Must Like Kids

He appeared caught off guard as well. For the briefest of moments, feminine vanity had her hoping it was for the same reason she’d been taken aback: attraction—both potent and instantaneous. She dismissed the thought. She was being ridiculous, foolish, which wasn’t like her. More likely, he was surprised by her appearance. A lot of people were when they met her. Julia looked harmless rather than high-powered, as if she should be teaching Sunday school or volunteering for the PTO—both of which she did—rather than single-handedly manipulating the media and realigning the public’s mindset. A client once told her that was her advantage. She certainly used it as one.

Sure enough, he said, “You’re Miss Stillwell?”

“Actually, I go by Ms.”

“Ms.” He nodded, and she thought she heard a hint of derision in his tone when he added, “Of course.”

He extended a hand. It was big and warm, and it nearly swallowed up the one that she offered to him in return.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Mr. McAvoy.” She gestured toward a chair. Perhaps sitting he wouldn’t appear quite as imposing.

He shook his head. “This won’t do.”

Uh-oh. “Excuse me?”

She girded for an argument, but it turned out the effort was unwarranted.

“The courtesy titles. Can we drop them? They make me feel like I’m back in boarding school.”

Boarding school. Which meant he’d grown up in privilege and was used to having far more than his basic needs met. She narrowed in on another clue to his personality. “Let me guess. You had a problem with authority in those days.”

“Sometimes.” She caught a glimmer of rebellion in his green eyes. “Rules are made to be broken.”

“Not my rules. And punctuality is one of them,” she told him pointedly.

“I suppose you’re expecting an apology for my being late.”

“Now that you mention it, that wouldn’t be a bad place to start.”

“Sorry.” His mouth curved into a smile.

Julia ignored the effect it had on her pulse and instead folded her arms. “Is that the best you can do? No wonder your board of directors hired me.”

That had his smile flattening into a tight line.

“I can be persuasive when I want to be.” His gaze shifted south briefly, leaving her to feel exposed even though she knew her neckline to be modest. Then he offered a smile that would have been right at home in the bedroom during foreplay.

Julia wanted to be insulted or outraged or, at the very least, irritated. What she felt was aroused...awakened. That feeling did make her irritated—with both of them.

“Let’s get another one of my rules clear. I have nothing against flattery. In fact, I find that it comes in handy in my line of work. But I am immune to it. You’re not here as my date. You’re here as my client. Save the smoldering looks for your girlfriend.”

His brows rose again. “That was direct.”

“I don’t believe in beating around the bush or playing games. What would be the point? Games are for children.”

“Yes, and apparently I need help where they are concerned, at least in terms of my public image.” His lips returned to a grim line.

“You don’t want to be here,” she remarked.

“No, I don’t, but I wasn’t given a choice.”

She wasn’t the only one who believed in being direct, apparently.

“You made a mess, Mr....Alec.”

“A big one,” he agreed. “But I prefer to clean up after myself.”

“A man who likes to clean up after himself.” She pursed her lips in mock consideration. “As pleasing as I find that attribute in a member of the opposite sex, I’ve been hired to do a job, namely to save yours and pull your company’s stock out of the basement. So, we can be adversaries or you can help me help you.”

He was quiet a moment. Finally, after exhaling deeply, he asked, “What will all this entail?”

Julia had had less than twenty-four hours to work on a plan, but she didn’t mention that. Besides, he’d talked to the board of directors, so he knew. If he was expecting excuses, he wouldn’t get them from her.

“Have a seat.” She motioned again to one of the chairs angled in front of her desk and returned to where she’d been, with one hip on the edge, preferring the height advantage it gave her. He had to look up to her now. “In addition to rebutting the information provided in the original article—”

“That’s been done,” he interrupted.

“Not by me, it hasn’t.” Julia had read the follow-up article. She’d probably been in the minority there. His response to the original article certainly hadn’t gone viral. “As I was saying, in addition to my rebuttal and some well-placed stories in other media outlets, both traditional and digital, we need to find, or if need be, manufacture, as many opportunities as possible in the coming weeks for you to be photographed and filmed with children.”

His eyes narrowed. “What children?”

“I don’t suppose you are close to any? Nephews? Nieces?” she asked. Thanks to her older sister, Eloise, Julia had one of each. It would be great if Alec had an actual relationship with the little ones who would be used in the photo opportunities she had planned. When her question was met with stony silence, she added, “Leave that to me.”

“You used the word manufacture.”

“We can’t expect invitations to such events to fall into our laps in a timely fashion. That’s why I propose Best For Baby hold some kind of community event here in Chicago to start and perhaps locations elsewhere around the country if I feel that’s necessary. It will

coincide with your One Big Family campaign.”

“So, what? You’re going to have me kissing babies like a politician on the campaign trail?” He looked more appalled than amused.

“If need be. Do you have a problem with that?” She wanted to know right then how much of a battle she was in for.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I’ll reserve judgment.”

Julia straightened and went behind her desk, where she picked up a spreadsheet. Handing it to Alec, she said, “These are some of the events I have in mind. The two highlighted in green have been confirmed.” They’d been easy to pin down, since the organizers had been desperate for corporate sponsorship, which is what they’d been promised in return. “The ones in yellow are tentative. There will be more, but this is a start.”

He barely spared the paper a glance before saying, “I’ll check my schedule and get back to you.”

“Actually, you’ll clear your schedule, and I’ll get back to you with talking points and suggested attire.”

“You’re going to pick out my clothing?” He rose to his feet. He didn’t look happy at the prospect. A lot of clients, especially those who came to her under duress, didn’t like being told how to dress. She couldn’t blame them, but that didn’t change anything.

“You can wear whatever you want to the office or on your own time,” she told him. “But for these events, yes, I’ll be picking out your clothes. What you wear needs to help convey the message we want to send.”

“What messages are my clothes sending?”

She glanced down and swallowed an inappropriate sigh. She managed to sound completely professional when she replied, “They tell me you take a great deal of care with your appearance and that you have the means to buy what you want, regardless of the price tag.”