It Takes a Rebel by Stephanie Bond Page B

expression passive, and glanced
    away, not about to reveal that the picture conjured up images of Jack Stillman himself reclining in bed with a lover. She
    banished the disturbing thought and forbade herself from making such appalling slips in the future.
    "My point, one that Ms. Tremont can attest to, is—" he encompassed the room with a tantalizing smile and flipped down the
    poster to reveal a slogan in neat black block letters "—Tremont's. Because clothes do make the man."
    Alex thought her head might explode on the spot.

    * * *
Jack hoped no one could hear his heart thrashing in his chest—the scheme of putting a creative spin on yesterday's fiasco was
    risky, but he had nothing to lose. It was fourth down with long yardage, and he'd been scrambling to find a seam in the end
    zone. The deadly look Alexandria Tremont gave him, however, was akin to taking the pigskin right between the eyes. Now his
    only hope was to escape the game without further injury. He eyed the distance between her and him, versus him and the door—
    could he make it?
    The room crackled with expectant silence, then Al Tremont suddenly burst out laughing, clapping his fleshy hands. "I like it."
    Jack exhaled the breath he'd been holding as the others, as if awaiting their boss's cue, began to hum and nod their approval.
    Heath Reddinger seemed noncommittal, but from what he had observed when he'd followed the secretary into the room,
    Reddinger and the fetching Alexandria were involved romantically. The thought stirred a different kind of competitive urge in
    Jack's stomach. Now Reddinger darted looks toward his ladylove, waiting for a glance of … permission? Poor sap.
    Apparently Alexandria wasn't influenced by her father's favorable opinion. "Excuse me," she said in a crisp tone as she
    swept her gaze over her colleagues. "Excuse me!"
    Jack suspected if she'd had a gavel within reach, she would have banged the table top, but everyone fell silent and gave her
    their attention.
    She pressed her lips together, as if gathering her composure, then spoke, her voice rich and controlled. "Frankly, I think the
    ad is a bit sexist. After all, our typical shopper is female , and we can't afford to alienate her."
    "We wouldn't be alienating her," Jack said, speaking as if he were already part of the Tremont's team. He withdrew a
    television commercial storyboard of a woman shopping in the men's department. "Instead we'd be saying, 'Come into Tremont's
    and outfit your man in style.'"
    Outfit your man? She narrowed her eyes at him. "I repeat for the benefit of the hard-of-hearing, I think the idea is sexist, and
    if I were the customer, I would be offended."
    Jack felt perversely compelled to provoke her, although he wasn't sure why. "But you, Ms. Tremont, are not the typical
    female customer." Reciting from memory the demographics hastily gathered from Reggie over the taxi driver's cell phone, he
    said, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe the typical customer is both younger and married."
    He had hit a nerve—maybe two.
    While Alexandria turned a becoming shade of crimson, Al Tremont laughed again, slapping his knee. "He's got you there,
    Alex."
    Alex. The name suited her, Jack decided, then he plunged ahead. "She is also less educated and less successful," he added,
    hoping to placate her, although from the set of her mouth, he hadn't. "But she spends a disproportionate amount of her
    disposable income on clothing. I think we can entice her to spend even more of her own money—" he grinned "—or someone
    else's—"
    More laughter sounded, accompanied by nods.
    "—buying clothes for her man."
    "Clothes for her man?" Alex's tone was heavy with disdain. "Mr. Stillman, that thinking smacks of chauvinism."
    "Maybe," he conceded. "But how are menswear sales?"
    "We don't divulge sakes figures to outsiders."
    "Menswear sales are lousy," Al Tremont offered.
    "But improving," Alex insisted, gripping the edge of the table and shooting her father a