Читать книгу The Billionaire Date - Leigh Michaels, Leigh Michaels - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

EITHER HER HEARING had gone or the man was a raving lunatic—and there was no doubt in Kit’s mind which side of the bet she should put her money on.

She glanced at Rita and found her unabashedly listening. The receptionist was practically leaning over her desk to catch every syllable, and that alone would have told Kit how crazy the situation was. Rita was the perfect secretary, involved and interested but absolutely never nosy. Till now.

“Would you like to come into the conference room, Mr. Webster, so we can discuss this?” Without waiting for an answer, Kit headed for the archway into what had once been the brownstone’s dining room. She stopped inside the doors and waited till he’d crossed the threshold.

He paused, eyeing the gleaming finish of the golden oak pocket doors standing half open between the conference room and Rita’s office. “Shall I close these for you?”

Kit put a fingertip into the catch of each door and pulled, and the perfectly balanced panels slid into place with no more than a whisper of sound. “Thanks, but I’m perfectly capable.” She turned to face him and caught the appraising look in his eyes. Before she could stop herself, she added, “I’m not one of your usual helpless dolls, Mr. Webster.”

He didn’t rush to answer, and he didn’t—as she’d half hoped he might—stop surveying her. “No, you’re certainly not.”

Kit wished she could believe that was a compliment. Then again, she told herself irritably, if she honestly thought the man was trying to flatter her, she’d be even more furious with him, so she ought to be glad he hadn’t made that mistake.

“In fact,” Jarrett Webster went on, “I’d say you’re a woman who’s full of surprises. Saturday it was peekaboo blouses and wads of tissue paper, and today—”

Kit didn’t want to listen to his opinion of her wardrobe. She’d always liked the simple cut of the cream-colored shirtdress she was wearing—until right this moment, when suddenly it felt as plain as a plastic bag and just as transparent “I shouldn’t think you’d be amazed by that sort of thing.”

“Oh, I very seldom see tissue paper put to that use,” he assured her.

“I’m quite aware that most of the women you know have chosen figure-enhancing methods more permanent than tissue paper. But as for half-clad females, I’m sure you’re an expert.”

He considered and nodded. “That’s true. And I must say the first thing I noticed about you was that you’ve got the nicest pair of...”

Kit gasped, tried to smother the sound and choked with the effort. Her eyes started to water, and she could feel herself turning red.

“Shoulder blades I’ve ever seen,” Jarrett finished smoothly. “Why, Ms. Deevers, what did you think I was going to say?”

Kit managed, finally, to stop coughing, but the lingering tickle in her throat would have kept her from talking even if she’d had something to say.

“Today, of course, you look amazingly professional.”

“Thanks,” she managed to say. “I think.” She took a firm grip on herself. “If we can get down to business now, Mr. Webster... I do have other projects waiting for my attention.”

“You amaze me.” He moved a leather-covered chair out from the conference table and with a graceful turn of his hand invited her to sit

Kit ignored the gesture and remained on her feet. “It’s very kind of you to—what was your offer? Give me a second chance?”

“An opportunity to make good where you failed before,” he said helpfully.

“However, Tryad is very busy this season, and I’m afraid we don’t have time just now to devote to any more charity fashion shows. You might try us again next year.”

Not that it will do you any good, she added to herself. But at least I’ll have twelve months to come up with a good excuse for why I still don’t have time.

Jarrett stood his ground. “You don’t seem to understand, Ms. Deevers. This isn’t optional.”

Kit frowned.

“By the time the fashion show was finished and the costs paid, the grand sum left for fighting domestic abuse was eighty-seven dollars.”

Kit shrugged. “Better than nothing, don’t you think?”

“A somewhat cynical attitude.”

“Perhaps it is—but frankly, I’m astonished there was that much left over.”

“Meaning that if you’d expected it, you’d have increased your fee in order to eliminate the excess?”

“Meaning, Mr. Webster, that the entire affair was mismanaged.”

“You admit it, then?”

“I’m stating a fact—but it was hardly my fault. Within the constraints of my contract, I did everything I—”

“You were in charge.”

“Not entirely, and not from the beginning. By the time I got involved—” But why should she try to explain? It was obvious he wasn’t going to take her explanation seriously. He certainly wouldn’t take her word over Colette’s and Heather’s, and Kit would end up sounding as if she was trying to shift the blame onto anyone but herself.

“But you were responsible for the show itself, right?”

Kit hesitated. “That’s true.”

“A show that was off schedule, out of sync and excruciatingly slow-paced.”

“If you’re going to compare it to professional affairs, Mr. Webster—”

“I’m not. I know perfectly well it was an amateur event with models who’d never been on a runway before. But it could have been an enjoyable one.”

Kit wanted to tell him to talk to the models themselves about that little problem.

“Besides, a large part of the fund-raising effort was focused not on ticket sales but on the reception afterward. The hope was that after an enjoyable show, the guests would donate generously for their refreshments. However, after sitting through that fiasco, two-thirds of them left in disgust rather than stick around to drink tea. Since they weren’t present, they didn’t contribute, and—”

“I’ll take my share of the blame,” Kit said honestly.

His eyebrow twitched. “That’s refreshing.”

“I used very poor judgment. Instead of standing in for the two models who didn’t show up, I should have just poked my head out from behind the curtain at the gaps and announced that the ensemble the audience should have been seeing was unavailable because the model was too irresponsible to find a substitute. Would you have liked that any better? I thought not. Look, Mr. Webster, I’m sorry the damned fashion show didn’t raise a zillion dollars. But I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.”

“That’s where the second chance comes in.”

“Now wait a minute! I’ve told you—”

His voice softened till it felt like warm, rich lotion against her skin. “Are you afraid you can’t meet the challenge, Ms. Deevers?”

“Not in the least. With my hands tied, I could do better than that mishmash of amateur do-gooders did. With a month to work on it, I could raise ten thousand dollars, minimum. But the fact remains that I don’t have a month. Tryad can take only a certain amount of time away from our regular client base for nonprofit causes, and we already have all the charity projects we can afford. I’m awfully sorry and all that, but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do. Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Webster.”

Kit could tell from the way his gaze hardened that Jarrett Webster knew a dismissal when he heard it. She was almost surprised, for she doubted he was on the receiving end of a snub very often.

He didn’t move, though. Kit walked across the room to the sliding doors, but Jarrett didn’t take the hint. He seemed to be as firmly planted in the conference room as a willow tree on the bank of a pond, and his words dropped into the silence with the same effect as a rock into water. “I’ll pay for your time.”

With one hand on the pocket door, Kit turned in astonishment. “What?”

“I said, I’ll foot the bills—not only the charges for your time, at your regular rates, but the basic costs of whatever event you create.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer. “Your challenge is to raise enough money above and beyond those costs to show me that you’re not incompetent, after all.”

“Why not just give your money directly to a shelter somewhere?”

“Are you saying you can’t do it?”

“Of course not. But I don’t understand why—”

“Because you’re going to take my money and multiply it. Instead of giving, say, a couple of thousand dollars directly, I invest it with you, and you’ll turn it into—What was it you said? Ten thousand, minimum? In a month?”

“I may have said that, but—”

“Backing down, Ms. Deevers?” He shook his head sadly. “I’m disappointed in you. It’s such a worthy cause, you see. And besides, if you don’t take this challenge—”

Kit wanted to ignore him, but the question hung in the air like a plume of toxic gas, threatening to choke and smother her. “What if I don’t?”

“If you don’t succeed, or if you don’t even have the guts to try, then I will take great pleasure in telling everyone I deal with exactly why Tryad is a good firm to stay away from.”

Kit gasped. “That’s not fair!”

“If you don’t believe in your abilities, Ms. Deevers, why should I cut you any slack? I think I’d be doing a public service, frankly, to let your prospective clients know what they’re getting into.”

“That’s not what I mean. It’s not fair to blame Tryad as a whole for something that was my doing.”

“I thought,” he said gently, “that you said it wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t, but at least I was involved. My partners weren’t. It has absolutely nothing to do with them.”

Jarrett shrugged. “You’re part of this firm, so whatever you do reflects on them.”

“Yes, but—” She stumbled to a halt, unable to think of a telling argument.

“Take it or leave it.” Finally, he moved, striding with the easy grace of a lynx toward the door where she stood. “I’ll leave my card with your receptionist.” The sleeve of his linen blazer brushed Kit’s bare arm. The contact stung as if she’d been whipped with nettles.

“Wait!”

He turned. He was less than a foot from her, and Kit had to look a long way up into his face. There were flecks of gold in his dark brown eyes, and tiny lines at the corners. Those must come from the time he spent on that sailboat with the current Lingerie Lady.

“Your complaint is with me,” she said desperately.

“Not with Tryad. So I’ll make you a deal.”

He shrugged. “You’re not exactly in a good place to be dictating terms, you know.”

“I’ll do a campaign for you, and I’ll do my best to raise at least ten thousand dollars.”

“Somehow,” Jarrett mused, “this sounds familiar. Almost as if I’d said it myself.”

“But I’ll do it on my own time. You don’t have to pay me a dime, but in return, you have to promise that Tryad doesn’t come into it.”

He looked thoughtful. “You mean, you want me to promise that if you fail—”

“I won’t fail!”

“In that case,” he said gently, “you—and Tryad—don’t have a thing to worry about, do you? Shall we shake hands on our deal, Ms. Deevers?”

Kit didn’t walk him to the front door, as all three of the partners usually did with their clients. Mostly, she admitted, it was because she wasn’t so sure she could still walk.

She heard the front door close and sank against the conference room wall with a thud. How had he managed to turn things so neatly against her? She’d made a perfectly reasonable proposition, and he’d shot it down without even bothering to take aim.

She wanted to pound her forehead against the door.

A couple of minutes later Susannah came in. “He’s gorgeous,” she said.

“I suppose you were hovering in the hallway so you could get a good look?”

“Of course not,” Susannah said with dignity. “I was supervising Rita’s typing.”

“Bet she loved having you leaning over her shoulder.”

“I wasn’t. I was sitting on her desk—I had a much better view of the conference room door that way. Kit, he’s twice as terrific as his pictures. No wonder you... Are you all right?”

“Just jolly,” Kit said under her breath.

“Well, good. You look a little stunned, though. Let me guess what happened. He was so impressed by you that he wants Tryad to take over Milady Lingerie’s public relations?”

“It has nothing to do with Tryad.” And it’s up to me to keep it that way, Kit reminded herself. I have a month to raise ten thousand dollars or...

No, she reminded herself. She didn’t have a month. She had only her personal time—whatever remained after her normal workload. The only thing she’d succeeded in doing with the brash bargain she’d tried to make was to cheat herself. If she’d kept her mouth shut, at least he’d have been paying for her time, and she’d have a full thirty days to pull this off.

But at least, she thought, the fact that she wasn’t getting a cent out of the deal meant that she’d have less money to raise overall. Perhaps, if she tried hard enough, she could convince herself that was a positive note.

“You mean...” Susannah gave a shriek that rattled the brass and crystal chandelier above the conference table. “Then he was asking you for a date?”

Alison’s head appeared around the door. “I can hear you two all the way in my office,” she pointed out. “What in heaven’s name is going on in here? And if it’s some sort of party, why didn’t you invite me to join in the fun?”

“Because it just happened,” Susannah said. “Very unexpectedly. Jarrett Webster popped in out of the blue and—”

“Did not ask me for a date,” Kit cut in hastily. “Look, this is private and personal, and I really don’t want to—”

Susannah nodded wisely at Alison. “She doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Do you think that means she has something to hide?”

“No doubt. I’ll have to think what the secret might be, though. If it isn’t business and it isn’t a date, then—”

“Stop it!” Kit said firmly. “Both of you!” She turned sideways to slide between them and out the door, and the last view she had as she started up the stairs was of two astonished faces in the doorway of Rita’s office.

Then the irrepressible Susannah said, “Kit’s just a little touchy today, wouldn’t you say, Ali? I wonder if that means she’s in love?”

Forty-eight slow and painful hours crept by. By Friday afternoon, Kit still hadn’t heard from Jarrett, and she was beginning to hope that somewhere, somehow, someone had told him what had really happened to mess up the fashion show. If he learned that she hadn’t been responsible for the mix-ups...

Not likely, she told herself. Who was going to admit it, after all? Not Heather, that was sure, or her mother. And neither chance nor divine providence was apt to step in to change his mind and rescue her, either.

Even if he did learn the truth, Kit might not be entirely off the hook. Unless he was man enough to apologize, which she frankly doubted, she might not even find out that he’d seen the light.

And in the meantime, she didn’t dare take a chance on waiting. She couldn’t put off the necessary work for another moment.

She’d opened her big mouth and now she was going to have to back up her boast with action. Three lousy weeks and ten thousand dollars to raise.

Kit knew all the tricks. Professional fund-raising wasn’t particularly difficult, and in a city the size of Chicago ten thousand dollars wasn’t a great deal of money, either. Except that it was a whole lot more difficult to raise money for an amorphous general cause like fighting domestic violence than for a specific one like putting a new roof on a women’s shelter. Why couldn’t the man have been more precise?

“Because,” Kit muttered, “it would have been helpful if he had, and he knows it.”

So how was she going to pull it off?

Susannah, she knew, could come up with that amount in a matter of days for her favorite museum—but the museum had a mailing list of supporters. And a couple of months ago Alison had reached out and touched Chicago’s corporate trusts and charitable foundations, and in mere hours she’d raised enough money to fund a video production on the benefits of living and working in the Windy City.

Kit had her contacts, too, but she didn’t think simply calling them up to ask for money would be likely to solve this problem. She suspected Jarrett wouldn’t be particularly thrilled if she handed him a few big checks. Too easy, he’d probably say. The money would no doubt have been donated anyway, without her interference.

That would be a technical success for Kit, but one that wouldn’t mean much. Under those circumstances, Jarrett might not actually carry through with his threat to use his contacts against Tryad. But unless he was wholeheartedly convinced, he certainly wouldn’t do the firm any favors, either. And if a man with Jarrett Webster’s influence and power so much as raised an eyebrow when Tryad was mentioned...

“Let’s face it,” Kit muttered. “He doesn’t have to bad-mouth us. All he has to do is sow a little doubt. A cynical question here and a hesitant look there, and our clients will start looking for cover.”

The fact was, Kit realized, that raising the money she’d promised wasn’t really the primary goal of this campaign. Impressing Jarrett Webster was, because if she didn’t succeed in swaying him, she’d lose the battle—no matter how much money she handed over to his precious cause.

The good news, she told herself, is that you don’t have to impress him on any personal level. Considering the way she’d started out, that would be downright impossible.

She reached for a pencil and a pad of graph paper and wrote in block letters across the top, How to excite Jarrett Webster.

Then she stared at the blank page and tapped the eraser against her cheek.

New money—that was what she needed to set the arrogant Mr. Webster on his heels. If she could come up with ten thousand dollars from ordinary people who otherwise wouldn’t have made a donation, money that would have been spent on things instead of good causes...

Her pencil moved slowly across the page, doodling a row of parallel lines.

She needed an event that would grab publicity—a month wasn’t long enough for a slow-building campaign. It had to be something flashy to intrigue the fickle public. And it must return entertainment or actual value to the contributors so they wouldn’t mind handing.over fairly large sums of hard-eamed money.

All of which was precisely what the fashion show had tried to do, she reminded herself. Well, she wasn’t stupid enough to try that again. But there were plenty of activities people would pay to attend. A formal ball, perhaps—though there must be a dozen already planned for the next few months. A banquet. A rock concert or maybe a symphony performance.

She could feel her blood pressure inching up. There was nothing particularly intriguing about any of those possibilities, certainly nothing that would generate the sort of publicity she needed.

Her intercom buzzed, and Rita announced, “Telephone, Kit. Line three.”

With a tinge of relief Kit tossed the graph paper aside. But as soon as she picked up the receiver, she knew who was waiting for her. Her fingertips began to tingle, and by the time she’d said hello the sensation had rushed all the way up her arm and leaped to her throat. Did the man give off an electrical current that had the power to surge through telephone lines and paralyze whoever was on the other end?

Jarrett didn’t bother to return her greeting. “When do you get off work?”

I don’t, Kit wanted to say. I’m going to stay here in my office forever, working round the clock like a galley slave for the rest of my life. “I’ll be finished in half an hour.”

“I’ll be waiting in front.”

The telephone clicked in her ear before she could argue. Or agree, for that matter.

Calling that man arrogant, she fumed, was an understatement of approximately the same magnitude as referring to the Great Chicago Fire as a backyard wiener roast!

One thing was certain. There hadn’t been anything in his voice that hinted of regret or apology. So was there any reason she should stick around? Since he hadn’t even let her answer his demand, much less tell him whether it was convenient to meet with him right now...

No, she decided. She shoved the pad of graph paper into her briefcase, along with a dozen folders containing other current projects, took her trench coat from its hook, wrapped a bright wool scarf around her throat and tried not to look as if she was hurrying as she descended the stairs to the front door. With any luck, she could-be around the corner and out of sight before he arrived—and all the way home before the half hour was up.

Though she should give him a smidgen of credit, Kit decided. At least he’d had the decency to offer to wait outside. He could have come in and started Susannah speculating again.

Kit glanced up as she reached the front walk, and her steps slowed. Parked by the fireplug directly in front of the brownstone was a shiny black Porsche, and leaning against the passenger door, arms folded patiently, stood Jarrett Webster.

“You said half an hour,” he pointed out.

Kit felt herself coloring guiltily.

“It’s a good thing I called from my car, isn’t it?” he went on. “Sneaking out like that, Ms. Deevers. One would think you didn’t want to talk to me.”

“If you’d stayed on the phone a moment longer, I would have told you that I have other plans for the evening.”

“Then I’m glad I didn’t. This shouldn’t take all evening, anyway. Or did you think I was asking for a date?”

“Heaven forbid,” Kit said under her breath.

“Good. I’m glad we’ve got that straight. I’m here for a progress report.”

“What makes you think I want to give you one?”

“See? I told you our conversation wouldn’t take long. Does that mean you haven’t anything to tell me?”

“No, it means I don’t want to tell you about my plans till I have the details worked out,” Kit said. That was perfectly true, she told herself, even though it wasn’t quite factual—implying as it did that she had everything but the details in mind.

She added honestly, “Since I hadn’t heard from you in a couple of days, I thought perhaps you had second thoughts about the whole project.”

“I do have a business to run and a deadline for the designs for next year’s collections. And I don’t expect even you—public relations genius that you seem to be—”

The irony in his voice was so thick Kit thought she could have sliced it.

“To come up with a plan without a chance to think it through. But you should know that I’m not known for changing my mind once I’ve made it up.”

“There are those who’d say that’s not determination but pure rigidity,” Kit said sweetly.

He smiled. “I suppose that depends on which side you find yourself on. At any rate, I thought I should find out what you were planning before you got too deeply into your preparations.”

“In case you don’t want your name associated with my idea? Now there’s a thought.” From the corner of her eye Kit saw the flutter of a lace curtain in the bay window of the brownstone next door, the twin to Tryad’s office. Automatically, she lifted a hand to wave.

“Friend of yours?” he asked.

“Not exactly. None of us have ever actually met her. She just watches us all the time.” Mrs. Holcomb’s close observation reminded her that Susannah and Alison would probably be leaving soon. The last thing she needed was for them to catch her schmoozing with Jarrett on the front sidewalk.

“It wasn’t that. I expected you to try to embarrass me,” he went on. “I just didn’t want you to waste a whole weekend of your precious month working on a scheme that I might not approve.”

“Weekend?” Kit was disgusted with herself. How had she managed to forget it was Friday night? Not only would Susannah and Alison be leaving work soon, but they’d be expecting her to meet them at the neighborhood bar where they stopped every Friday night for bratwurst and a chance to discuss the week.

“Look,” she said briskly, “I told you I have plans. Maybe we could meet tomorrow?”

He shook his head. “I’ll be tied up.”

Kit told herself not to take the comment literally, but she couldn’t help it. Would next month’s Lingerie Lady be pictured in black leather, standing over a bound and handcuffed Jarrett Webster? The idea had its attractions. “Of course your plans are more important than mine,” she murmured. “All right, I suppose I could spare a few minutes. Would you like a cup of coffee? There’s a little restaurant around the corner.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re suddenly very eager to chat.” But he dropped into step beside her without arguing.

They had to pass Flanagan’s, where the scent of bratwurst was wafting through the propped-open front door and out to the street. A textbook example of good public relations, Alison always called it—the subtlest form of advertising.

Kit thought Jarrett sniffed appreciatively, and she held her breath till they were well past, half-expecting that he’d suggest they stop for bratwurst and beer instead.

Inside the coffee shop, Kit led the way to a booth at the back and took the seat facing the door. “Two coffees,” she told the waitress. “Unless you’d like something else?”

“It’s your party,” he said.

The coffee arrived and Kit stirred cream into her cup. “I’m puzzled,” she said finally. “Why are you doing this? I can’t imagine why you have such a hate for Tryad—”

“I don’t, particularly. But fair’s fair.”

“Exactly. That’s why I didn’t charge the fashion show people a fee, just expenses.”

He shrugged. “I can’t see that it matters much. The result was the same, whatever you called it.”

So much for the attempt to reason with him, Kit thought.

“So tell me what you’re going to do,” he suggested.

“I won’t hold you to the details just yet, but I need to know when this affair is coming off so I can fit it into my calendar.”

“I’d hate to put you to the trouble. Besides, who says I need a special date? Perhaps I’ll just send out a chain letter.” Where the notion had come from, Kit didn’t know, but almost instantly she warmed to the idea. “You know the kind—‘Send a hundred dollars to the name at the top of the list, and within seven days make six copies of this letter and send them out to your friends. Before the month is out, you’ll receive—’”

His voice was dry. “Oh, that sounds as if it has real potential.”

Kit pretended to take him seriously. “Doesn’t it, though? I wonder how long it would take. If I make all the names on the original list dummies, so the money from the first few levels comes back to me...”

“Why would people send money for a scam like that?”

“Have you no imagination?” Kit smiled warmly at him. “I’ll threaten to send someone from the domestic abuse foundation to beat them up if they don’t. Let’s see, if the first twelve all send out letters...” She reached for a paper napkin from the holder on the table and started to scribble. Two calculations later she was hopelessly lost.

“They won’t. Even with threats you’d be lucky to get half.”

“Really?” Kit looked at the muddle of figures on the napkin and pushed it aside. “I’ll still bet in a month I’d have ten thousand dollars.”

He looked thoughtful. “Assuming a fifty percent response, in three generations—which is all you’d have time for—you’d take in just short of eight thousand.”

“You did that all in your head, didn’t you?” Kit said admiringly. “Well, I’ll take your word for it. Eight thousand dollars—and at the cost of only a dozen stamps. Not a bad return on an investment. If we let it go one more round—”

“You’re putting a lot of faith in the postal service, of course—assuming that all that mail gets delivered.”

“There is that difficulty.”

“And, of course, there’s the minor problem that it’s illegal to send chain letters through the mail.”

“I was afraid you’d remember that,” Kit admitted. “It was still a good idea, though.” She crumpled the napkin.

“So, since the chain letter was obviously a sham, what are you really going to do?”

“Are you this big a spoilsport with your ad agency? I must say I have trouble picturing you meekly doing everything they suggest for those ads of yours. The one where you were pretending to be on safari, for instance—”

“That was a real tiger, even if the only shooting was done with cameras. A fan of my ads, are you?”

Oops. Kit told herself. That was a slip. “Not at all. It’s just that they’re a bit difficult to avoid. One would have to quit reading altogether to escape them, and even then there are the billboards.”

He drained his cup and set it on the table with a firm click. “Let’s get down to it, Ms. Deevers. Obviously you don’t have an idea in your head about this fund-raiser. So why don’t you just admit it?”

“Why should I?” she asked cautiously.

“Because we may as well call the whole thing off now, before you make a fool of yourself.”

Kit felt a slow burn start in her toes and work up. “You sound awfully sure I’m the one who’ll look foolish.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No—now that I think about it, you didn’t. I wonder if that means you’re afraid I’ll succeed and you’ll have to eat crow.”

“That possibility doesn’t seem likely.”

“I’ll call it off if you’ll promise to keep your mouth shut about Tryad.”

“You’re not dictating the terms here, Ms. Deevers.”

“Really? Well, no dice.” She eased out of the booth. “I won’t give you the satisfaction of telling people I backed out, and you’re not going to slander my company, either. I’m going to pull this off, Mr. Damn-Your-Arrogance Webster—and you’re going to be so impressed by the time it’s over that you not only won’t run down Tryad, you’ll give us referrals.”

He didn’t move. “Pull it off and you have my promise—all the referrals I can manage. Of course, in the meantime, I can’t wait to hear all about how you’re going to do it.”

Neither can I, Kit thought. So now, all I have to do is figure it out.