It Takes a Rebel (8 page)

Present a campaign specifically designed to bring women into the store to shop for the men in their lives, and they're sure to

wander into other departments."

"We could put cross-promotional materials for women's wear, children's and housewares in the men's department," one of

the young women offered.

Jack remembered she was an assistant in marketing. "Great idea," he said, and was rewarded with a blushing, shy grin.

"Coax them into other departments after they've finished shopping in menswear."

Side conversations erupted around the table. Jack could see the idea catching and spreading. Alex sat rigidly in her chair,

eyeing her associates.

"Mr. Stillman, do you have any experience in producing television commercials?" Heath Reddinger asked, restoring the

room to relative quiet.

Good old Heath—offering a bit of disguised resistance for Alex's sake. "No," he admitted. "But I do have a relationship with

a local producer, who does top-notch work." A chance glance at Alexandria revealed her too-blue eyes had rolled upward, so

he directed the rest of his remarks to her father.

"I recommend that you contract a male model exclusively for Tremont's, then flood the media with his image."

Tremont was nodding. "I like it—simple, straightforward, smart."

Alexandria cleared her throat noisily. "It's not the level of sophistication I had in mind for the store. I wanted to spotlight our

women's designer clothing, our fine jewelry, cosmetics—"

"Alex," her father cut in, his face stern. "I think we should take Jack's proposal under serious consideration."

"Perhaps," she returned across the table, her own expression firm, "we should ask
Jack
to leave the room so we can discuss

the pros and cons among ourselves."

Jack moved toward the door, but Al Tremont held up his hand. "Stay, son. I just need to know how much all this is going to

cost."

"Father," Alex said, rising, her eyes wide. "This matter is far too important to be decided unilaterally in mere minutes.

Remember, we have other agencies to interview, and besides, the entire marketing team should convene and discuss—"

"Alex," her father said abruptly, his mouth set in a frown, his double chin shaking, "I've made up my mind, and it's the

Stillman agency I want!"

Although the words were music to his ears, Jack was aware of awkwardness vibrating between the walls, and for a moment,

he felt a pang of sympathy for Alexandria. The man did seem to be a bit overbearing, and Jack was curious to see how she

would respond.

"Father, a word with you outside?" To her credit, her tone was sweet, but he detected a slight tremor. She marched toward

the door and exited, head high, leaving the door ajar. Jack and everyone else shifted their glance toward Al Tremont, who

sighed heavily, then pushed himself to his feet and followed her, muttering under his breath.

* * *

marry Gloria the Gold Digger scarcely a year after her precious mother's death. How dare he undermine the authority he'd

given her mere weeks ago! And in front of colleagues and other vice presidents, no less—not to mention that abominable Jack

Stillman.
Clothes do make the man
. How lame. Thoughts of what she would do if her father didn't follow her were cut short by

his appearance.

"Alex, what is the meaning of this?"

She crossed her arms. "I was going to ask you the same thing. The last time I looked, choosing an advertising agency fell

under my area of responsibility." Gesturing toward the conference room, she said, "I can't believe you would just hand over

our account to that inept man!"

"Imagine," her father murmured, a nostalgic smile on his broad face. "Jack the Attack working for me."

Incredulous, Alex's mouth worked up and down in alarm. He was dismissing her opinion on this critical matter? "Dad, surely

you're not willing to jeopardize our advertising campaign, possibly our entire holiday sales season, simply to hire that has-

been jock?"

He clasped her hand between his two. "Alex, dear, the man is talented, and he has a catchy idea that the rest of the staff

likes."

"They're just humoring you."

"Then I wish you would, too," he said, adopting a heart-melting smile.

"Dad—"

"Alex, do this one thing for me. Work with Jack Stillman to get this campaign off the ground and let's see where it goes."

"But the timing … it's so risky—"

"And sometimes it takes a rebel to shake things up," he said, then looked contrite. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry I raised my voice in

there, but I think you had your mind made up before the man even walked in."

"Dad, if you could have seen him yesterday—"

"And now we know why he looked the way he did, to make a point."

Alex scoffed. "That's impossible—he had no idea I was dropping by. On top of everything else, the man's a pathological

liar."

"I like the boy, and my gut tells me this is the right thing to do, but it won't work unless you get on board."

"Oh, you need me now?" She hated the hurt she couldn't seem to keep out of her voice.

His smile was indulgent. "Of course, sweetheart. I won't offer Stillman the contract unless you agree to monitor the

campaign."

A warm, fuzzy feeling lodged beneath her heart, and she smiled in spite of their disagreement. How she loved this man—her

mentor, her hero. She couldn't dispute the fact that his business judgment was
usually
sound, although she had an ominous

feeling about this particular decision.

"In fact—" he winked "—taking on this kind of project will prove what a team player you are, my dear."

The vice presidency—was he dangling his endorsement in front of her? Alex sank her teeth into her lower lip.

"What do you say?" he asked, squeezing her hand. "Help me keep my promise to Jack's father. I have a feeling their business

could use a life preserver."

"More like a crash cart," she observed dryly.

"So you'll do it? For me?"

The last vestiges of her anger dissolved and she nodded, amenable to a compromise. "But only for two weeks. If the focus

group doesn't like what Jack Stillman comes up with, then we cut ties with him and interview the St. Louis firm."

Her father beamed. "That's my girl." With his hand on her waist, he steered her back in the direction of the boardroom. Alex

felt buoyed, willing to accept full credit for his good cheer.

Resigned to the unpalatable task before her, Alex inhaled deeply and followed him back into the room, aware of the anxious

glances from the table. Al walked up to stand beside Jack, pulling Alex close to him on the other side. Behind her father's

shoulders, she caught Jack Stillman's mocking gaze and wondered how she'd keep from socking him over the next fourteen

days.

"I'm happy to report," her father said, his eyes shining, "that Alex and I have reached a compromise to give Mr. Stillman the

opportunity to impress us, and I'm sure that, just like on the football field, Jack won't let us down."

Jack inclined his head to acknowledge the smattering of polite applause. "I'll do my best, sir."

Two weeks, Alex told herself, forcing a smile to her lips. She could walk on hot coals for two weeks if she had to. And it

wasn't like they'd have to be together every minute—after all, Jack wouldn't be involved in
every
aspect of the project. He

would simply hand off his ideas to the photographer and the producer of the commercials, for instance. She could take it from

there. Yes … things weren't so bad.

"In fact," her father continued, his face animated. "I just had an inspiration! Who needs to look for a male model when we

have Jack the Attack?"

Alex's stomach 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 justice.

"She didn't take it well at all," he repeated, half to himself.

Tuesday waved her hand. "She'll get used to having you around. Might be good for the both of you."

Jack frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Grown folk have to learn to get along with people they don't like."

"I never said I didn't like her."

"I was talking about
her
not liking
you
."

He bristled. "Why wouldn't she like me?"

Tuesday harrumphed. "You think because you put on that fancy suit and got a haircut that the woman can't see through you?"

"You were the one who put me in this getup—under duress, I might add."

She wagged her finger in his direction. "You might have impressed the men, and maybe even the fickle women, but my guess

is that after the way you treated Ms. Tremont when she came here, she'll be on her guard. Smart lady, judging by the way you

conduct business."

"I got the account, didn't I?"

Tuesday snorted. "Sounds like they want your face more than your advertising talent."

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence."

"That's part of my job," she said with a shrug.

"Speaking of
your
job, there isn't one. We can't afford you."

"You can't afford
not
to have me," she replied, lifting both hands.