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“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.”
