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Authors: Stephanie Bond
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vaulted. "What?"
"What?" Jack asked at the same time.
"Why, it's perfect," Al continued, gesturing to Jack with both hands as if he were presenting a refrigerator to a studio
audience. " Jack will be the spokesman for Tremont's. He'll be the star of our commercials!"
He clapped Jack hard on the back, but Alex was the one who felt as if her heartbeat needed a jump start. Jack Stillman , the
Tremont's spokesman? She opened her mouth to scream no, but her voice had fled—apparently to join her father's good sense.
And her father had eyes only for Jack. Puffed up with pride, he beamed at his new recruit. "How about it, son?"
Al turned and gestured to some invisible horizon, his thumb and forefinger indicating a name in lights. "Just imagine, when
people see 'Tremont's,' they'll think of 'Jack the Attack.'"
Alex's vision blurred. She mumbled something about an important conference call and walked out of the room as calmly as
her knocking knees would allow. Her father was so preoccupied with his find, he'd never miss her. On the way to her office,
mind reeling, she somehow managed to snag her panty hose on a rattan wastebasket.
Great. On top of everything else, now she had to buy new panty hose.
Chapter 6
« ^ »
T uesday laughed, her eyes wide. "You went over there flying by the seat of borrowed pants, and came back with the account
and the starring role?"
Jack shrugged and loosened his tie. "The old man was so excited, I had no choice but to say yes."
"What's your brother going to say about you modeling?"
He frowned. "It's not modeling."
She quirked an eyebrow. "You going to put on their clothes and let people point a camera at you?"
He jammed his hands on his hips, ready to argue, then sighed and nodded.
"Sounds like modeling to me. You must have impressed them with the new you. How did Ms. Tremont react?"
"Not well," he admitted. In fact, the one dim spot of the day had been when he'd looked up from shaking Al Tremont's hand to
find that Alex had disappeared. She had a prior appointment, her father had explained unconvincingly, then assured Jack he'd
be seeing a lot of Alex in the next few days since she would serve as his liaison to the company. The news had stirred his
stomach oddly. He'd wanted to speak to her, to extend an olive branch before he left, but Al had dismissed his daughter's
reaction.
"She had her heart set on a fancy shmancy advertising outfit in St. Louis," he'd said. "Give her a few hours for the news to
sink in, then call her to set up a time when the two of you can get together. I won't lie to you, son—she's a handful, but she's as
smart as a whip. You're going to have to suck up a little to win her over, but I'm sure you can handle it." With that, Al, Heath
Reddinger and Bobby Warner had whisked him off to an early and extended lunch.
At first, retelling football stories had been amusing, but after ninety minutes of constant prodding by Tremont and Warner, the
enjoyment had worn mighty thin for Jack, and, he suspected, for Reddinger. Between the jokes, he had tried to glean as much
business information as possible from the trio, but the sole kernel of interesting data was an overheard comment that
Alexandria was left holding a dinner reservation for two at Gerrard's while Reddinger left town to handle a banking issue.
Jack had studied the men throughout the meal and concluded that Al Tremont was a risk-taker with enough wisdom to attract
talented people—Jack liked him—that Bobby Warner was a quick study with enough wisdom to attract debate—Jack
respected him—and that Heath Reddinger was a yes-man with enough wisdom to attract the boss's daughter—Jack dis liked
him.
It was the sort of dislike one man felt for another man who had something the first man strongly thought the second man didn't
deserve. Not that the first man wanted the something he thought the second man didn't deserve, it was just that the first man
possessed an innate sense of
"What?" Jack asked at the same time.
"Why, it's perfect," Al continued, gesturing to Jack with both hands as if he were presenting a refrigerator to a studio
audience. " Jack will be the spokesman for Tremont's. He'll be the star of our commercials!"
He clapped Jack hard on the back, but Alex was the one who felt as if her heartbeat needed a jump start. Jack Stillman , the
Tremont's spokesman? She opened her mouth to scream no, but her voice had fled—apparently to join her father's good sense.
And her father had eyes only for Jack. Puffed up with pride, he beamed at his new recruit. "How about it, son?"
Al turned and gestured to some invisible horizon, his thumb and forefinger indicating a name in lights. "Just imagine, when
people see 'Tremont's,' they'll think of 'Jack the Attack.'"
Alex's vision blurred. She mumbled something about an important conference call and walked out of the room as calmly as
her knocking knees would allow. Her father was so preoccupied with his find, he'd never miss her. On the way to her office,
mind reeling, she somehow managed to snag her panty hose on a rattan wastebasket.
Great. On top of everything else, now she had to buy new panty hose.
Chapter 6
« ^ »
T uesday laughed, her eyes wide. "You went over there flying by the seat of borrowed pants, and came back with the account
and the starring role?"
Jack shrugged and loosened his tie. "The old man was so excited, I had no choice but to say yes."
"What's your brother going to say about you modeling?"
He frowned. "It's not modeling."
She quirked an eyebrow. "You going to put on their clothes and let people point a camera at you?"
He jammed his hands on his hips, ready to argue, then sighed and nodded.
"Sounds like modeling to me. You must have impressed them with the new you. How did Ms. Tremont react?"
"Not well," he admitted. In fact, the one dim spot of the day had been when he'd looked up from shaking Al Tremont's hand to
find that Alex had disappeared. She had a prior appointment, her father had explained unconvincingly, then assured Jack he'd
be seeing a lot of Alex in the next few days since she would serve as his liaison to the company. The news had stirred his
stomach oddly. He'd wanted to speak to her, to extend an olive branch before he left, but Al had dismissed his daughter's
reaction.
"She had her heart set on a fancy shmancy advertising outfit in St. Louis," he'd said. "Give her a few hours for the news to
sink in, then call her to set up a time when the two of you can get together. I won't lie to you, son—she's a handful, but she's as
smart as a whip. You're going to have to suck up a little to win her over, but I'm sure you can handle it." With that, Al, Heath
Reddinger and Bobby Warner had whisked him off to an early and extended lunch.
At first, retelling football stories had been amusing, but after ninety minutes of constant prodding by Tremont and Warner, the
enjoyment had worn mighty thin for Jack, and, he suspected, for Reddinger. Between the jokes, he had tried to glean as much
business information as possible from the trio, but the sole kernel of interesting data was an overheard comment that
Alexandria was left holding a dinner reservation for two at Gerrard's while Reddinger left town to handle a banking issue.
Jack had studied the men throughout the meal and concluded that Al Tremont was a risk-taker with enough wisdom to attract
talented people—Jack liked him—that Bobby Warner was a quick study with enough wisdom to attract debate—Jack
respected him—and that Heath Reddinger was a yes-man with enough wisdom to attract the boss's daughter—Jack dis liked
him.
It was the sort of dislike one man felt for another man who had something the first man strongly thought the second man didn't
deserve. Not that the first man wanted the something he thought the second man didn't deserve, it was just that the first man
possessed an innate sense of
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