Free A Little White Lie by MacKenzie McKade Page B

of the building that housed Maritime Marketing. She had never realized how much the yellow cabs darting around below looked like tiny bugs and the mass of people traveling about appeared to be specks. It made her feel small—insignificant.
    Then again it was Monday and she had to meet with her boss and inform him that she had lost the Toliver account. She wasn’t a fool. No way JD would work with her now. Yet the loss wasn’t what had stolen sleep from her last night. A cowboy’s smile, his tender touch and the memory of a kiss that could melt her were the cause of the exhaustion she felt.
    Stella inhaled and then exhaled, easing the air from her lungs. “This too shall pass.” That’s what her mother always said when Stella would approach her with a problem. The ringing of her telephone pulled her away from her thoughts. Slowly she walked toward the obnoxious sound and picked up the receiver.
    “Stella, Mr. Toliver is on line one,” her secretary, Ann, revealed.
    “Toliver?” No. This couldn’t be. What else could ruin her day? She pushed the first button. Maybe she’d just ignore it, but in the end she reached for the receiver. “This is Stella Sinclair.”
    “Miss Sinclair, are you available this evening to go over the particulars of our agreement?”
    “What?”
    “Dinner. Tonight,” he asked.
    “But—”
    “What happened in Montana is forgotten. What matters is that the right person is handling my account. You.”
    My account? She breathed out a sigh of relief. Toliver must have released JD from his promise to take over the business. For the first time since the dreadful confrontation with him, Stella felt her tension ease. A weak smile touched her lips. JD belonged in Montana—not New York or any other large city.
    “Of course. When and where?” she asked.
    “I’ve made arrangements at Ruth’s Chris Steak House in the Theater District for eight. Until then.” The telephone clicked.
    Stella hung up the receiver and walked back to the window to stare blindly at the high-rises. Shouldn’t she feel elated with the outcome? Both she and JD got what they wanted.
    Then why did the win feel so empty?
     
    When the cab pulled up in front of the glitzy entrance of Ruth’s Chris, a bellman opened her door and Stella got out. In one hand she carried her clutch purse, in the other a leather portfolio. Inside the briefcase were the ideas she had entertained Toliver with in Montana and several more new ones. After she had hung up with the western-wear mogul, she had dug into work, the only way she could keep the memories of JD at a distance. Anytime she let her mind wander, his handsome face would appear and then images of being wrapped in his arms materialized.
    Rolling her neck from side to side, she searched for the professional she knew was inside, but tears misted her eyes. What happened in Montana was lost to her. What Toliver offered her was the beginning of a new career.
    “Get it together,” she whispered beneath her breath as she walked into the lobby. Delicious scents wafted from the kitchen, but they were nothing compared to trout cooking on the grill beneath a vibrant blue sky.
    Dammit. She was doing it again.
    As she approached the maitre d’, he smiled pleasantly. “Can I help you?”
    She glanced around the room, not immediately spying her dinner date. “Toliver party.”
    “You’re the first to arrive. Thomas,” he called to a waiter dressed in a white shirt, red tie, black vest and slacks. “Please show…” He glanced at her.
    “Miss Sinclair,” she offered.
    “Miss Sinclair to table twelve.”
    Thomas was probably a college kid or perhaps a young man in his twenties looking to break into show biz, because his bored expression said he didn’t want to be here. Without comment he led her to her table. She was surprised when he pulled out her chair and seated her.
    He snapped her napkin into the air and laid it gently in her lap. “Would you like a cocktail or some wine? We