dismay, turned on his heel and vanished out the office door, not waiting for her reply.
Jackson Hawks could hardly believe that was the same Jillian Tompkins who'd thrown herself and her cleavage at him during the company Christmas party last December. He'd been avoiding her like the proverbial plague since then.
She seemed so different now. She sure must have needed a rest. Her whole face looked softer. Her usual hard-edged black eyeliner and red power lips deal had been replaced by a much softer, earthy look. Even that cleavage looked . . . earthier. And she'd acted positively demure in the coffee room instead of oh, assaulting the vending machine, for instance.
Maybe he'd misjudged Jillian Tompkins. People did change. Why, he actually felt seriously turned on by her, slap and all. Her bright blue eyes and her short swingy brown hair had him hot around the collar and it wasn't even nine o'clock in the morning.
His love life was abysmal at the present time anyway so why not give Miss Jillian another chance? Besides, he couldn't get her off his mind after seeing her in the coffee room this morning. He'd found that so odd. Odd enough to think up an excuse to visit her end of the hallway. Like maybe he'd needed even more sales figures for his afternoon meeting with Cavanau. But he'd come away without sales figures. He'd come away with a taste of Jillian instead. He smiled as he walked down the bright hallway.
Cavanau was such a wank; he loved pie charts. Jackson would have Oliver send them over on the computer and pile them on because Cavanau was their biggest account at present, and their last line of toys hadn't performed as well as they'd hoped, so today he'd have to convince Cavanau to keep the faith in Pitman Toys.
Which reminded Jackson of some details he had to attend to, like making sure the conference room was ready and that Olga had Cavanau's favorite lunch ordered. Check, double-check, and check again. Ever since he'd accepted the vice presidency he'd felt a heavy responsibility to keep Pitman Toys in the game.
Of course being VP of Pitman meant wearing many hats, but that was fine with him. That translated to keeping his own butt employed, and the rest of the motley crew around here, too. It was chilling out there in the job-hunt line. San Fran-
Cisco had been hit hard by the economic roller coaster of the last ten years.
But at present, the thought of connecting with Jillian Tompkins seemed to be overshadowing a whole lot of other things. He'd asked her out to dinner, and she hadn't said no. Well, to be more correct, he hadn't let her. He could spend the evening staring at her new, softer look across a nice meal and see if she really had changed so much or whether it was his sex-starved imagination.
3
Trading Paces
cx?
Jillian stood out on the small back porch breathing in the fresh, salty sea air. Memories of sitting here having awkward conversations with middle-school boyfriends came back to her. It was the only place to get a little privacy in the small beach house her parents had bought when they'd moved up from L. A.
Seabridge Bay was calm and quiet. The lapping waves made a rhythmic gesture against the smooth rocks that brought back many pictures in her mind, like a scrapbook made from scents and sounds of the past that were still the same today.
But right now she was actually trying to get away from the fumes she'd created in the laundry room. Apparently two cups of bleach and half a
box of powdered laundry detergent did more than get the mildew smell out of the stinking, rotting clothes she'd dealt with yesterday upon her arrival; it also made the washing machine explode. "I promised to rescue the wash, now I'm rescuing the washer," Jillian muttered to herself.
She went to the garage, found Bill's old red toolbox, dragged it inside and opened the lid.
She had to admit, she had no idea what to do about the washer, but she was going to find out. She could do anything any man could do, and in
Learning to Kill: Stories