"Most are clicking through to TheGirlLies.com, but they're still getting a glimpse of DieHardAtlanta en route. You know, I'd be curious to see how many of these hits are female. No way to tell, but I'm betting you've probably got nearly as many women checking to see if their name is on that database as men visiting to see who's there. Really, you should send that Kincaid woman a thank-you card for giving you such an inventive way to boost your readership."

Keith was right. Trent had been so busy with the Suwanee deal that he hadn't taken time to check his DieHardAtlanta stats. Swiveling in his chair, he brought up the site, then clicked through to TheGirlLies.com. There, at the top of the first page, was Rissi. d.a.m.n, he'd been surprised when the photographer finally emailed these shots. The woman still had the feisty spark in those dark eyes that he'd known as a kid, but now she had something more . . . a sultry s.e.xiness that made Trent wonder if her voice was still as raspy as it'd been back then. In middle school, its roughness had bothered her. "I don't even sound like a girl," "I don't even sound like a girl," she'd said. But what she hadn't realized was that the Demi Moore/Kathleen Turner quality had intrigued him before he was even old enough to understand why. Now he knew. It was the sound of a woman's voice when she was aroused, and it was as s.e.xy as the woman currently staring at him from the screen. He examined her, looking over her bare shoulder-the red strap of her dress having s.e.xily slipped down. d.a.m.n, she looked good. An image flashed across his mind, those lips curving into a smile, arms teasing him into their embrace, and Rissi, giving him a taste of the woman the feisty girl had turned out to be. What would she do if she knew what he was thinking now? she'd said. But what she hadn't realized was that the Demi Moore/Kathleen Turner quality had intrigued him before he was even old enough to understand why. Now he knew. It was the sound of a woman's voice when she was aroused, and it was as s.e.xy as the woman currently staring at him from the screen. He examined her, looking over her bare shoulder-the red strap of her dress having s.e.xily slipped down. d.a.m.n, she looked good. An image flashed across his mind, those lips curving into a smile, arms teasing him into their embrace, and Rissi, giving him a taste of the woman the feisty girl had turned out to be. What would she do if she knew what he was thinking now?

"She'd probably go into shock," Keith said.

Had Trent actually said that out loud? "What?"

"If you sent her a thank-you card."

Trent swallowed thickly, undid the top two b.u.t.tons of his starched white shirt, and loosened his collar. "Right, complete shock."

"And I wouldn't recommend it anyway," Keith said. "Particularly with these comments about her on the page. One guy claims she's mental."

"Mental? Rissi?"

"Then again, this guy apparently spent more time with his tuba than with his date," Keith added, chuckling slightly as he read the posts. "Oh, another one says she cries during s.e.x, but her mother came to her defense. d.a.m.n, this is good. You've got your own personal soap opera here, Trent, and it's out there for the whole web to see."

Trent fiercely clicked his own computer keys until he got to the same screen. Then he frowned when he read the comments. "I didn't mean for them to trash her."

"No worries," Keith said. "They're trashing you on her site, too."

h.e.l.l. Trent opened another web browser. He keyed in TheGuyCheats.com and waited for the broken hearts to fill the screen. Marissa had added the sound of breaking gla.s.s to the waterfall image, and the effect was quite impressive, except Trent wasn't inclined to be impressed at the moment; he wanted to know what had been said about him on her site, and how many of his business a.s.sociates had seen the posts.

"Nothing terrible," Keith said. "Although one of your former flames, a girl named Robin Grenade, claims your, er, anatomy leaves much to be desired. Oh, and another one, LaDonna Farraday, says you have chronic halitosis and suggests Altoids." Keith tilted his head and questioned, "Grenade? Didn't you ever have second thoughts about dating a girl named Grenade?"

Trent's jaw clenched. If ever a woman deserved the "mental" cla.s.sification, it'd be Robin. She'd been so fiery mad when he tried to give her the "It's been enjoyable, but it's time to move on" spiel that she'd clawed him like a terrorized feline. His face smarted just thinking about it. And LaDonna? He had only gone out with her once. She was the clingy type, had to hang all over him the entire date, and he'd simply not asked her out again. Chronic halitosis? She sure hadn't seemed to think that when she was trying to ram her tongue down his throat.

"No responses?" Keith taunted.

"None," Trent said. He didn't even open the comments page. Why bother, since Keith was having so much fun reading them to him?

"Well, in case you're wondering, two women came to your defense."

"And who would that be?" Trent asked, perplexed.

"Crazy Irene, for starters."

"Great. My sole stalker shows up for the party," Trent said. Why would he cla.s.sify Robin as mental, when Irene actually filled the bill? He'd finally asked for a restraining order when the cleaning crew in his building found her going through his trash, and he'd never even dated Irene. She'd worked for him, and he'd said h.e.l.lo a few times, and the woman had lost it. Completely. Keith had dubbed her "Crazy Irene" and, unfortunately, Trent had thought of her in that light for so long that he could no longer remember the woman's last name.

"Irene says you're the kindest man she knows, even if she isn't allowed to talk to you anymore," Keith said with a snicker.

"Swell." Trent closed his eyes and forced his blood pressure to settle back into place. "So who was my second defender?"

"Oh, that would be Mona Kincaid, Marissa Kincaid's mother. She's obviously posting on both sites."

"Mona Kincaid," Trent repeated. He had never met Rissi's mother when he was a kid, or at least he didn't remember meeting her. But the name seemed so familiar . . .

"Yeah, she said that she didn't think it was very nice for those women to say those things about you, and that wasn't what her daughter intended when she started the site. She also says that you sounded like a very nice young man when she spoke to you three weeks ago."

"Three weeks ago?" Trent questioned, searching his brain for a recollection. Three weeks ago? Her name did did sound familiar. But why? sound familiar. But why?

"That's all she says," Keith said.

Trent tried to make the pieces connect, but they didn't. At all. How did he know Rissi's mother?

"And the older Ms. Kincaid also posted on TheGirl Lies.com." Keith moved the mouse on his computer to transition between the two screens, but Trent, with Rissi's page still displayed on his monitor, beat his friend to the punch.

"I've got it," he said, and read her lengthy comment.

This is Mona, Marissa's mother. While I can understand why Trent Jackson started this site as a retaliation of sorts to my daughter's site, I cannot understand why you boys have to post comments of this nature about my daughter. Because I'm upset with each of you for different reasons, I'll reference each of your posts individually. Jamie-you should be ashamed of yourself. Don't badmouth Marissa for not wanting to continue the relationship when you were less than truthful with her about your s.e.xual preference. Even if you do "play for both teams" you should have had the courtesy to tell her that you pinch hit, or switch hit, or whatever it is they call it. I never have been big on baseball. And Gerald, if you think that I, a woman who is a professional in the advertising industry, didn't recognize that you only posted to promote your d.a.m.n (excuse my French) tuba and that orchestra, then you've got a screw loose. The Atlanta Symphony is terrific, but you need to find a life, too, beyond the tuba, and I was thrilled when Marissa let you-and your tuba-go. Okay, now for the toughie. Blake. What do I say to you? She gave you her heart, and you trampled on it. For that, you're the worst of all. And that's all I'm going to say about that. Wait a minute. One more thing. You crazy nuts who are sending the cases of tissues to my Rissi, stop it. Right now.

"The woman doesn't like anyone messing with her daughter," Keith said. "Amazingly enough, though, she says she understands why you've got her on the site, and even calls you a 'very nice young man.' And you don't remember talking to her?"

Trent turned away from his friend so he could concentrate. He scanned the tops of Atlanta's buildings and watched the way the blistering sun made their edges blur in waves. Oddly enough, the image brought back another day, when he sat in this chair and stared out at those buildings, hazy in the summer heat, and spoke to a woman on the phone. She had the sweetest, most tender voice, and reminded Trent of his mother, particularly when she voiced her opinion on how smart he was to start his own business, to pursue his dream, and then she told him how she could help him make it successful . . . with her current ad special.

"Mona Kincaid. She's the advertising rep at the Atlanta Journal Atlanta Journal who helped me set up the DieHard Atlanta campaign." who helped me set up the DieHard Atlanta campaign."

"You're joking."

"No, I'm serious," Trent said. He'd really liked her and had gone with everything she suggested, and all of the ads had ended up in prime positions in the paper. Consequently, DieHardAtlanta had a substantial increase in hits on the days those ads ran.

"You placed the ads yourself? Why didn't you use your Jackson advertising agents?"

"I'm doing this one on my own," Trent said, reminding Keith of his ultimate goal, to succeed without his family's bank account.

"Right," Keith said, grinning. "And you just happened to get Mona Kincaid for an ad rep. Wonder what her daughter thinks about that?"

"No idea."

"You realize the fight is probably over. She hasn't made any effort to contact you since the article ran, so she's probably decided to lie low," Keith observed. "And while this exposure has done a lot for your publicity campaign, it's still not enough. It would've been good if you could have kept this feud going a little longer, in all honesty."

"Well, in all honesty," Trent mocked, "it isn't over yet."

All's fair in love, war . . . and business.

-TRENT J JACKSON . . . . . . AND AND M MARISSA K KINCAID

Chapter 7.

I told you, Mom, I'm not mad," Marissa said Wednesday morning, yawning through the last word. She, Amy, and Candi had worked on the new site until after midnight, and she really wasn't looking forward to going to work. The fact that her coworkers relentlessly teased her about her Internet battle with Trent Jackson didn't help. Then again, AtlantaTellAll.com had gained more subscribers in the past four days than in all of the previous twelve months combined, so she wasn't going to fret over the embarra.s.sment . . . too much. She was, however, determined to make Trent Jackson pay. Somehow. told you, Mom, I'm not mad," Marissa said Wednesday morning, yawning through the last word. She, Amy, and Candi had worked on the new site until after midnight, and she really wasn't looking forward to going to work. The fact that her coworkers relentlessly teased her about her Internet battle with Trent Jackson didn't help. Then again, AtlantaTellAll.com had gained more subscribers in the past four days than in all of the previous twelve months combined, so she wasn't going to fret over the embarra.s.sment . . . too much. She was, however, determined to make Trent Jackson pay. Somehow.

"I couldn't let those guys talk about you that way, and on the Internet, for the entire world to see," Mona continued, as Marissa patted Petie's head and snapped his leash on his collar for their morning trip behind the bushes.

"It's fine, Mom." Marissa stepped outside in time to see Amy, on her toes and giving her husband a hot-and-heated farewell kiss beside Landon's black Dodge Ram Dually in the parking lot. Landon's hand cupped her bottom, barely covered by her hot pink satin sleep set. An inkling of jealousy burned in Marissa's chest, but she swallowed it down. She wasn't jealous of Amy and Landon, after all, she was merely envious of anyone who found the right one.

Amy and Landon finished their cuddle session, which was totally beyond a typical public display of affection, then Amy watched him leave and turned to see Marissa.

"That was almost X-rated," Marissa called.

Amy beamed. "Thanks!"

"Tell Amy I said h.e.l.lo," Mona instructed, reminding Marissa that she was still on the line and listening.

"My mom says hi," Marissa relayed, then she steered Petie behind his preferred bush.

"Hi, Mona!" Amy called.

"And tell her that I'm proud of you girls for starting the new site, and for keeping it tasteful. After he put you up as liar of the month, I was afraid you might retaliate, but you proved you're above that type of thing."

Ouch. Marissa hadn't really thought about her mother reading Marissa's new comments about Trent on the site, the exact type of retaliation she was referring to, but undoubtedly, Mona Kincaid would check them out for herself. Might as well prepare her.

"Um, Mom, we did add a bit of retaliation verbiage to the site. I don't guess you've seen it yet."

"O-kay," Mona said, drawing the word out. "So what'd you say?"

"Well, last night we updated the site after a few margaritas and, thinking back, we probably shouldn't have made any modifications then." While bracing for her mother's next question, Marissa applauded Petie for making his business in the right spot. The dog pranced as though totally understanding the praise and completely believing he deserved it.

"What type of updates?" Mona asked.

"Just a few modifications to his personal cheater page," Marissa said dismissively, though she knew good and well that Mona Kincaid wouldn't dismiss it.

Amy waved a hand to get Marissa's attention. "I'm heading in to wake Bo. We're going over to my sister's house to let the kids swim this morning."

"Tell Lettie I said h.e.l.lo," Marissa called, as Amy disappeared into her apartment, and Mona squealed in her ear.

"Marissa Leola Kincaid, what-have-you-done?"

"Oh, you found his page?" Marissa asked.

"I cannot believe you did that to his picture." Mona spat out her disappointment in every word.

Okay, obviously her mother had, thus far, only viewed the updated photo of the young Trent Jackson, embellished with a pointed beard, curled mustache, and horns. If that's what had her yelling, just wait until she saw- "Ma-ris-sa!"

Marissa waved to Mr. Nance and Noodle, out for their morning walk, then darted into her apartment, just in case Mona Kincaid's scream could be heard beyond her ear. "I guess you read the new remarks."

"That you second that horrendous Robin person's comment regarding his private parts and that you've provided his mailing address, in case anyone wants to send Altoids?" Mona asked. "Yes, I read them. Honey, what are you thinking?"

"It isn't actually his home address. It's the post office box for his business, but that'll do. And what I'm thinking is that this website war is going to get me a lot of business, and that he's getting what he deserves for making me liar of the month."

"And you don't think the boy will retaliate?"

"He's thirty-three, Mom. Hardly a boy." Marissa watched Petie scamper toward the kitchen. He stopped shy of his bowl, turned around, and c.o.c.ked his head in a now-you-feed-me move. Grinning at him, she obliged, filling his food and water bowls. She left him finishing his breakfast while she booted up her laptop.

"I guess he is a man," Mona said softly. "I need to keep reminding myself of that, because every time I think of him, I see that teen picture you have on your site."

"All you have to do is look at Sunday's paper to see he's changed," Marissa pointed out, and hated the way her chest tightened at the memory of Trent Jackson, all grown up and drop-dead gorgeous. Who'd have imagined such amazing eye candy would come from that skinny kid?

"I know. In fact, I should be able to remember his age from the sound of his voice. He certainly has the tone of a man, a very confident man. I noticed that yesterday on the phone."

Marissa's free hand stopped moving over the computer keys and she tightened the other on the receiver. "What?"

"I said I noticed his confidence in his voice, you know, when I spoke with him."

"Yesterday. That's That's what you said. You said, 'When I spoke to him yesterday.' You talked to Trent Jackson-yesterday?" what you said. You said, 'When I spoke to him yesterday.' You talked to Trent Jackson-yesterday?"

"Oh, yes. He wanted to order another of our advertising specials, but this time, he needed to advertise his new website and wanted to pay a little more for premier positioning in the paper. Of course, I gave him the best spot I could find. Top right corner, page two of the Living Section, high visibility."

"He's advertising TheGirlLies.com?" Marissa asked.

"Yes, he is," Mona said matter-of-factly. "You know, I still think you should advertise in the AJ-C AJ-C, too. In one day, you could reach over 1.9 million adult readers in Metro Atlanta . . ."

"That's enough, Mom. I've heard your sales pitch, and you don't need it this time. I'll take the same package Trent Jackson bought, and I'll take his prime spot, too."

"Oh, honey, I already slated that spot for him, but I bet I could put you somewhere else that's equally appealing."

Marissa cleared her throat. "Mom."

"Yes?"

"How close to his ad can you get mine?"

"Well, I suppose I could put it right under his on the same page, but it really wouldn't be wise to put two websites that are virtually in direct compet.i.tion with each other in the same section. I'm fairly certain that my boss won't let me."

"But we're not in compet.i.tion," Marissa said sweetly. "I'm advertising a database for guys who cheat; he's advertising a database for girls who lie. See, no compet.i.tion. You could explain that to your boss, couldn't you?"

"Oh, honey, I feel like you really are playing with fire here."

"I am," Marissa admitted. "But trust me; I'm not the one who'll get burned. So, when does his ad start?"

"Tomorrow, and he bought the three-repeat special. The same ad will run three days in a row, Thursday, Friday, and Sat.u.r.day. He said he was debating running a larger ad in the Sunday paper, but hadn't made a decision yet."

"Did he send the ad camera-ready, or are you designing it for him?" Marissa asked, bringing up her email for TheGuyCheats.com and seeing Trent's name in her inbox. She clicked on it.

"I didn't design it personally, but one of our graphic guys did. Trent wanted it fairly basic, just the site name and the fact that it's for guys to list women who've lied. Why?"

"Can you ask the same designer to do mine, and make them match?"

Mona didn't answer.