It Takes a Rebel. Stephanie Bond

foot, she levered the chair around to stare over the lights of downtown Lexington. It was another in a string of unusually warm October evenings. On impulse, she’d opened the sliding glass door leading to her balcony to dilute the stale air in her condo. The fresh breeze and the view revived her.

      The University of Kentucky was having some kind of sports function because the streets leading to campus were choked. Not particularly fond of sports, she nonetheless recognized the huge economic advantage of having a popular college athletic program in town: athletics attracted attention for the university, swelling the student population, and college students remained the strongest buying group for the local Tremont department stores.

      Alex swallowed a mouthful of chardonnay, thinking she should attend a college game of some sort with her father, a bona fide sports nut, just to see what all the fuss was about. On the other hand, Heath would undoubtedly take her in grand style if she wanted to go, even though he wasn’t much of a sports buff either.

      Heath Reddinger had been scrupulously accommodating to both her and her father since joining the senior management of Tremont’s as Chief Financial Officer. She had liked him immediately—he was handsome, intelligent and sensitive. Her father, on the other hand, had never taken to Heath, although Al appreciated his contribution to the company, and had nodded in acquiescence when she and Heath had become engaged two months ago. Alex smiled as she fingered the diamond solitaire he’d given her. Heath was hard-working, predictable and fairly low-maintenance. She appreciated men with nice, neat edges.

      Her smile faded when the face of Jack Stillman appeared to taunt her. The unkempt man was a loose cannon. She knew instinctively he was just the kind of man who could stir her father to rebellion. But she was determined to work with the St. Louis ad firm who could put Tremont’s on the same page as Roark’s and Tofelson’s—two southeastern chains with toeholds in Louisville which, according to a survey she’d commissioned in her position as Director of Marketing and Sales, were ranked higher than Tremont’s in perception of quality and style. In layman’s terms, the other stores were deemed more classy than Tremont’s. But the St. Louis ad agency could change all that. Just last year, they’d taken an unknown soft drink into the sales stratosphere with an award-winning campaign.

      Her phone rang, rousing her. Heath’s name appeared on the caller ID screen, so she picked up the cordless extension, along with her goblet of wine and headed toward the kitchen. “Hello.”

      “Hi, honey.”

      She stopped to straighten a pillow on the sofa—living in an open loft apartment meant everything had to be in its place. “Hi. Did you get my message?”

      “Yes. Do you want me to come over?”

      They hadn’t slept together in weeks, but she simply wasn’t up to his lengthy, methodical foreplay rituals tonight, not with work issues weighing on her mind. “I’m really tired, and my day is packed tomorrow.”

      “Oh, okay.” Agreeable, as always. “By the way, Al asked me to sit in on the morning meeting with the local ad agency. I hope that’s okay with you.”

      She’d suspected as much—her father was gathering supporters, and he knew Heath was anxious to gain his favor. Alex pursed her mouth, weighing her response. “That’s why I called, although I personally think the meeting will be a waste of time. I paid the agency a surprise visit today and the owner is a Neanderthal.”

      “Hmm. Did you tell your father?”

      “Sure, but he insists on going through with this charade because of a promise he made to the former owner of the agency.”

      “Well.” Heath hesitated, always a little nervous when she disagreed with her father. “I guess it’ll be a short meeting.”

      “Uh-huh,” she agreed as she moved into the tiny blue and chrome kitchen nook situated in a corner. “I’m sure you’ll agree with me wholeheartedly once you meet this character.” She recorked the wine bottle and returned it to a shelf in the refrigerator door. “We’ll have to stick together to convince Daddy that we need to elevate the quality of the firms we do business with. You know—being judged by the company we keep, and all that jazz.”

      “Okay,” he agreed, but he sounded as if he were sitting on a fence row, casting glances on either side.

      She tore off a paper towel and wiped a ring of moisture gathered on the tile counter where the bottle had sat. “Maybe we can have dinner tomorrow night.”

      “Great! I’ll make reservations at Gerrard’s.”

      Her favorite—Heath was such a gentleman. For a few seconds, she reconsidered having him come over, then decided guiltily that she needed the sleep more than the physical attention. “Gerrard’s sounds wonderful. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

      After disconnecting the call, Alex removed the pins from her hair and sighed, feeling restless and antsy for some reason she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She grabbed a magazine and her half-full glass, then fell into her white over-stuffed chair-and-a-half and propped her feet on the matching ottoman. With the pull of a delicate chain, she turned on a Tiffany-style floor lamp and fingered the large porcelain bead at the end of the chain, studying the intricate design she had memorized long ago.

      The lamp had been a moving-in gift from her mother when Alex had first bought the spacious loft condo. She wasn’t sure which one of them was more excited with the find, but then her mother had passed away suddenly, before they’d had a chance to decorate the unique space together. Alex knew it sounded corny, but when she sat under the lamp, she felt as if her mother’s spirit glowed all around her. She sipped from her glass, and idly fingered the pages of the magazine, subconsciously absorbing the latest styles, colors and accessories. The store carried that line of coats…that line of separates…that line of belts.

      Jack Stillman…Jack Stillman. Alex laid her head back and frowned at the antique tin ceiling she’d painted a luminous pewter. Why did his name tickle the back of her memory? Perhaps it was just one of those names…

      A frenzied knock on her door interrupted her thoughts. She knew who it was even before she pushed herself to her feet and padded across the white wood floor, but she checked the peephole just in case. Lana Martina, friend, fool, and neighbor, peered back at her, her arched white eyebrows high and promising.

      Alex’s spirits lifted instantly—Lana was a full-fledged, flat-out, certified nut who just happened to have taken a liking to quiet, scholarly Alex while they were in high school. Within the halls of their private Catholic school, Lana was a walking scandal, her pleated skirt always a little too short, her polished nails always a little too long. But her incredible intellect had kept the nuns at bay. In fact, Alex had met her on the debate team, and while the girls couldn’t have come from more different backgrounds, they had formed a lasting friendship.

      Alex swung open the door, smiling when she saw Lana held two pint-sized cartons of ready-to-spread cake frosting. “Mocha cocoa with artificial flavoring?” her friend asked, reading from the labels. “Or fantasy fudge with lots of nasty preservatives?”

      “Fantasy fudge,” Alex said, standing aside to allow Lana in. Her friend was as slim as a mannequin, but her personality needed as much room as possible.

      “I brought utensils,” Lana said, holding up two silver dessert spoons. “It’s such a pain to get chocolate out from under your fingernails.”

      Alex took the proffered spoon and carton of icing, then followed Lana to the sitting area. Having performed this ritual countless times, they assumed their respective corners of the comfy red couch, Alex’s feet curled beneath her, Lana sitting cross-legged.

      “Nice silver,” Alex observed, studying the intricate pattern on the end of the heavy spoon.

      “It belongs to Vile Vicki.” Lana ripped the foil covering off the top of her carton.

      “You stole her silver?”

      “Borrowed,” Lana corrected, dipping in her spoon and shoveling in a mound of chocolate big enough to choke two