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  Kate frowned. "That doesn't sound like a particularly pleasant atmosphere to work in. I don't think I would do v er y well knowing that my job was in constant jeopardy."

  She paused, aware that he seemed to be only half-listening. His hazel gaze was taking in her eyes, her hair, her mouth, and while he was making her feel self-conscious, it was in a very pleasurable way. Clearly, he liked what he saw. "So," she said, smiling. "I'm sure you didn't stay on after the meeting to hear my feelings about office politics. What was it you wanted to talk about?"

  He smiled. "Well. When you ask me flat out, I have no choice other than to answer flat out." His eyes sparkled. "I had planned to charm and lull you into such a state that you'd hardly give the question a thought."

  "And what was the question?" she asked, smiling.

  "Are you free for lunch?" he said softly. "Or dinner."

  A wave of apprehension mixed with excitement swept through her. He's making this too easy, she thought. Which means I'll be all the more trapped. She was saved, though, from replying, by the buzzing of the intercom on her desk. She gave Ben a noncommittal glance and went over to the phone. "Yes, Linda."

  "Kurt Reeves, Kate."

  "Please tell him I'm in a meeting and I'll call him back."

  "I did," Linda said. "But he insisted."

  Kate sighed. "All right. I'll take it. Thanks." She pushed the flashing red button down and spoke. "Yes, Kurt."

  "Hey," he said softly. "I just wanted to know about tonight—whether we were on or not."

  She hesitated, acutely conscious that Ben Austin was in the room and probably listening. "I don't know," she said.

  "Kate, it's been a long time."

  That was too much. "At whose insistence, Kurt? I thought you were the one who said things were getting too complicated."

  "Yeah, well, maybe I was wrong."

  She sighed and glanced over at Ben Austin. He was looking at his presentation, apparently not listening. But she still didn't feel comfortable. "Look, Kurt. I'm really not in a position to talk right now," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "And I don't even know what I want t o say to you at this point anyway. I need some time to think."

  "But Kate—"

  "I'll talk t o you later," she said, and hung up before he could say anything else.

  As she started for the table, Austin closed the folder he had been looking through. "Sorry," he said, turning to look at her. "I should have offered to leave the room."

  She shook her head. "No, that's all right," she said. "If I ha d wanted you to leave, I could have asked."

  He looked at her carefully. "Something tells me we're not going to be sharing lunch or dinner."

  She smiled. She was actually very tempted to take Aus tin up on his invitation — if out of spite rather than any thing else . But she resisted. Her natural impulses tended to lead her — inevitably — in the wrong direction. And wh ate ve r reckless attraction and temptation she felt, she would be wise to suppress. "Not today," she said, compro mising with herself.

  I know the conversation wasn't for me to overhear," h. . ml softly, "but you do deserve better, you know."

  She sa id nothing. Protest would have been natural —

  saying t hat h e didn't know anything about Kurt or about her, that it was none of his business anyway. But some- how, when she looked into his dark-lashed amber eyes, she knew that he truly did think she deserved better. She half-smiled. "You may be right. But I try to make it a rule not to discuss one man with another. It doesn't seem fair."

  He tilted his head. "As if men were members of another species, Kate? I don't see anything unfair about it." He smiled. "Anyway, I'm sure you don't give away any more than you want to."

  "Perhaps," she said, thinking nothing could be farther from the truth. "But really — why don't we just drop it for the moment."

  He pursed his lips and gazed at her thoughtfully. "Well. I can see when I've been beaten. But, Kate, I did want to get together with you before you made your decision."

  She raised a brow. "Before?" She smiled. "So you can sway me in your favor?"

  "Would that be possible?" he asked softly.

  A slow smile began as she looked into his eyes. "I think so.

  "Let's," he murmured.

  For a moment, as his amber gaze held her eyes in a simmering pull of warmth, as she was aware of his nearness, his scent, his obvious desire, she thought he might lean over and kiss her. She almost hoped he would, yet feared it. For she knew she would melt under one touch of his warm hands, one breath against her cheek, one touch of his lips against hers.

  She wanted to look away. The pull was too intense; there were too many unknowns.

  But he was making her feel wonderful—desirable, beautiful, wanted. And she wanted to flirt, to watch him respond, to know that he wanted her.

  And so, instead of looking away, or backing off, or pretending she didn't notice the heated wanting in his gaze, she kept her eyes on his. She slowly inhaled, her heart racing as the warmth in their gaze burst into flame. And then she reached out and gently stroked his hand.

  The moment she touched him, he drew in his breath sharply, and she knew that for him, as for her, the touch was like fire. "Sometime," she said softly. "Whenever this is all over."

  His eyes were heavy with desire, and his hand moved and covered hers, sending waves of warm need through

  her.

  "Why not sooner?" he murmured. "Why not tonight?"

  She smiled— a lazy, seductive smile that took all the ed ge off the words she next said. "You know very well. We've already agreed. There's the not very small matter of undue influence."

  Looking into her eyes, he stroked the palm of her hand with a coaxing touch that made her breathless, made her thin k of all the ways he could make her tremble with pleasure . "I wish you didn't feel that way," he said quietly.

  "But I think I understand. I don't promise to play by your rules , Kate, but I promise I'll try."

  A few minutes later, after Ben had left, Kate wondered whether she hadn't already been unduly influenced. For she couldn't forget the enticing beckoning of his hazel eyes , couldn't wait to feel his gentle touch and hear his care ssing voice once again.

  Later on, as her memory of Ben Austin had been colored by events of the day, she wondered: had he been all that sh e had thought— charming, sincere, attractive — or had she only made him seem that way? For as she looked forward to the bleak prospect of making a decision about Kurt, she knew that subconsciously, at least, Kurt's bad qualities were making Ben Austin look very good indeed.

  And if she knew herself—which, at the age of thirty, she felt she did—she was interested in someone who was certain to turn out to be yet another Mr. Wrong.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I he next day Kate saw the last of the presentations for the new ad campaign. While this agency had all the en thusiasm she could ask for, there was no question about the presentation; in terms of goals, strategies, and actual content, Blake-Canfield's had been far and away the most promising. Now all she had to do was convince Dick Dayton and Andrew Smithfield, the two Ivorsen and Shaw board members who had traditionally—for a total of at least fifty years, from what Kate could tell—ruled on advertising matters.

  L ater in the afternoon, as she assembled the presenta tions of the three agencies on the conference table, she wondered: was the difference between Blake-Canfield's and the other two as obvious as she felt it was? She had a lways been thoroughly professional in her work, trying not to allow her personal feelings to affect her judgment. With Kurt, for instance, she had always been completely strai ghtforward about his work, even at the height of her i nvolvement with him: if she thought something looked gre at, she told him, and if she thought something looked like hell, she told him that, too. But now, with Ben Aus- tin s work, she wasn't altogether certan she was acting completely impartially.

  For there was something eating away at her, grabbing at her heart even as she looked at the present
ations. She wanted to see him again. She couldn't get around that thought, or pretend it didn't exist, or separate it from her feelings about his work. For even as she looked at something as prosaic as his sales projections, she imagined him coming around behind her, putting his arms around her waist, gently kissing the back of her neck. She imagined how he would feel standing behind her—his hard thighs against the softness of her shape, his strong arms clasping her gently yet firmly, the touch of his lips that would send shimmering waves of desire through her.

  I'm losing my mind, she thought, and turned away from the presentations.

  And a few moments later she was repeating those words to her closest and most level-headed friend, Alison Hammond.

  "Listen, Ally, how about dinner tonight, my treat?"

  "Sure. I'd love to. But why your treat? Oh, that's right, I forgot about that ill-deserved raise you got!"

  Kate laughed. "Come on. I'm sure you'll be next. Your department hasn't even come up for review."

  "Mm. Well. We shall see. So what's the problem? Kurt?"

  "Oh, partly. I'll tell you later."

  They made arrangements to meet at the Fifty-second Street entrance to the store at five thirty and hung up, and Kate went back to work feeling better able to concentrate. She would simply put Ben and Kurt out of her mind until dinner.

  Later on, at the dark and noisy Mexican restaurant Alison and Kate always went to when they wanted to talk about office politics, men, and other matters best not over heard, Kate told Alison all about Ben.

  "The worst thing about it," Kate said, scooping up a big mound of guacamole on a taco chip, "is that I have the feeling I'm doing it all over again. I just can't get him out of my mind." She sighed. "But that's exactly the way I felt with Kurt. And look at that relationship."

  Alison frowned, her usually pretty face shadowed with tension. "Hey, listen. I heard something today I think you should know."

  Kate looked up. "What is it?"

  "It's about Kurt. It is definite, Kate. He was seeing C ynthia Williston. I don't know if it's still going on, but —"

  Kate waved a hand. "Look. I feel horrible about it. But I realized it earlier today, when I was talking to him. It jus t all fell into place—the evasiveness, the fact that he didn 't want to see me that much, but then at other times he was 'suddenly free.' Hell, he didn't even try to hide it. Since we work together, he could hardly say he had business meetings to go to." She sighed. "What I mind most is that i t doesn't bother me — because I don't even like him a nymore, Ally. And that's what gets me. He isn't at all what I had thought he was. So I've done it again."

  AIison shook her head. "Hey, listen. It isn't just you, Kate we could all predict how our relationships would come out, we wouldn't give the time of day to half the men g o out with," She took a sip of wine. "Look at me.

  Divorced twice. Twice, and I'm thirty-two! At least you don't have that to think about."

  "In a way I'd rather that were true of me. I haven't even gotten that close to commitment, because the men I choose always end up being so wrong for me. Nothing like marriage ever comes up."

  Alison shrugged. "That may be, but you've got to look ahead and quit letting the past drag you down. It sounds corny, but it's true. And anyway, I don't see what's so wrong with this Ben Austin. From what you've told me, he sounds magnificent—smart, sincere, good-looking, secure, great job, obviously likes you, what else do you need? Hell, I'll take him if you're not interested."

  Kate widened her eyes, and Alison laughed. "See, you really do want him. Maybe you're a little apprehensive because you think he might be right, Kate—not because you think he's another Mr. Wrong."

  Kate smiled. "Come on. That just couldn't be true."

  "We'll see about that. And listen—I know we both pig out when we're preoccupied, but if you eat one more of those tacos I'm going to break your legs. Get your mind off this Ben Austin, off these tacos, and on to something else, okay?"

  Kate laughed, and for the rest of the evening she tried to relax and have a good time. But she couldn't shake her doubts. Ben had seemed wonderful; he had seemed sincere. But as she looked back on it now, the whole encounter seemed too smooth. It was easy for a man like Ben to overhear an obviously strained conversation between a man and a woman and say, "I understand." It was easy for him to look at her with gentle amber eyes and tell her without words that he understood. But it could all have

  been an act, one to which she was especially vulnerable at the moment. And he had been noticeably close-mouthed about his own life. What did she even know about him?

  And so, though she didn't voice her feelings to her friend— she just couldn't face another pep talk at the mo ment— she decided that, if nothing else, she would be damned careful around Ben Austin. There would have to be a lot more than desire in those golden eyes of his for h er to be interested in him.

  The next morning Kate's only thoughts of Ben Austin concerned the campaign he had developed. In all of her musings of the evening before, she had completely lost sight of the fact that she had a difficult task ahead of her: c onvincing Dick Dayton and Andrew Smithfield that her ch oice of Blake-Canfield was the best one. For while there wa s now no doubt in her mind that she was correct, she was realistic enough to know that Dayton and Smithfield wouldn't necessarily agree with her. They were both as c onservative as could be, refusing to face the fact that Ivorsen and Shaw would have to develop a new image if it were going to recapture even a fraction of its former marke t. And Blake-Canfield's campaign — with its emphasis on youth and fashion — was anything but conservative.

  But she was confident nevertheless. She hadn't gotten to be director of advertising and promotion by being weak, and she had faced more difficult challenges in the past.

  An hour after lunch, however, as she sat once more at the head of the table, with Dick Dayton to her left and Andrew Smithfield to her right, she felt her confidence rush a way with the swiftness of an ocean tide as Mr. Smithfield said, not to her but to his colleague across the

  table, "Well, Dick, it seems obvious to me that the Blake- Canfield plan is the least workable of the three."

  Kate couldn't believe it. She had just finished her opening statement; she had just given five reasons why the Blake-Canfield campaign was her choice; she couldn't possibly have made her position any clearer. And Andrew Smithfield had spoken not only as if he hadn't heard her, but as if she weren't even there.

  Dick Dayton frowned and shook his head. "Couldn't agree with you more." He picked up the sheaf of papers that represented the Blake-Canfield campaign and held them away to read at a distance. Kate knew he was far- sighted, and needed to hold the papers that way; yet the gesture, with Dayton's perpetual slight grimace, looked like one of mild distaste, and Kate was incensed.

  "Gentlemen," she said, holding her voice in check, "perhaps it would help if you explained exactly what you find unworkable. Then I can respond to specific questions and points."

  Dick Dayton grimaced some more and then nodded at Andrew Smithfield. "Drew, it's the old problem, isn't it?"

  Smithfield shrugged as if there were no question about its being "the old problem"—whatever that was. "Of course," Smithfield said. Finally, he looked at Kate. "You see, Miss Churchill, over the years we've had advertising directors come and advertising directors go." There was a glimmer of a smile as he spoke, but then it disappeared. "And over the years, young men—and young women like yourself—have from time to time suggested campaigns along the line of Blake-Canfield's proposed campaign." He smiled and narrowed his eyes. "Almost a matter of reinventing the wheel, you might say. And in each case,

  Miss Churchill, we've had to suggest other courses of action. An Ivorsen and Shaw spokesman—whether a man or a woman or both—simply isn't practical, workable, or

  feasible."

  Kate looked at him without emotion. "You used the word ' unworkable' before, Mr. Smithfield, but aside from us ing the word, you haven't let me know why."

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sp; Smithfield glanced at Dayton as if they were both in the presence of a less-than-intelligent outsider. He sighed, steeple d his fingers, and looked back at Kate. 'Troubles. Pure and simple, Miss Churchill. This young man and woman you propose: they'll be actors, will they not? And when he gets summoned to Hollywood and she gets her pretty little self pregnant, what then?"

  "Oh. You're right," she said. "Of course. But if you're goi ng to worry about maternity leave, why not paternity? And while we're worrying, what about illness, war, floods, famine , all those things that can cut so drastically into one's production schedule?" She sighed. "Mr. Smithfield, I don't mean to be sarcastic, but really—I don't understand what you're worried about. Plays and movies and TV series and commercials are shot all the time. Some go over sc hedule and over budget, others don't. Some actors and actr esses drop out or are fired for one reason or another, others are fine. But surely—if that's your only objection, I think you might reexamine it in light of other project s in many different kinds of media. Remember— we're ta lking about the survival of Ivorsen and Shaw—not some abstract plan. And nothing that any of the previous directors ever instituted came close to turning the red ink black."

  Neither one of the men was pleased with her response.

  Perhaps, she felt, they had expected immediate acquies cence in the face of their objections; she neither knew nor cared. For the next forty minutes, though, she answer each one of their objections. And finally they gave in, when she pointed out the deficiencies of the other presen tations and the fact that they would have to start the agency search all over again if they didn't agree on Blake- Canfield. With their agreement came the very clear im plication that if the campaign didn't produce the excellent results Kate had forecast, she would go out with the campaign. But she wasn't going to worry about that now Now, she would concentrate on making the campaign work as well as she possibly could, without thought of failure. Because, despite the skepticism shown by Dayton and Smithfield, the Blake-Canfield campaign was the best anyone could have come up with.