Something that felt suspiciously like his conscience pricked him, but he firmly swatted the feeling aside. It was every man for himself in this business.

As Jillian neared Debra's desk, she glanced up from her papers. Her gaze zeroed in on him, and her steps slowed. Her expression remained coolly professional, but he'd caught that flash in her eyes, the one clearly indicating she wasn't thrilled to see him. He bit back a smile at that slight ruffling of her always-in-place feathers. Some perverse part of him enjoyed rocking her boat, though she had never lost her cool around him. What would it take to really break through that professional veneer and get her fired up and out of sorts?

He'd expected her to march right on by, but she surprised him by stopping. Matt inhaled and caught a whiff of the elusive scent he'd noticed the first time he'd sat next to her in the conference room. As always, Jillian Taylor smelled fresh and clean-like clothes that had dried outdoors in the spring sunshine. Since it was winter, it couldn't be her clothing that smelled that way. Must be something they used at her dry cleaners. Either that or the Ice Princess had discovered a fragrance called Clean Laundry, which he highly doubted.

"Debra, Matt," she murmured in a voice that somehow managed to sound both smooth and a bit husky, as though she'd just slipped from between silk bedsheets. She looked at him over the top edge of her glasses. "Nice job with the Heavenly Chocolate account. Very clever, fresh and hip."

He searched for a sign of insincerity in her expression or voice, but found none. Man, she was good. "Thank you. It was a 'sweet' deal."

Her lips didn't so much as twitch. "Of course, I would have given you a run for your money if I hadn't been laid low with the flu."