The Tycoon by Anna Jeffrey Page B

off a turnip truck. He expected something in return for the ticket. Most likely sex. She had no intention of sleeping with him, which was why she had told him she would meet him here rather than accompany him.
    He had said to look for him near the stage. Inch by inch she made it to the center of the swarm. The din increased to a roar, the sound of the saxophone grew louder, so she must be nearing the stage. A few more steps and she saw a small tuxedoed orchestra on a platform. A parquet dance floor lay in front of it and a few couples moved around to the strains of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.”
    A giant Christmas tree, soaring toward the high ceiling and twinkling with hundreds of white lights and draped with thick ropes of gold garland stood at the corner of the dance floor. Red balls the size of volleyballs hung from its branches. While she stared up at it in amazement, Jordan emerged from behind it and came toward her. He looked sleek and handsome in his tux and cummerbund in a GQ casual way. Jordan might not be her kind of man, but she had to admit, with his black hair slicked back and wearing a tux and cummerbund, he was easy on a woman’s eyes.
    “Hey, you made it,” he said. “After the weather moved in, I thought you might not risk the drive.”
    Shannon tucked her clutch under her arm as she and Jordan touched cheeks and kissed air. “After you gave me a ticket and I bought a dress, no way would I miss it.” She gave a foolish laugh. God, she was almost giddy.
    “And that is some dress, gal.” He stood back, holding her fingertips with his, and gave a low whistle. His eyes moved up to her face. “And your hair. I’ve never seen your hair like that. You make these women here look like frogs.”
    And hearing a compliment like that made Shannon feel like a red carpet celebrity. She struck a playful hand-on-hip pose. “Why, thank you, Jordan.”
    He led them away from the dance floor to a quieter part of the room. “Have any trouble on the road?”
    “Not a bit. It’s a little misty, but not quite cold enough for ice.”
    “It’s not supposed to freeze. Just be cold and nasty.”
    As a server strolled past carrying a tray of flutes of champagne, Jordan lifted two off the tray and handed one to Shannon. “So how’s your Benbrook deal coming? Wrapped it up yet?”
    He referred to her first commercial sale—a deal on a forty-year-old apartment complex she had been coddling and petting for eight months, saying a silent prayer every day for it to close. That very sale was one of the accomplishments that made her believe she was qualified to move among this crowd. At least she had something to talk about. She accepted the glass of champagne. “Not yet, but soon.”
    “You’ve resolved all the problems, then?”
    Somehow, through the professional grapevine, Jordan had heard about the sale’s many snarls and snags and called her, offering to walk her through it. She had suspected a trap. She knew of no time Jordan had ever done anything underhanded to her personally, but she had heard plenty about him from others in the business. She didn’t believe for a minute he had offered to help her out of the goodness of his heart. He wanted part of the commission. She angled a playful look at him. “Hah. If getting me into this fancy wingding and showering me with compliments is a new tactic for horning in on my deal, you’d better try another approach.”
    Jordan slapped a palm against his chest, gasped and frowned. “You wound me, darlin’. Do you think I’m that clever?”
    She chuckled, looking out over the crowd. “You’re a total shark, Jordan. And I’m still saying I’m claiming that Benbrook payday all for myself. I need that whole commission and I don’t need anyone’s help.”
    And at that moment, glancing over the rim of her glass and across the room, as if the mob had parted just for her, a tall man some forty feet away caught Shannon’s eye. Her first thought was how different he