he was working at the agency again." She laughed. "Wonder how long that will last?"

"Long enough to handle our account, hopefully," Alex said, irritated.

"Oh, Derek will take care of you," she said with a dismissive wave. "He's the dependable one. Just be thankful you nailed

down Jack long enough for these photos." She shook her head and made a regretful sound. "He used to get offers all the time to

model, do sports commentary, endorsements. Could have made a boatload of money."

"He didn't want the money?" Alex asked, dropping all pretense of disinterest.

"He didn't want the responsibility," Sammy corrected. "I told you—the man is commitment-shy. He'll work just long enough

to fund his freedom."

"You sound a little bitter," Alex said quietly.

The woman shook her head. "I'm not. Jack didn't deceive me. He told me up front that he didn't ever plan to marry, but I

thought I could change his mind." She turned, one eyebrow lifted. "When I look back, though, the one thing I appreciate most

about Jack is that he's honest." Then she laughed. "Well, maybe there are one or two other things."

Alex squirmed.

"Hey," the woman said, suddenly serious, her gaze direct. "I'm only telling you this to keep you from making the same

mistake I made."

Attempting nonchalance, Alex said, "You're wrong if you think—"