victorious socialite who doesn’t have a clue—or cares—what poor kid her outrageous bid is helping.” He crossed his arms, stretching the shirt against hard muscles. “I had no idea I’d have to interact with the women competing to win a date with me.”
“But that’s the beauty of the setup.” Jessica rose from the leather couch, unable to restrain the smile of enthusiasm despite his misgivings. She’d worked long and hard to create something that wasn’t the usual superficial masculine beauty show. “It’s not as demeaning as auctioning off a celebrity like a slab of high-priced meat.”
He sent her a level look. “I find nothing degrading about women trying to outbid each other all in the name of scoring a dinner with me.”
Her smile faded a bit. “Maybe you don’t. But I wanted something a little more meaningful. Watching intelligent men prance across a stage in an effort to increase the bidding is an undignified way to raise money.”
“You forgot my favorite part: the screaming women.” Cutter sent her the first hint of a grin for the evening. “You have to know how to work the crowd. Bring them to the edge of their seats. The key to raking in the dough is to wait until just the right moment to take off your shirt.”
His chest was impressive covered in fabric; no doubt he’d made millions for various fundraisers over the years.
Jessica focused on the task at hand. “The board wanted something fresh and new, not the same old thing they’ve done the past ten years.” She crossed thick carpet to stand beside him. “Except for your attendance at the benefit dinner, all the interaction is done online. You engage in a little flirty debate with the ladies competing for you. It’s supposed to be an entertaining battle of the sexes over what comprises the perfect date.” Her smile grew. That was her favorite part. Since her marital misstep, the study of relationships had become a passion. “For a nominal fee, the public can cast their vote for the ‘most compatible.’ So the people decide your companion to the benefit dinner, not the socialite with the most money to bid.”
It had taken her weeks of brainstorming to finally land on a plan she was proud of, and she waited for some sign of his approval.
“So the masses decide which contestant—a lady I’ve never met nor will ever see again—I’m most ‘compatible’ with?” It was obvious from the air quotes with his fingers that he found her plan ridiculous. “Who the hell came up with this Trolling for a Celebrity idea?”
Jessica frowned. “It was my suggestion. And it’s supposed to be all in fun, so I’d prefer you use the term flirting to trolling.”
“What the hell do you think flirting is?”
“It’s engaging in meaningful dialogue that shows you find a person interesting.”
He stared at her. “Maybe if you’re twelve. For adults, it’s all about sex.”
She barely kept the criticism from her voice. “No it’s not.” She bit the inside of her lip, and inhaled, forcing herself to go on calmly. “There is plenty of data to support the notion that successful people are those who market themselves in a positive manner. Building strong relationships is the key to success, no matter what your goal, be it business, friendship or love. And flirting,” she continued with emphasis, “establishing that rapport between two people, proves that the most important aspect of a romantic relationship is effective communication.”
Cutter’s brows had climbed so high Jessica thought his eyelids would stretch clear over his forehead. “Who has been feeding you all this bullshit?”
“It isn’t bullshit.”
“Sunshine, you are up to your black, sooty little eyelashes in it.” The amused look in his eyes almost constituted a smile. “You are so Pollyanna-ish you could light the world with the sunbeams that glow from beneath your skirt.” His voice turned matter-of-fact. “The attraction between a man and a woman is built on spark, pure and simple. And you can’t communicate your way around the lack of it.”
She’d had plenty of experience with a man who lacked the ability to engage in earnest dialogue. The spark starved without it, and though she’d done everything in her power to prevent the death of her marriage, a small part of her—the part that had failed—could never be made right.
Gloom weighed down her heart, and she folded her arms across her chest to ease the load.
Think positive, Jessica. We learn from our mistakes and move on. Don’t let Mr. Cynical bring you down.
“Sparks are sustained by emotional and intellectual attraction,” she said. “And both are much more important than the physical one.”
His eyebrows pulled together in doubt. “What’s that have to do with an online flirting fiesta between virtual strangers?”
Jessica inhaled slowly and quietly blew out a breath, regaining control. She’d gotten off track. Convincing him of her views wasn’t important. All she needed was for him to follow through on his initial agreement. If he backed out now, the fundraiser would fail before it even started. Hundreds of fans would be disappointed. And then Steve would kill her, because signing Cutter on had been her idea. Steve had thought the retired driver was a risky proposition, but Jessica had always been impressed with Cutter’s magnetic, if a little unconventional, charm on TV.
Apparently he was really good at faking it when money was involved.
Lovely to be finding that out now.
“Forget that I think the basic concept is flawed,” Cutter said, interrupting her thoughts. “We still have several problems. First, I don’t know a thing about social networking.”
Feeling encouraged, she said, “I can teach you.”
“Second, I don’t have time for all this online interaction stuff.”
“You can do it anywhere, even while standing in line at the grocery store. It takes five seconds to text a question to the contestants. Maybe ten to respond to their answer.”
“I don’t text.”
Stunned, Jessica stared at him. “How does anyone inhabiting the twenty-first century not text?”
He headed for a bar made of dark mahogany and glossy black marble along the far wall. “Sunshine, I do all my interacting with women live and in the flesh.” He lifted a bottle of chardonnay from the rack, removed the cork and set the wine on the counter, meeting her gaze. “If I want to ask her out, I speak to her in person. If I’m going to be late for a date, I call her on the phone.” He pulled a beer from the refrigerator, twisted off the cap with a hissing pop, and shot her a skeptical look. “I do not spend 24/7 with a cellular attached to my hand so that I can inform my friends via Twitter that I’m leaving for the store to buy a six pack of beer.” He flipped the cap with his fingers, and it hit the garbage can with a ping.
She bit back a smile. “That’s good, because I doubt anyone is interested in those kinds of details.” She wasn’t sure whether she was making headway with him. After a pause, she pulled down a wineglass from the hanging rack over the marble counter and poured herself some chardonnay. She sat at the bar and sent him a measured look. “Cutter, I’m not asking you to provide the public with a banal running commentary on every detail of your life.”
Beer
