shaft of sunlight. "What was your impression of me yesterday, Ms. Tremont?"
The dark walls of the room suddenly seemed closer, and the hairs at the nape of her exposed neck tingled. "The truth?"
His eyes glittered. "Absolutely."
Alex pursed her lips. How could she best put into words that she found him to be a very base individual who might be more
at home digging a ditch and ogling female pedestrians than playing at running a business? Studying his smooth, too-confident
face, she decided that Jack Stillman needed to be taken down a notch. Or three. "Frankly, I found you to be rather odious."
Eyebrows shot high around the table, accompanied by sharp gasps and a titter or two. "Alex!" her father admonished, but she
didn't break eye contact with Jack. This was personal.
Her opponent's smile was patient. "Why?"
In her peripheral vision, she saw heads pivot back and forth between them, but as far as Alex was concerned, she and Jack
were the only two people in the room. An invisible tunnel connected them across the table. She felt an alarming draw to her
energy, as if the space wasn't big enough for the both of them. With effort, she matched his smile. "You mean other than the fact
that you were rude and boorish?"
Bodies shifted.
He spread his large hands. "My apologies if you were offended, but I believe you were reacting to something other than my
words."
"Such as?" she asked dryly.
"My appearance?"
Alex blinked, but didn't reply.
"In fact," Jack said, walking around the table toward her. "You didn't recognize me when I arrived today, did you, Ms.
Tremont?"
Irritated, she crossed her arms. "You do look quite different, Mr. Stillman."
He turned to address everyone else. "Just so you'll know, when Ms. Tremont came by yesterday, I was wearing cutoff shorts,
a Hawaiian shirt and a tool belt."
What was he up to? "You forgot the bad tie and the fact that you were barefoot," she supplied, shoving her shoulders back
into the stiff chair. Chuckles circled the table, but she remained stoic.
"Ah, you are observant." He graced her with a charming smile, then gestured to himself, sweeping his hand down his torso as
he walked closer still. "Would you say my appearance today is an improvement?"
Hot anger shot through her, and her eyes traveled the length of him as if they had a mind of their own. Standing almost within
touching distance, Jack Stillman was one gorgeously put together man, but she wasn't about to give him undue credit for lucking
into a favorable gene pool. "Anything would be an improvement."
His answer was a devilish grin of concession, which drew more light laughter from the table.
Alex didn't appreciate being put in the hot seat—especially when she'd planned to be wasting Jack Stillman right about now.
"Mr. Stillman, I assume you have a point?"
"Ah," he said, raising a finger and lifting the portfolio he'd leaned against the wall, then placing it on the easel. "My point is
that a certain old saying has credence." With a flick of his wrist, he unsnapped the little strap that held together the worn leather
portfolio, and Alex stifled a scoff. A large hand-painted color poster showed a man in a football uniform throwing a pass,
cheering fans behind him.
Jack lowered the panel to reveal another poster showing the same man wearing chinos and a casual shirt flipping burgers on
a grill, a couple of admiring women standing nearby with umbrella'd drinks. The next poster showed the man in a suit carrying
a briefcase and checking his watch as he hurried somewhere, again with a couple of female on-lookers. The fourth poster
showed the now shirtless man reclining in bed, wearing boxer shorts, a woman's hand resting on his shoulder. Her midsection
stirred at the intimacy of the moment translated by the simplicity of the picture. She guessed he'd shown great restraint in not
depicting two women's hands.
Her eyes strayed to Jack, unnerved that he seemed to be gauging her reaction. She kept her
The dark walls of the room suddenly seemed closer, and the hairs at the nape of her exposed neck tingled. "The truth?"
His eyes glittered. "Absolutely."
Alex pursed her lips. How could she best put into words that she found him to be a very base individual who might be more
at home digging a ditch and ogling female pedestrians than playing at running a business? Studying his smooth, too-confident
face, she decided that Jack Stillman needed to be taken down a notch. Or three. "Frankly, I found you to be rather odious."
Eyebrows shot high around the table, accompanied by sharp gasps and a titter or two. "Alex!" her father admonished, but she
didn't break eye contact with Jack. This was personal.
Her opponent's smile was patient. "Why?"
In her peripheral vision, she saw heads pivot back and forth between them, but as far as Alex was concerned, she and Jack
were the only two people in the room. An invisible tunnel connected them across the table. She felt an alarming draw to her
energy, as if the space wasn't big enough for the both of them. With effort, she matched his smile. "You mean other than the fact
that you were rude and boorish?"
Bodies shifted.
He spread his large hands. "My apologies if you were offended, but I believe you were reacting to something other than my
words."
"Such as?" she asked dryly.
"My appearance?"
Alex blinked, but didn't reply.
"In fact," Jack said, walking around the table toward her. "You didn't recognize me when I arrived today, did you, Ms.
Tremont?"
Irritated, she crossed her arms. "You do look quite different, Mr. Stillman."
He turned to address everyone else. "Just so you'll know, when Ms. Tremont came by yesterday, I was wearing cutoff shorts,
a Hawaiian shirt and a tool belt."
What was he up to? "You forgot the bad tie and the fact that you were barefoot," she supplied, shoving her shoulders back
into the stiff chair. Chuckles circled the table, but she remained stoic.
"Ah, you are observant." He graced her with a charming smile, then gestured to himself, sweeping his hand down his torso as
he walked closer still. "Would you say my appearance today is an improvement?"
Hot anger shot through her, and her eyes traveled the length of him as if they had a mind of their own. Standing almost within
touching distance, Jack Stillman was one gorgeously put together man, but she wasn't about to give him undue credit for lucking
into a favorable gene pool. "Anything would be an improvement."
His answer was a devilish grin of concession, which drew more light laughter from the table.
Alex didn't appreciate being put in the hot seat—especially when she'd planned to be wasting Jack Stillman right about now.
"Mr. Stillman, I assume you have a point?"
"Ah," he said, raising a finger and lifting the portfolio he'd leaned against the wall, then placing it on the easel. "My point is
that a certain old saying has credence." With a flick of his wrist, he unsnapped the little strap that held together the worn leather
portfolio, and Alex stifled a scoff. A large hand-painted color poster showed a man in a football uniform throwing a pass,
cheering fans behind him.
Jack lowered the panel to reveal another poster showing the same man wearing chinos and a casual shirt flipping burgers on
a grill, a couple of admiring women standing nearby with umbrella'd drinks. The next poster showed the man in a suit carrying
a briefcase and checking his watch as he hurried somewhere, again with a couple of female on-lookers. The fourth poster
showed the now shirtless man reclining in bed, wearing boxer shorts, a woman's hand resting on his shoulder. Her midsection
stirred at the intimacy of the moment translated by the simplicity of the picture. She guessed he'd shown great restraint in not
depicting two women's hands.
Her eyes strayed to Jack, unnerved that he seemed to be gauging her reaction. She kept her
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