LITMIR.BIZ

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can.”

      Oooh, the plot thickens. Why was Francine so insistent on Thibbedeaux?

      “Now, Francine, be reasonable,” Judd said, attempting to placate her. “If the man is retired, the man is retired.”

      “We want Thibbedeaux.” Francine crossed her arms. For whatever reason, she wasn’t going to give an inch on this one.

      Judd met Marissa’s gaze. She knew that look.

      Are you my ace in the hole? Her boss’s expression quizzed. He hadn’t asked the nonverbal question of Dash, but of her. He’d chosen her as his go-to person. Pride swelled her chest. Yes, yes.

      This is your chance. Jump in. Say something. Do it, do it, do it.

      Excitement pushed Marissa to her feet. Anticipation had her slapping her palms against the smooth coolness of the tabletop. Enthusiasm had her vigorously nodding her head.

      “I can make it happen,” she said, the words spilling from her mouth before she’d fully thought this commitment through.

      All she knew was a very important client wanted something and it was her job to fill her clients’ needs. If she gave Baxter and Jackson what they wanted, Judd would be pleased. And if Judd was pleased, he would give her the promotion.

      And the General would stop asking her why she was disappointing him by wasting her time at Pegasus when he felt she obviously would not get promoted there.

      The new job would mollify her father. At least for a little while anyway.

      Francine beamed at her. “Now that’s the kind of can-do spirit I’m looking for.”

      Marissa possessed the upper hand and she knew it. Francine wanted Thibbedeaux.

      Badly.

      “We’re going to need more money,” she dared and thrilled to her own audacity. “This work is beyond the realm of what we normally perform for Baxter and Jackson. We will require twenty-five percent more than our usual fee.”

      “Fifteen,” Francine countered.

      “Twenty,” Marissa haggled, leaning forward in an aggressive stance. “And you pick up the tab for my travel expenses.”

      From the corner of her eye she saw Judd watching their interaction like a spectator at Wimbledon, a wide grin on his craggy face. His approval fed her momentum and her boldness.

      “Can you assure me you will get Thibbedeaux?” Francine asked.

      “You have my word, one hundred percent.”

      Judd got to his feet. “Could you excuse us for a minute?”

      “Certainly,” Francine said and wagged a finger. “But I am counting on Marissa to accomplish what she has promised.”

      How many times had similar words spurred her to climb higher and push harder? Nothing motivated her more than someone’s lofty expectations.

      Once the door snapped closed with Francine on the other side of it, Dash let out a hoot of laughter.

      “What’s so funny?” Marissa glared and sank her hands on her hips.

      “Boy, are you screwed.”

      “Just shut up.”

      “I can’t get over the image of you traipsing through the muck of the Louisiana bayou in your la-di-da Manolo Blahniks and your smart little black miniskirt trying to convince a man more hardheaded than a pit bull to return to the city he hates. Priceless.”

      “Overdoing the melodrama a bit, aren’t you, Peterson?” Marissa rearranged her papers. Dash was just jealous because she’d beaten him to the punch.

      “And remember, you’ve got to talk Thibbedeaux into designing a sex video game.” He laughed again. “I know Beau. It ain’t gonna happen, Sturgess. When you come back with your tail between your legs, a complete failure, I’ll be the new account director and you’ll be answering to me.” He jerked a thumb at his chest.

      Dash knew just how to bother her, but if he meant to dampen her resolve with his derision, he’d sorely miscalculated.

      “You’re just pissy because I had the cajones to commit to the project before you did.”

      Judd gave a sharp bark of laughter. “She’s got you there, Peterson.”

      “No, I’m just trying to save her from humiliating herself. I know Thibbedeaux and she doesn’t. But hey, if she likes having egg plastered all over her face, let her go for it.” Dash dusted his palms together in a dismissive gesture.

      Marissa met Judd’s gaze. “Am I officially managing the Baxter and Jackson account?”

      “You did a splendid job of negotiating, Marissa. I’m proud of you,” her boss said.

      She soaked up his praise. She was a sponge expanding to full size. Her chest tightened and her heart floated. But Judd wasn’t finished.

      “However, Dash is right. Getting Thibbedeaux on board isn’t going to be easy.” He furrowed his forehead. “The man’s a complete eccentric.”

      “You don’t think I can handle him?”

      “It’s not you I’m concerned about.”

      “I’m not without my charms, Judd.” She batted her eyelashes.

      “Your sex appeal isn’t in question here, it’s Thibbedeaux. He’s a wild card. Are you certain you really want to tackle this obligation? It’s better to back out now than not deliver in the end. Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.”

      “If I don’t commit to this, we’ll lose Baxter and Jackson as clients.”

      “Quite possibly.”

      “And if I do commit, I greatly improve our bottom line.”

      “I take it that means you’re going out on the limb,” Judd said.

      Marissa nodded. Challenge was her middle name. The dangling carrot was too juicy to ignore. That and the thought of rubbing the smile off Dash’s smug mug.

      “I’ll guarantee you Thibbedeaux if you guarantee me the account-director position.”

      “Done,” Judd said.

      Yes! Mentally, Marissa did a victory dance. She knew just how to celebrate snatching this deal from Dash’s teeth.

      For the last few weeks an adorable pair of six-hundred-dollar silver-and-azure Jimmy Choo sling backs had been calling her name. With her promotion practically in the bag, she could afford the splurge. After work this evening she was heading straight for Bergdorf Goodman.

      Dash waylaid her in the corridor after the meeting. He took her by the elbow and tugged her aside. “Care to make it interesting,” he asked.

      Marissa eyed him suspiciously. “What do you have in mind?”

      “A wager.”

      “What kind of wager?”

      Dash raked a speculative gaze over her body.

      “Forget it, you sleaze.” She yanked her elbow from his grasp.

      “You misunderstand me. Much as I would enjoy the comfort of your hot bod, that’s not what I’m proposing.”

      “No? Then what?”

      “Five Benjamins says you can’t bring Thibbedeaux in.”

      Marissa stared at her competitor. The idea that he was willing to bet against her to the tune of five hundred dollars had doubt creeping around inside her.

      “I’m betting you have to sleep with him to get what you want.”

      “You are such a jerk-off, you know that? I don’t have to lower myself to your level. I can convince

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