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difficult at nine, what would she be like when she hit her teens? At any rate, Jenna had been so exhausted by the long-distance battle that she hadn’t thought to recharge the phone.
    It was 9:52 a.m. She had exactly eight minutes to get to the yacht center. In her running shoes she might have been able to do it. In three-inch spike heels, she didn’t have a prayer.
    Maybe Bobby Spencer wasn’t quite as much of a tight-ass as he’d seemed yesterday. Maybe she could be a few minutes late and still catch him.
    Yeah, right. The man had looked at her as if he’d rather be dealing with the devil. He’d obviously seize any excuse at all not to consider the Pennington and Sons proposal.
    She stripped off her shoes, thanked heaven that her skirt had a slit in it and grabbed her briefcase off the seat. She hit the sidewalk at a dead run, grateful that she’d taken up jogging as a way to relieve stress.
    Pounding along the pavement, praying that she’d gotten through to Darcy, praying even harder that she would not miss this appointment and blow her one and only chance to earn a little respect from her father, she concluded that this particular run was not likely to reduce her stress one iota. If anything, she was getting more anxious with every painful step she took.
    Seven minutes and thirty seconds later, she reached the yacht center. She had runs in her hose, blisters on her feet and her hair no doubt looked as if it had been styled in a wind tunnel, but she was on time.
    Bobby Spencer, however, was nowhere in sight and not even expected.
    Jenna stared at the secretary. “He’s not here,” she repeated incredulously, certain she had to have misunderstood.
    â€œNever gets in before eleven,” the young woman said, clearly working to contain her curiosity over Jenna’s disheveled appearance.
    The woman’s own attire consisted of shorts that showed off her long legs and a crisply pressed blouse with one too many buttons left open to display an ample amount of cleavage. Obviously Bobby did not stress professional decorum, or maybe at a yacht center, this was the appropriate uniform, Jenna concluded. She was probably the one who was seriouslyoverdressed…or had been when she’d left her car, anyway.
    â€œNever?” she echoed, still certain that she had to be missing something.
    â€œNot once in the year I’ve worked for him,” the woman said. “Are you sure he said to be here at ten?”
    â€œOh, I am very sure he said ten,” Jenna said, gritting her teeth. Her temper, which she usually worked really, really hard to contain, began to simmer. “Are you saying there has never been one single occasion when he’s been here before eleven?”
    â€œNot that I can recall,” the woman said blithely. “He works late at night. Besides, he’s just not a morning person. Believe me, you don’t want to see him at this hour. In fact, if you’d like a little advice, I’d suggest you come back around two. He’s pretty cheerful by then, especially if the reservations are up for dinner.”
    â€œLook…what’s your name?”
    â€œMaggie.”
    â€œOkay, Maggie, here’s the thing. I saw Mr. Spencer yesterday. He told me to be here at ten. He made a really big deal about it. My car broke down, but I busted my butt to be on time. Could you get on that phone and track him down and tell him that I’m here and getting more aggravated by the minute that he’s not?”
    Maggie grinned. “You really want me to tell him that?”
    Jenna sighed. “Okay, you can leave out the part about my attitude. Just try to hurry him along. I need to get back to Baltimore. I hadn’t intended to stay overnight in thefirst place.” In fact, she’d planned to be sitting cheerfully at her desk this morning with a contract in hand. Obviously she’d been overly optimistic about her powers of