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Worse, though, he couldn’t imagine a single, solitary viewer envying Calliope Jane Gunderson Smith.
Nor could he envision anyone wanting desperately for her to find true love in the arms of the soap’s hottest hunk—that Terence Walker. Walker looked a little muscle-bound to him, but the ratings among women eighteen to forty-nine suggested he was alone in his opinion.
At any rate, based on the raw material in front of him, it seemed unlikely that this woebegone waif, barely five feet two and unlikely to be more than a hundred pounds soaking wet, could be transformed into a femme fatale. What on earth had he seen when he’d viewed that video? For the first time in a very long time, Jason was forced to question his instincts. He was thoroughly unaccustomed to self-doubt. He didn’t like it.
Then he took a look into those cornflower-blue eyes. Even red-rimmed and puffy, they still sparkled, most likely with irritation. He lowered his glance to pursed lips so generous it was all he could do to tear his gaze away. Hope—and that something indefinable deep inside him—rebounded. He hadn’t been mistaken, after all. Fixing her up would definitely be a challenge of monumental proportions, the very kind he loved.
It was a good thing, too. He really hated being wrong. He’d always figured the day that golden gut of his failed him would be the day he needed to get out of the television industry and into something safe, maybe reopen his father’s plumbing business back in Virginia in memory of the man he’d loved and watched being destroyed by his mother. Given how he felt about the tedium of fixing leaks and installing copper pipes, he prayed daily that his instincts would last forever.
Before he could begin his persuasive sales pitch, Callie Smith crossed her arms over her meager chest and announced, “You’re wasting your time. I’m not an actress.”
“You were on Within Our Reach, though. Was that some sort of lark?” he asked, an unmistakable note of derision in his voice.
“Not exactly. Terry, that’s Terence Walker,” she added helpfully, as if he might be unfamiliar with his own show’s star. “He lives downstairs.”
Jason felt an odd surge of envy for the fortunate Terry. He couldn’t help wondering just how close the two of them were. Women all over the country were clamoring for more of the sexy actor. Were they after something on which Callie Smith already had a claim?
“Anyway,” she continued, “Terry thought it would give me something to focus on besides my unfortunate lack of employment and my divorce.”
Jason seized on the revelations. They didn’t answer his questions about her relationship with Terry Walker, but a woman with no income and no husband was a prime candidate for a contract with a couple of extra zeros tacked on to the offer. He promptly felt as if he were back on familiar turf. Negotiating a deal was right up there with good sex when it came to setting his adrenaline flowing.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he announced, noting the sudden dull flush that climbed into her cheeks.
She hugged her arms a little more tightly around her middle. “I’m not surprised. As I’m sure you can see, I’m really not star material.”
There was a note of defeat in her voice that made him feel like a heel for giving her a moment’s doubt about the future he envisioned for her. She might claim not to want the career he was offering, but she unmistakably needed the hope he was holding out.
“Not about hiring you,” he reassured her. “It’s just that negotiations this delicate, this promising, should take place over lunch.”
She drew herself up stiffly, pride radiating from every tiny pore. “I’m not starving, Mr. Kane. I can afford to buy food.”
“You may not be starving, Miss Smith, but I am. Talking money always makes me work up a big appetite.” He gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”
Her gaze went from his expensive, charcoal-gray suit to the white monogrammed cuffs just peeking out from the sleeves. She lingered on his Italian silk tie, then dropped her glance to the tips of his pricey leather loafers. The survey was so slow, so thorough, that Jason felt his blood heat, despite the fact that he knew its intent was more fashion assessment than seduction.
When she was done with her survey, she met his gaze. Her lips curved ever so slightly. “I really don’t think I’m dressed for lunch, do you?”
He grinned at the massive understatement and decided at once it was meant as a challenge. “You’ll do,” he said briskly.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. People will think you took pity on some stray, homeless woman.”
“It will be good for my image,” he assured her. “Too many people think I’m coldhearted.”
She considered that, then nodded. “I suppose we could go to the place on the corner. The pizza’s not bad, though you don’t look much like a pizza kind of person.”
“Actually, I was thinking the Plaza,” he countered on sheer impulse. “The Oak Room, perhaps.”
“They’d throw me out on my ear,” she said with certainty.
“Not if you’re with me. Care to test it?”
For the first time since he’d walked into her apartment, he saw a little flare of defiance spark to life in her eyes. It transformed her. It also made him want to strangle the people responsible for dousing it in the first place. The husband who’d left and the boss who’d let her go were clearly fools.
“I’m game, if you are,” she said. Her chin rose a notch at the dare. “Let me slip on some shoes and grab my jacket.”
He wondered if she would also use the time to comb her hair and daub on some makeup. He was rather hoping she wouldn’t, if only because it would mean she was enjoying holding his feet to the fire.
Sure enough, she returned in minutes wearing worn-out, red high-top sneakers and a too-large baseball jacket, but no makeup. He couldn’t tell about her hair because she’d also added a baseball cap. He noticed the jacket and cap were for two highly competitive National League teams.
“Is that why your marriage ended?” he inquired, gesturing toward the team insignias.
An honest-to-God grin spread across her face. “It should have been a hint, shouldn’t it? Actually, the marriage ended over something far more serious....”
She allowed the thought to linger long enough for him to conjure up all sorts of dire scenarios of incompatibility before she added, “My use of his razor.”
Oddly relieved by the flip explanation, Jason nodded. “Definitely a breach of marital etiquette, all right.”
“He’s lucky I didn’t use it on his throat when I found out about the other woman,” she murmured, slamming her door emphatically and twisting the various keys in the locks with visible anger.
“Touché,” Jason said, thinking the man truly had been an idiot to walk away from a woman with such fire.
Downstairs, he ushered her across the street to his limo. His longtime driver swept open the door for her without so much as a blink. Jason resolved to give him a very large bonus at the end of the month.
“The Plaza, Henry.”
That drew the tiniest hint of surprise, but nothing more. “Of course, sir.”
As they rode toward the famed hotel on Central Park South, Jason studied the woman seated next to him. Despite her initial resistance to the idea of going out to lunch with him, she was now seated as regally as any queen. She didn’t gaze around curiously, indicating this wasn’t her first trip in such a luxurious car. She exited the limo in front of the Plaza with the same sort of aplomb, bestowing one of those rare, intoxicating smiles on the visibly bemused doorman. The man practically tripped over his own feet trying to open the door for her. He pretty much ignored Jason.
Jason was suddenly struck by the possibility that this was Callie’s natural habitat, far more than any pizza joint on the corner in her neighborhood. He knew it when the maître d’ in the Oak Room nodded politely at him, but beamed at Miss Calliope Jane Smith.
“Ms. Smith, it’s been too long,” he said, clasping her hand in his. “We’ve missed you.”
She beamed at him. “Thank you, Charles. It’s good to see you, too.”
“I felt terrible when I heard what happened, just terrible.”
Jason had no idea if the man was referring to the loss of her job or her divorce. Maybe the remark had been all-encompassing, which meant that Charles knew things about Callie Smith that Jason intended to find out before this lunch was over.
“Thank you,” she said as Charles led them immediately to the best table in the room. “I appreciate your concern.”
“You’re getting along okay?” Charles inquired, sincere worry written all over his face. “If you need anything, anything at all, I’d be happy to help.”
“I’m getting along,” she reassured him.
When they’d been left alone, Jason regarded her with amusement. “You knew perfectly well you’d never be thrown out of here on your tush, didn’t you?”
“It was always a possibility,” she corrected, an impish grin in her eyes. “Charles can be temperamental.”
Jason had seen the genuine warmth in the older man’s gaze. Whatever temperamental outbursts he might be prone to, Jason doubted one would ever be directed toward the woman seated opposite him.
After they’d ordered—the sensible fish for him, an enviably thick, juicy burger for her—he leaned back and studied her.
The dark circles under her eyes and the weary slump to her shoulders hadn’t vanished, but there was a bit more life in her expression.
“So, tell me how you and Charles came to be such pals,” he suggested. “He usually radiates polite indifference to the customers.”
“He mentioned to me once that he had a little nest egg put aside that wasn’t growing fast enough to suit him. I offered a few suggestions. He tripled it. He’s grateful,” she said succinctly.
“You have a nose for investments?”
“I’m a broker,” she said, then amended, “Or at least I was until a few months ago. Our firm downsized. I was one of the last ones hired, so I was one of the first fired. It didn’t seem to matter that I was making a fortune for the company and for my clients.”
Jason had to struggle to hide his astonishment. He tried to reconcile this bedraggled, ill-clad waif with the kind of barracudas who thrived on Wall Street in their expensive, stylish power suits. He couldn’t.
Still, this latest discovery told him he’d seriously miscalculated the kind of negotiations that would lure her into the TGN fold. Cold hard cash and a simple appeal to her vanity were exactly the wrong things to offer. He had to make her see the long-term future she could have, the example she could become with her combination of brains and beauty, the good she could do for charity, perhaps.
First, though, he had to see if she had exhausted all of the possibilities for another job on Wall Street. He didn’t want her dallying with acting only until something in her field came along. This part on Within Our Reach was intended to be more than a quick fix. He needed a long-term commitment from her, a year at the very least. If things panned out as he expected, the soap could go on forever with Callie as its leading lady.
“Surely there are other jobs for someone with your qualifications,” he suggested.
“Of course,” she agreed. “If I’d been willing to move to some other city and start over. Even my own firm offered me that. So did half the other brokerages I contacted within hours after being canned. The rest were firing staff of their own.”
“You didn’t want to move because New York is where it’s happening in the financial world,” he concluded.
She lifted her gaze to his. “It was more than that. Going anyplace else would have been admitting defeat.”
The response told him quite a bit about her determination and her priorities. He could understand that sort of drive, that sort of stubborn will. He’d needed it in spades for his own career climb.
“And, therefore,” he surmised, “anything less than another position in the thick of the action was not to be tolerated.”
“Exactly.”
He leaned toward her. “Shall I tell you what I see for you in the future?”
She regarded him with a wry expression. “Is looking into crystal balls one of your hobbies?”
“No, making things happen is one of my skills,” he declared flatly.
She shivered a little. Jason grinned. He enjoyed the effect such unbridled confidence had on people. “Gives you goose bumps just hearing such self-assurance, doesn’t it?”
She leaned forward then. “Oh, I definitely think you’re full of it, Mr. Kane.”
“Jason,” he corrected, deliberately ignoring the jibe, “since you and I are going to be very close.”
“I doubt that, Mr. Kane.”
He sat back and took a long, slow swallow of coffee, assessing his next step. “Are you a gambling woman, Callie?”
“I never gamble,” she insisted.
“And yet you played the stock market with millions of dollars of other people’s money.”
“I took informed risks.”
He grinned at the distinction. “Whatever. You spent your entire career researching companies, then placing bets on which ones would beat the odds, correct?”
“Something like that.”
“Do you know anything about TGN?”
“The basics, of course.”
“Know anything about the turnaround it’s made in the past three years?”
For an instant she looked uneasy. “That you’re credited with making it happen,” she conceded. “The story made headlines as well as reassuring nervous stockholders. The price of shares has climbed as a result.”
“What did that tell you about me?”
“That you’re smart and relentless,” she said at once.
“Exactly. Are you willing to gamble against a man like me getting my way?” he inquired lightly.
She sat up a little straighter at that, squaring her shoulders, lifting her chin. “You’re forgetting who you’re dealing with, Mr. Kane. I’m not an out-of-work actress. I’m no airhead. I’m not a pushover. And I’m not desperate.”
He lifted her hand, as soft and light as a bird, and touched his lips to the delicate knuckles. A surprising shudder swept through both of them at the contact. “A challenge only makes things more interesting, wouldn’t you say?”
She swallowed hard and practically yanked her hand from his. “You’ve guessed wrong this time, Mr. Kane. I am not an actress,” she repeated stubbornly. “I don’t want to be a star.”
“So you’ve mentioned,” he said without the slightest hint that he found the adamant rejection nearly as insulting as she’d clearly meant it to be. He’d trained himself to respond to subtleties, and her physical reaction to him told him far more than her deliberately dismissive attitude. She was susceptible to him and she didn’t like it. He, to the contrary, found her responsiveness illuminating.
He directed a look straight into those baby-blue eyes of hers and dropped his voice to a seductive pitch. “I think changing your mind is going to be downright fascinating for both of us.”
4 (#uc47a5e72-ba83-553d-82f3-722658220266)
Callie was still regarding the huge, newly arrived arrangement of flowers from Jason Kane with dismay when the phone rang. She could barely find it—for all the flowers had been crammed on every available surface over the week since she’d had lunch with the arrogant, pushy network president. She couldn’t imagine what good he thought this display of excess would accomplish. Maybe he hoped she had allergies that would eventually drive her out of her apartment and into his stupid show.
“Yes, hello,” she said, then sneezed. Maybe she was allergic, dammit.
“Callie?”
Eunice, she thought with a sigh at the sound of her sister’s whining voice. “Yes.”
“You sound funny, like your nose is all stopped up or something. You haven’t been crying again, have you?”
Ironically, Callie realized she hadn’t shed a tear since her lunch with Jason Kane. It might be smart not to analyze that phenomenon too closely.
“No,” she said, “but you sound as if you have been.”
