Leigh Michaels – The Billionaire Date (страница 2)

No wonder the girls went quiet, Kit thought wryly. She was ten years older than any of them and had a whole lot more experience with men. Still, the way this man was staring at her was enough to rob her of the ability to breathe. There was something about the expression in those huge, dark brown eyes....

Kit stepped forward and held out her hand. “You must be Jarrett Webster. I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to thank you for emceeing this event—”

His brows drew together. “I assume you’re in charge?” He ignored her outstretched hand.

“I’m Kit Deevers, from Tryad Public Relations, and I’m coordinating the event, yes.”

“Well, if you don’t get this show on the road, not thanking me won’t be the only thing you’ll have to feel sorry about. I’ll give you one more minute and then I’m going to start reading cue cards whether you have a model on the runway or not.” He turned on his heel and strode out.

That, Kit fumed, is the best example of arrogant high-handedness I’ve ever seen! Didn’t the man realize that amateur events hit snags sometimes? “All right, girls, you’ve got your marching orders. As soon as the music starts—”

“Uh, Ms. Deevers?”

Kit closed her eyes in pain. “What is it now, Jackie?”

“I just thought you should know before you go out in the auditorium. You’ve got that top on wrong.”

Kit glanced down and swore.

Like the harem pants, the matching top contained just enough lining fabric to be decent, which meant that the front of the sapphire blue chiffon bodice was lined, but the back was not.

And in her haste to get covered up before turning to face a male intruder, she’d put the thing on backward.

Now she knew what Jarrett Webster’s expression had been as he’d stood in the doorway and stared at her. It was incredulity. He hadn’t been able to believe his eyes.

The show was over, and nobody had fallen off the runway. Nobody, in fact, had even broken a fingemail. Miracles did happen, Kit told herself. It was over—and she had survived. In another half hour or so, the followup reception would be finished, as well, and she’d be done with the whole mess.

Still wearing the last outfit she’d modeled, the long and slinky black silk gown that Shelby had been scheduled to show, Kit leaned against the shadowed side of a pillar in the reception hall and tried to become invisible. The marble pillar was comfortingly cool against her almost-bare back. Only a few narrow strips of satin ribbon separated stone from skin.

At least, she thought, there hadn’t been any doubt about which direction to put on this particular outfit. Still, she could hardly wait to get out of it. Shelby, even at seventeen, was far better endowed than Kit was, and the girls had ended up stuffing tissue paper into the front of the dress to fill it out properly. The result was eyecatching but hardly comfortable.

Guests were starting to drift out of the reception hall, and nobody was paying any attention to Kit. She cast one final look around the room to be certain none of her models were doing anything to damage their borrowed finery. Perhaps she could make it to the dressing room. If she hugged the edge of the reception hall maybe no one would see and stop her. One well-meaning phrase of congratulation on the fashion show’s success might be enough to send her over the edge into hysterical laughter.

But before she could move, a feminine voice from the far side of the pillar said, “I couldn’t believe what I was seeing! Pushing herself in like that, in the midst of what should have been the girls’ day.” There was a strident undertone that belied the woman’s soft drawl. “She modeled more than anybody else, for heaven’s sake. One would have thought it was her own private fashion show—which is not at all what we hired her to do.”

Kit bit her tongue and reminded herself that listening to other people’s conversations was guaranteed to bring unpleasant sensations to the eavesdropper. And after all, she thought, it’s done now. That’s the important thing.

“I wondered why you hired her at all, Colette.”

Kit shrank closer against the pillar and sneaked a look over her shoulder. Not that she needed to. She’d have recognized that rich, intense voice across the vastness of outer space. There was a frosting of arrogance that she’d bet never quite vanished.

“Oh, Jarrett, darling, you know one never quite has time to manage everything. I must say, however, we all thought when we hired her that we were going to get professional assistance.”

Kit could see only the woman’s back. The rest of her was hidden by the pillar. But she thought the woman’s shrug was a work of art.

“Oh, here’s my little Heather,” Colette drawled. “Say hello to Jarrett, darling. How lovely you looked—and you did such a good job!”

Kit’s eyes widened in shock. Oh, yes, she thought. Great job, Heather! The girl had not only not bothered to warn her about the two models’ defection, but she’d nearly ended up on the runway wearing the wrong outfit.

Jarrett Webster’s voice was level. “And her fees will cut into the amount you were able to raise for the emergency shelter, I suppose?”

“I’m afraid the results are going to be extremely disappointing,” Colette confided. “It’s such a worthy cause, too, and it would have been nice for the girls to be able to make a contribution that meant something.”

“We worked awfully hard,” Heather added. “And I suppose Ms. Deevers did her best, too. But...” Her voice trailed off as if the threesome was moving away.

Kit was livid. The words were true enough, but the note of doubt in Heather’s voice implied that Kit might have sabotaged the show on purpose.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on controlling her breathing and her temper. She told herself it didn’t matter what anyone thought as long as she knew she’d done her best. It wasn’t her fault that the situation had gone from bad to impossible.

And why should she care what Jarrett Webster believed, anyway? It wasn’t as if she wanted to impress him. As far as she was concerned, the man was no more important than a drop of rain in the ocean.

“In fact,” she said under her breath, “the very idea of anybody in his line of work raising funds for domestic violence is almost laughable. Unless—I suppose he could have thought the money was to promote violence instead of fight it?”

The thought brought a smile, and with a fraction of her self-esteem restored, Kit pushed herself away from the pillar. She was going to change her clothes and go home. Damn Jarrett Webster, anyway. And Heather, and her mother, and all the other debs....

She didn’t see him until she crashed directly into his broad chest.

Jarrett caught her by the elbows, preventing her from sprawling on the floor. For a single effortless instant he held her upright, and Kit felt as light and insubstantial as a dandelion seed floating on the wind. Then, efficiently but without gentleness, he set her on her feet.

Bemused, she shot a quick glance at him. Where had he come from? And perhaps more importantly, exactly when? Had he heard what she’d said? Perhaps not. She’d done no more than mutter to herself, and the hall was still noisy. And she certainly hadn’t heard him, so perhaps...

There was no telling from his expression, she realized. His brown eyes were chilly, but of course that wasn’t any surprise, considering what Heather and Colette had told him. Coming on top of their first encounter, he must think she was an imbecile.

Jarrett Webster’s voice was as soft as the silk Kit wore. “I see at least you got that dress on in the right direction.”

She lifted her head and stared into his face, determined not to be intimidated. The dress was a beauty, and she knew she didn’t look at all bad in it. He had no cause to make nasty cracks.

“Not that it would make a lot of difference,” he went on dryly.

Puzzled by his tone, Kit slid a nervous hand over the slender skirt and glanced at the front of the dress.

Her eyes widened in shock. Their collision had knocked her tissue paper stuffing loose. One wad had slid sideways and ended up under her arm, where it resembled a threatening tumor. The other had popped up in the precise center of the low-cut neckline.

“Damn,” she said.

For the first time, she saw a glint of humor creep into Jarrett Webster’s eyes, but before he had a chance to burst out laughing, Kit turned sharply on her heel and darted toward the dressing room.

Running wasn’t her style, but it was just as well she’d acted on the impulse, she told herself as she irritably stripped off the black silk dress. If she’d stayed around another instant, she’d have probably kicked him.

Not that he didn’t deserve it.

Kit was running behind schedule on Monday morning. When she arrived for their weekly planning breakfast, her two partners were already sitting in their favorite booth at the restaurant just around the corner from the brownstone that housed Tryad’s offices.

Susannah Miller glanced at the dainty watch that dangled on a gold chain around her neck and said, “She’s late.”

“I noticed.” Alison Novak didn’t look up from her notebook or stop scribbling. “I wonder if that means she had an exciting weekend.”