The Billionaire Who Bought Christmas(2)

       
           



       

When he'd asked her to meet with his buying team in L.A., she'd begun    pinching herself every hour on the hour, waiting for the illusion to    vaporize. Any second now, she expected to wake up in her SoHo loft with    Dee Dee curled up at her feet. She was sure she'd be tangled up in    sweaty sheets, because this was better than any sex dream.

"Your coat, ma'am?" asked the steward.

Kristy switched Dee Dee from one arm to the other as she removed her hat    and coat and her other glove. The man named Jack took in her straight    black skirt and the snug red sweater, laced up at the front. Then he    glanced disapprovingly at Dee Dee. Kristy felt her spine stiffen.    Cleveland had claimed to be a dog fanatic, and Dee Dee hated to be left    alone. Besides, she helped keep Kristy calm.


A year ago, Kristy had found the Pomeranian in a dank alley a few blocks    from her loft. Cute little Dee Dee had popped out from behind a    Dumpster, looking sweet, pathetic and small. Kristy hadn't had the heart    to leave her out in a gathering November storm. Nor did she have the    heart to let her stay at the animal shelter when no one claimed her.

Now she subconsciously squeezed Dee Dee as the steward hung her coat in    the compact closet and Hunter gestured to one of the thick white   leather  seats.

"Please," he said.

"Thank you." Kristy sat down and crossed her legs, settling Dee Dee on    her lap. The little dog's warm body helped chase away the butterflies  in   her abdomen.

"May I offer you a cocktail?" asked the steward as Jack took the seat    opposite Kristy and Hunter sat down across the narrow aisle from Jack.

"Some fruit juice would be nice," said Kristy. It was nearly five o'clock, but she wanted to stay sharp.

With the time-zone change gaining them three hours, they were scheduled to land in California at seven.

"I was about to open a bottle of ninety-three Cristal," Jack    interjected. "We're celebrating the opening of a new Sierra Sanchez    store in France."

Kristy hesitated. She didn't want to be rude …

"I could make you a Mimosa," offered the steward. "With fresh-squeezed orange juice?"

Kristy breathed a sigh of relief at the compromise. "That would be perfect. Thank you."

"Perfect," Jack echoed, obviously pleased as he leaned back in his seat.

He was wearing a Reese Gerhart suit, a Stolde shirt and a gray, diamond-patterned, Macklin Vanier tie.

His studied, casual pose, along with the shock of dark hair that curled    rakishly across his forehead, reminded her that she'd seen him   mentioned  in bothBusiness Week andGQ in the past six months. Jack    Osland-entrepreneur extraordinaire, heir apparent to Osland    International, a man to see and to be seen with.

Beneath Dee Dee's sleeping body, Kristy surreptitiously pinched herself    once more. Last year he'd made the list of the top twenty hottest male    executives in America. Though, from her current vantage point, it  could   easily have been a list of one.

The jet engines whined, and the aircraft jerked to rolling, turning sharply to make its way to the runway.

While they waited their turn in the lineup, the steward served the    drinks-champagne for Jack and Hunter, and the mimosa for Kristy.

Jack immediately raised his glass. "To successful ventures."

Hunter coughed.

Kristy followed Jack's lead, toasting then taking a sip of the tart, effervescent concoction.



"So, tell us about your business, Kristy," said Jack, about three hours into the flight.

She placed her second mimosa on the burnished cherrywood table between    them. Then she took a deep breath, organizing her well-rehearsed pitch.    "We're a fashion design company-"

"We?" asked Jack, cocking his head.

"Me," Kristy admitted, slightly rattled by the swift interruption. "It's a sole proprietorship."

Jack nodded.

When he remained silent, she picked up the thread of her pitch. "A    fashion design company specializing in high-end ladies wear,    specifically evening gown-"

"And what was your bottom line last quarter?"

Kristy hesitated. She'd hoped to gloss over her order volume and income,    along with the modest size of her company. Although she'd been   fighting  for years to break into the New York fashion establishment,   she'd yet  to secure a retail contract, and her private sales were a   whole lot less  than stellar.                       
       
           



       

"I'm looking forward to the opportunities Cleveland can offer," she said, instead of answering directly.

"I'll bet you are," said Jack.

"Excuse my cousin," said Hunter. "He doesn't know when to stop talking business."

"I'm just asking-"

"Do you like basketball, Kristy?" asked Hunter.

Kristy turned to him and blinked. "Basketball?"

He nodded, taking a sip of his champagne.

"I … uh … don't know much about it."

"Cleveland loves basketball," Jack put in.

Kristy turned her attention back to Jack. "I'm afraid I don't watch sports."

"Hmm," Jack nodded sagely, his brow furrowing.

"Is that a problem?" She glanced at Hunter and then Jack, trying to read    their expressions. Was it like corporate golf? Was Osland family    business conducted at a basketball court?

"Would you recommend … " she paused. "I mean, should I learn something about basketball?"

"I would," said Jack.

"Jack," said Hunter.

"Well, Iwould. "

Kristy took a big swallow of her mimosa. Okay. Basketball. She sure    wished she'd known about this earlier. She could have taken in a game,    watched some ESPN or read a sports magazine.

Then she had an idea. "I don't suppose you two would share … "

Jack grinned. "Sure. He's a Lakers fan. And I wouldn't mention the Clippers if I was you."

Hunter jumped in. "I have tickets to the Lakers Sonics game on Friday, if you'd like-"

"Bud Reynolds is his favorite player," said Jack, shooting Hunter a    glare. Then his more normal expression quickly returned as his attention    shifted to Kristy. "The Budster is up for player of the year.

He's ten for thirteen on threes from the straight away."

"And seventeen for thirty-five from downtown," said Hunter. "You should really join me at-"

"Kristy doesn't like basketball," said Jack.

She fought a moment of panic. "I never said I didn't-"

"She might change her mind," Hunter put in.

"I could learn," Kristy offered. If basketball truly was the golf game    of the Osland corporate world, she was more than willing to give it a    try.

Jack's mouth thinned as he spoke to Hunter. "Dating Kristy is not the answer."

Dating? She glanced from one man to the other.Dating? What had she missed?

"It's nothing but a basketball game," said Hunter.

"Drop it," said Jack.

Then a voice interrupted from the plane's intercom. "Mr. Osland?"

Jack pressed a button on his armrest. "Yes, Simon."

"Just to let you know, we're reading an indicator light up here."

A muscle in Jack's temple twitched, and everything inside Kristy went still.

"I'll be right up," he said.

"No need," Simon responded with a static crackle through the small    speaker. "I'd like to have air traffic control divert us to Las Vegas to    check it out."

Jack shot Hunter a glance.

Kristy tried to interpret his expression. Were they out of gas? Out of oil? Losing an engine?

He pushed the intercom button. "Your call, Simon."

"Roger that, sir." The intercom went silent, and Kristy's throat turned paper-dry.

Neither of the men spoke.

"An indicator light?" she rasped.

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," said Jack.

Kristy waited, expecting him to say more.

"That'sit? " They were at thirty thousand feet, and something was wrong    with the plane. She picked up her mimosa and took a healthy swallow.

"The jet is in perfect running order," said Hunter.

Her voice rose. "Except for theindicator light. "

Her thoughts flashed to her sister. Sinclair had begged her to postpone the trip until after the holidays.

But Kristy hadn't wanted to risk losing Cleveland's interest. So she'd insisted on rushing to California.

If only she'd listened. If only dreams of fame and fortune hadn't clouded her brain.