Читать книгу One Night Standards - Cathy Yardley - Страница 6
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ОглавлениеMARK WOKE UP IN A HOTEL BED, not surprisingly. It was early, though—he’d forgotten to shut the shades. He must’ve been more tired than he’d thought.
His hand moved across the pillow, and he heard a startled sigh.
He sat bolt upright.
He wasn’t in his room. He was in her room. In her bed. With the rest of the conference probably filing into this very hotel at any moment.
“Uh-oh,” he muttered.
She sat up slowly, took one look at him, and then he could tell from the horrified expression on her face and the way her mouth was opening that she was about to scream. He quickly did the only thing he could think of…covered her mouth with his hand. Her shriek turned into a muffled squeak.
“Hi, I’m Mark McMann. Any second now, you’re going to remember me from last night. We drove in together last night, laughing, were both tired, we didn’t have a condom….” He smiled without humor as a look of recognition crossed over her face. The look of horror, he noted, redoubled. “Ah, here we go. You remember.”
He removed his hand slowly, and she gasped. “You’re still here. It’s morning, and you’re still here.”
“In my defense, I was exhausted…Hey!”
She jumped out of bed and bolted past him, dashing to the center of the room, looking as if she were trying desperately to get her bearings. He noticed that she was only wearing panties, and she didn’t seem to care in the slightest. “What time is it?”
“Uh…” His brain had shorted out temporarily, seeing that lithe body of hers wearing only a pair of silky-looking bikini-cuts. “Um…”
She looked around at her clothes, then pushed her blouse out of the way of the clock. “Eight o’clock! Crap! Crap!” She glanced back at him. “Focus, Tennessee. Grab your clothes and get back to your room! ASAP!”
He blinked. Of course, that had been his plan, before he’d frozen in the headlights, as it were. He’d seen naked women, although they were usually models. And they weren’t usually shaped like Sophie. For a short girl, she certainly had…
“Mark!” She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Not that it isn’t flattering, but you’ve got to wake up, sweetie. Do you really want people to know we spent the night together?”
Those were the magic words. He jumped out of bed, thankful that he was still wearing boxers. He assiduously avoided looking at her and instead did as she said, focusing on grabbing his clothes and pulling them on, tripping back onto the bed as he tugged his pants on both legs at one time.
“Can’t you hurry?” he heard her call from the bathroom. The shower was running…. Man, he needed to jump into the shower. He needed to unpack, for God’s sake. He needed to get moving…. His boss Simone was probably in the hotel by now, and would probably want to call the staff meeting at 10:00 a.m. or something…. Jeez, he needed to look at his PDA, see if he’d gotten any e-mails; she was all about sending those sneaky e-mails to make sure people were plugged in all day.
He buttoned his shirt hastily, noticing that he seemed to be missing a button…and abruptly remembered how he’d lost it. He went slightly hard and quickly headed off any more thoughts in that direction.
It was just a temporary lapse of reason. People were considered innocent for stuff like murder with just that kind of rationale. Besides, it wasn’t as if it were ever going to happen again.
“I’m out of here, I’m really sorry…” he said to the open bathroom door, figuring she was in the shower. “I’ll…er…”
He’d what? Call her later? They hadn’t even had sex, for pity’s sake. And now they weren’t ever going to see each other again. That thought caused a little sting, but he’d get over it. So what else could he say?
“Have a good conference,” he finished lamely and headed for the door. He looked out the peephole and then opened the door, peering out. Nobody in the hallway. He dug around in his pocket, found his room key and then made a break for it. He got in the room quickly and noticed immediately that the hotel-room phone light was blinking. He had a message. He decided to jump in the shower and get dressed first, before dealing with it. Odds were good it was somebody he didn’t want to talk to, anyway…or somebody it would stress him out to know he’d missed. He could just say that he’d slept in or something.
He thought back a minute, thinking of Sophie, naked on the other side of the wall.
Or something.
Finally, in a world’s record of getting cleaned up, he collected the message.
“Mark? This is Simone. I think something might be wrong with your phone. I’ve decided to call an impromptu staff meeting at nine this morning, and I want you there a few minutes early…. I think we need to talk.” A pregnant pause. “Yes. We definitely need to talk.”
Mark winced, then grabbed his briefcase. He wasn’t going to bring his laptop—Simone didn’t approve of them in meetings. He was almost out the door when he suddenly found that his phone was missing. He searched for it frantically, cursing a blue streak when it didn’t show up. He didn’t even have stuff out of his bags, for pity’s sake, where could he have…
He winced.
Sophie.
He took a deep breath, glanced at his watch. Eight-forty. He should leave in five minutes. He prayed that Sophie hadn’t rushed off….
He looked down the hallway again, as furtive as a spy, then knocked softly on her door. Then knocked louder.
“Just a minute!”
She opened the door. She looked…well, wet, to be honest, her toffee-colored waves pulled back in a ponytail that emphasized the classic lines of her face. She was wearing glasses, cute wire-rims. She blinked at him as she put an earring in her ear.
“Hi,” he said, and without waiting for an invitation, he dashed into her room.
“Um, hi. I’m in a hurry….”
“I can’t find my phone,” he explained, looking around. She’d done the same thing as he had—dug into her bags for clothes—but otherwise everything was as is. Except for the clothes she’d stripped off last night, which were still in a trail that led to the bed.
Don’t think about it, don’t think about it….
“Listen, about last night,” she said softly.
“No worries,” he interrupted. “Really. We were both tired, we weren’t really thinking, it just seemed like a good idea at the time….”
“That’s not it.”
He looked up, finally. She looked near tears.
He tried not to think about how hot she’d been. How very, very much he’d wanted her. How much he still wanted her, come to that. She was amazing, sweet and sexier than anybody he’d met in a long time.
“It’s not that bad,” he said. “You didn’t…”
Before he could say anything else, she flew at him, and he felt that hot, mobile mouth of hers against his. And whatever strange craziness had come over him last night was back again with a vengeance. It wasn’t a fluke…wasn’t because they were tired, wasn’t because they were punch-drunk and lonely.
She still wanted him.
His hands clutched at the small of her back, dragging her up against him…. Then he pulled away. What was he doing? He had a meeting in minutes, and so did she, and what were they doing?
Besides, you still don’t have a condom.
“I still want you,” she breathed. “I know the timing’s lousy, and it’s probably not anything either of us should do anything about, I mean we’re professionals, and…” She stopped. “I’m babbling.”
“You hate that,” he couldn’t help but point out, with a smile, thinking of last night.
“The thing is, I would still love to make love with you. I just thought you should know that.” She shrugged, the blush on her cheeks owing nothing to cosmetics.
He reached out and kissed her back, hard, gratifying in the sound of her low moan. “You don’t even know how much I still want to make love to you,” he ground out finally. “But you’re right. The timing, the…”
“It’s crazy,” she said with a shrug. “In fact, it’s stupid. But if I didn’t tell you…well. I didn’t want you to think that I regretted it, or that it was a mistake.”
He was torn. It was stupid, potentially career damaging. As one of the few men in a women-dominated profession, it was dangerous. And it was definitely unprofessional. It would get around. Hell, rumors of him sleeping with women, that were completely unfounded, still surfaced from time to time. And with his promotion coming up…
He sighed. “I’m sorry. You’re right—we can’t.”
She nodded, looking for a moment completely dejected. “I’ll help you find your phone.”
He saw it suddenly, a silver object, half-hidden by the thrown-back comforter on the bed. “Here it is.” He grabbed it and knew he should be out the door, with his briefcase, finding Simone. But the problem was he didn’t want to go.
“Have a good conference,” she said, echoing his earlier lame goodbye.
He wanted to kiss her…reassure her that neither of them had made a mistake. Or better, tell her to wait for him…that after her meeting and his, after whatever else they had to do today, he’d sneak over and they’d make love till morning, damn the conference, damn everything else.
But he wouldn’t do that. And she wouldn’t, either. And they both knew it.
He held out a hand. She stared at it for a moment, then shook it firmly.
“It was nice meeting you, Sophie Jones,” he said, and regret drowned every word.
Then he turned and headed out the door.
SOPHIE GLANCED AT HER WATCH, then glanced back at the empty stage. After all her fuss to make the morning meeting, she now discovered that the meeting itself had been canceled and replaced with a press conference. Sophie was a bundle of nervous energy, since Mrs. Marion had left a message for Sophie specifically to sit up front at the event.
This could be the announcement we’ve been waiting for.
She was surrounded by tons of people, all sitting at the various tables set up. Marion & Co. had appropriated the second-largest ballroom, and she would’ve wagered that everyone at the regional trade show had abandoned their various booths to hear what was being said. Well, okay, the big companies, anyway. All the trade reporters were milling around. She would be able to tell them apart by the hungry, searching look in their eyes, if not by their press badges. They didn’t get paid much, poor bastards, but they sure did work hard for the money.
She realized she was glancing around to see Mark. Not that you’re at all eager to see him, her mind ruthlessly taunted her. She’d thrown herself at him briefly this morning, when she’d gotten her wits about her. She’d been disconcerted by finding a man in her bed, after all this time—and the first thing on her mind was the Marion meeting.
If only that had been on your mind before you invited him to sleep over last night, you idiot.
It was strange. Normally, she was all business. But she’d taken one look at gorgeous, godlike Mark McMann, and most of her sharp-hewn common sense had taken a flying leap out the window.
She shook her head. It probably wouldn’t hurt her reputation all that much, all things considered, to sleep with a competitor, but obviously it bothered him. Enough for him to rescind his really wonderful, beautiful, sexy offer from the night before.
The offer that she still would’ve loved to take him up on.
She closed her eyes, squinched them shut. No, no, no. Just move on, will you?
She saw Lily Hunter, Mrs. Marion’s second in command, crossing the stage, and sat up. The people who were making all that noise quieted, and they looked up expectantly.
She heard someone approach, turned…and saw Mark, looking out of breath. He smiled at her, and her irritation suddenly melted.
He really is beautiful, she thought. In a purely masculine way. Like a carved fallen angel.
She frowned, then pulled out the little notepad that she always carried in its little leather binder. She jotted down: “Fallen Angel. Maybe a new perfume? Or add to the new line of eye shadows?”
He sat down next to her, looking curiously at her note, then at her.
She simply smiled. They weren’t supposed to know each other, but here they were. And it wasn’t as if they were wearing matching T-shirts that said I Almost Slept With and arrows pointing to each other.
She smiled at the image, and he smiled back, then they both turned to the stage, where Abigail Marion strode, looking like a queen clad in her caramel-colored Yves Saint Laurent suit. She had a smile on her face, the one that seemed to say “I know something you don’t know.”
Sophie glanced at Mark. She wondered if he knew what was going on, but he seemed puzzled…and a bit more annoyed, she noted.
She squelched a smug smile. Not as annoyed as you’re going to be when you find out that a tiny company like mine has poached a huge account from a big company like yours!
Sure, she might be in lust with the guy. But business was business.
“I’m glad that so many of you could make it to this announcement, on such short notice,” Mrs. Marion said, in a rich, cultured voice. “I am also glad that the Southwestern Cosmetics Trade Show management let us have the ballroom so we could make this brief statement.”
You could hear a pin drop. Someone coughed in the back of the room, and Sophie could’ve sworn she felt everyone wince in unison. They were all riveted.
“Marion & Co. has been fortunate enough to have enjoyed significant growth in revenue in the past few years, dealing in exclusive luxury items for the most discerning shoppers,” she said. “We only offer the best products from the absolute, most exclusive providers. We offer several select brands, only the finest. Cosmetics has been one such area.”
Now, Sophie thought she could feel the whole room hold its collective breath. She could barely breathe, herself.
“We would like to partner with a cosmetics company to create a new house cosmetics brand…a partnership brand, if you would. It would still retain the cosmetic company’s name, and have a distinct identity. But it would carry the weight of Marion & Co.’s seal of approval. The distinct sub brand would only be available at Marion & Co…but I don’t need to tell you all what sort of a boost this would be.”
There was a buzz of frenetic chatter after this, as the thrum of commentary followed. It would be more than a boost—it would be an absolute windfall for whatever lucky cosmetics company M&C partnered with.
Sophie felt her heart beating a staccato rhythm in her chest. This is it, she chanted in her mind. This is it, the chance we’ve been waiting for…
“After a private, relatively secret search, we have narrowed the field of competitors to two.”
Sophie’s eyes widened.
Wait a minute.
Two?
Whatever gossipy buzz had been traveling through the room ceased as all ears pricked up.
“First…Trimera International, headquartered in New York.”
Sophie saw Mark sit up a bit straighter, his eyes gleaming avariciously.
“And second…Diva Nation, from California.”
She could hear people muttering “Who?” after Diva Nation was announced. She suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to crow—and an equally powerful urge to make a break for her room before her incognita status disappeared. She got the feeling that by tonight, every single person at the conference would know exactly who she was and who she represented.
’Bout time!
“Congratulations,” Mark murmured to her, and she nodded, accepting it. His eyes weren’t gleaming anymore. Instead, they studied her…appraising, yet wary.
Mrs. Marion smiled at the shock wave she’d sent through the conference. She was obviously a woman who liked to push buttons, and cause a stir. “To these two companies, I am asking for a series of distinct proposal rounds. Your individual headquarters will be receiving the necessary materials by this afternoon. This brand will be rolling out by the end of next year. Thank you, all of you, for your time.”
With that, and with people clamoring out with questions, Sophie felt herself go numb.
“Who the hell is Diva Nation?” a woman next to her asked, sourly. “Mark…heard of them?”
“Yup,” he said, looking at Sophie. “They’re a sort of underground urban cosmetics brand, out of L.A.”
She blinked. She hadn’t told him that. He’d somehow…
Of course he knew. She grimaced, and quickly snatched up her things, grabbing her phone as almost an afterthought.
“Yeah, but who the hell are they?” the woman persisted.
Sophie didn’t wait to hear what his response was. She just made a beeline for the door.
Mark was right behind her, it turned out. She knew because of the cologne he wore…. It wasn’t overpowering, but it was really nice, and suited him to a T. “Wait up,” he said.
“I’m sorry, I’ve got to get going,” she said quickly. “It’s now going to be a really chaotic conference for me.”
“You pulled off a coup back there,” he said, and admiration was obvious in his voice. “Did you know they were going to give you a chance at the account? When I gave you a ride?”
She glanced around. People were watching them. More to the point, they were watching him. Women couldn’t keep their eyes off him, which was hardly a shock. “I thought we weren’t going to talk business,” she said in a hushed, reprimanding voice.
“That was last night,” he murmured. “I think things have changed since then, don’t you?”
“They have changed,” she said ruefully. “Now, we’re direct competitors, not just rivals in the same industry. And we really, really need to not talk anymore.”
He was still following her as she walked toward the elevator bank. After they waited there in silence, he said, “I’m not stalking you. I’m only trying to get to my room.”
She drowned again for a second, wallowing in memories of last night…of the two of them. Of his earlier promise to make love to her all night tonight. “No problem,” she said, glad her voice managed to sound casual.
The two of them rode the elevator in silence, ignoring the gaggle of sales reps who surrounded them as they managed to get off on earlier floors, all of them commenting bitterly on Trimera getting chosen, and all wondering about Diva Nation. Sophie made sure that her arms covered her name badge. Finally, it was her and Mark alone, on the elevator, headed for the twelfth floor.
“What are you doing for dinner tonight?”
She glanced at him. “Sorry?”
“Dinner. Tonight.” He sent her a sidelong glance that practically melted her heart. “I was sort of wondering. I mean, you’ve got to eat, I’ve got to eat….”
She stared at him. “Hello. We’re up against each other for this account!” Was the man insane?
He stared at the ceiling of the elevator, contemplatively. “And yet, I still crave food. I imagine at some point, you might feel a little nibbly. So what the hell, we run up the white flag and just have a bite?”
“No, Mark.”
“No, you won’t be hungry?”
“No, I won’t be eating with you!” She couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Damn. Either you’ve got a ton of moxie, or…”
She stopped. Or he’d reconsidered his stance on sleeping with her.
Of course. Now that she absolutely could not, in good conscience, sleep with him…he’d changed his mind.
“I’m not sleeping with you,” she said bluntly.
Now he smiled back at her, devilishly handsome. “Um…ever?”
She forced herself to keep a straight face. “More than likely. But definitely not as long as we’re both in the running for this account.”
“Somehow,” he said, “I can probably manage to share a meal with you without pushing the dishes aside and just taking you on the table.”
The image that conjured up sent shivers of heat along her body. “Don’t even joke,” she said, hating the breathless edge her voice took on.
“I wasn’t really joking,” he said.
He was dangerous.
“Stay away from me, Mark,” she said. “I really appreciated yesterday…on a couple of levels. And I would’ve loved to become friends with you. But you’ve got to see how this won’t work.”
He took that in silence for a moment, then the two of them headed to their respective rooms. She noticed her hand shaking slightly as she wrested with the card key.
She’d been so close to sleeping with him, she thought, with regret so keen it was painful. Now, she knew that every single ounce of common sense told her that he was off-limits, for good.
He pulled out his wallet, producing a business card that he quickly scrawled something on. “Here,” he said.
She stared at it. “What’s this for?”
“It’s my cell-phone number,” he said. “Just in case you change your mind about dinner.” He paused. “Or anything else.”
She watched as he effortlessly opened his room door and shut it behind him. She finally went into her own room…the card burning a hole in her pocket.
You’re not going to call him, she told herself.
Still, she couldn’t bring herself to throw the card away.
“ALL WE HAVE TO DO IS TAKE OUT one puny competitor, and the house brand for Marion & Co is ours,” Simone said, back at the office in New York. “Now—brainstorm. What do we know about Diva Nation, and how can we knock them the hell out?”
Mark looked at his boss, and then at the VP of marketing, Roger, who was sitting in on the meeting. They were both standing at the head of the large conference-room table, looking puzzled. Well, puzzled wasn’t the best way to describe it. Simone looked determined, as always, but also somewhat frazzled. Roger looked gob-smacked. The rest of the Trimera team, seated around the broad expanse of table, was somewhere between the two. Except for the resident pit-bull saleswoman, Carol, who looked as if her solution would involve some kind of violent force.
“I cannot believe this. I cannot…frickin’…believe this,” Roger finally said, anger filtering through his obvious surprise.
Simone sighed. “Roger, we’ve been over this.”
“I don’t think you realize what a slap in the face this is,” he countered, obviously eager to discuss in front of the team what he’d already hashed out with Simone in private. “Marion & Co. has always carried Trimera. We’ve always had a good relationship with them. Now, they’re creating an exclusive house brand, and they’re going to pit us against some nobody brand from California?” He looked at Mark. “I thought sales were doing well in that channel! Could somebody please tell me how the hell this happened?”
Carol cleared her throat before Mark could respond. “Account management has reported some problems with the Marion & Co. account,” she said, her voice deceptively calm. Her eyes looked fiery and triumphant, though.
“That true, Mark?” Roger snapped.
Mark forced himself not to glare at Carol. “Actually, it’s not,” he responded, his voice cool. “At least, we may have lost sales volume, but not market share. We’re doing fine.” He paused. If you’d read my last three reports, you’d know that.
Roger brushed off the comment, as Mark knew he would. “So, if we’re doing fine, who the hell is Deviant Nation, anyway? And why are they even in this?”
“Diva Nation,” Mark corrected. “They’re a small independent brand out of Los Angeles. They’re getting some decent distribution, though, and their products are getting a good deal of buzz. They’re not much now, but if their numbers keep up…”
He drifted off when they all looked at him.
“Is there any pulse you don’t keep your finger on?” Simone asked with admiration.
He didn’t want to think about how many fingers he’d had on the pulse of Diva Nation…or how much closer he would’ve gotten, if she’d let him.
“I keep an eye out,” Mark said elusively.
“Well. This calls for desperate measures,” Roger said in that finicky, snarky tone of his. “Carol—you’re my point person. We’ve got to make sure that this thing runs smoothly.”
Mark felt his blood pressure raise slightly. He was tired of being passed over. And, frankly, this one was too damned important. He really liked Sophie, but business was business—and since business was the one thing that stood between him and Sophie, he figured she’d probably understand more than anyone.
“Roger,” Mark interrupted, before the man could continue barking out his instructions, “Simone said that she was going to give me the next product launch. You agreed to let me be point on the next proposal. I think that this counts.”
The rest of the team was now openly gaping at him. He had to admit, he was a bit surprised, himself.
Nothing ventured, he reminded himself nervously.
“A little crappy product launch is one thing,” Roger said dismissively, although he seemed surprised, as well, that Mark had spoken up. “But after all, you didn’t report the sales information to me, and that would’ve been important.”
Mark gritted his teeth.
“Besides, we’re going to need more than charm on this,” Roger added. “I need somebody who knows product and figures.”
Mark tried not to let the obvious insult get his temper too high. “I know the product, and I know the background. Most of all, I know Marion & Co.”
Roger smiled indulgently. “Not well enough, obviously, to—”
“If you’d read the last report I sent, you’d know exactly why we’re stuck in this mess.”
Now the rest of the team was more than gaping—they looked horrified. Being assertive, or aggressive, was one thing. Committing career suicide in public by challenging one’s extremely temperamental vice president…well, now, that was something else.
Smooth move, McMann.
“I see,” Roger said, in a flat tone of voice that said he was purely pissed off. He glared at Simone, as if it were her fault things had gotten out of hand.
Simone hastily shuffled some papers on the desk, keeping her voice brisk. “You know, I think that a compromise might work. If Carol took the lead, and Mark worked with her, he could bring his competitive knowledge and his familiarity with the account to the table, while she could hone the message and get the product side in line. What do you say?”
Mark sent a silent prayer of thanks that Simone was firmly on his side. She was far more diplomatic, for one thing—and she’d been playing internal politics for years.
“We’ll talk later,” Roger said sharply, “but since you seem so intent…fine. McMann, you’re working with Carol. I’ll expect to see preliminary notes by next week. Pull the meeting together. And don’t screw this up,” he said, with obvious menace in his voice. “I want this one locked down.”
With that, he stalked off. The team let out a sigh of relief as Simone instructed them to go back to their desks. That is, everyone except Carol, who was looking both exceptionally arrogant and irritated.
Gonna have a problem with you, Mark noted.
“Mark,” she said, “I’ll have my assistant pull together the meeting, and I’ll get the notes done, as well. Why don’t you send me any information you have on Diva Nation and Marion & Co. in an e-mail? Or give me any copies of paperwork you have.” She smiled, an echo of Roger’s humoring grin. “I’ll start working on the actual presentation.”
“I’ll work with you, Carol,” he said, keeping his voice smooth. Charm, as Roger had said. “A lot of my knowledge isn’t on paper. I’d rather we just work together.”
She set her face in a frown. She was a slender woman, with red hair cut in a straight bob, and eyebrows so sculpted they looked chiseled onto her face. She’d had a problem with Mark since the day he’d joined the team. “Mark, can I talk to you for a minute?” she said in a low voice.
He nodded, allowing himself to be pulled aside, knowing that Simone was studying them intently. “Yes?”
She took a deep breath. “Look, it’s obvious that Roger doesn’t really want you on this project. So why don’t you let me do the bulk of the work?” Her eyes were like laser beams in their intensity. “No offense, but I know that this stuff—reports, this kind of leg work—isn’t really your strong suit.”
He winced. Remind me again how that’s not supposed to offend me. “I’m curious—what makes you say that?”
“Well, you’ve never done something like this before,” she said, as if it were patently obvious.
“But I’ve worked on lots of projects,” he countered. “Hell, lots of people on the team have asked me for advice. And Simone knows nobody knows competitive info like I do.”
She frowned, as if amazed he was still putting up a fight. “Well, you’re a sales guy. You don’t have the background…”
“I got my MBA two years ago,” he said shortly. “In marketing.”
She sighed. “You don’t know how we work.”
It was like battering up against a concrete slab. He sighed. He wasn’t going to win if he fought her way—supposed rational arguments, business talk. He only had one choice left.
He leaned forward, smiling…his most winning smile. He made sure he focused his gaze on her as if she were the only woman on earth. It was something they’d always talked about on the catwalk, back when he’d modeled.
She swallowed hard, obviously taken off guard.
“I won’t get in your way, Carol,” he said, his voice pitched low, almost intimate. “I know that this is a big deal, and you’ve probably done tons of marketing launches and competitive proposals. I’m only asking for a chance.”
She blinked at him. He’d never turned the full force of his charm on her before—he hadn’t wanted to waste the energy, and frankly, he always felt a little dirty when he used it this deliberately. Still, he knew the minute she started to waver.
He deliberately pulled his drawl out to a ribbon. “Please,” he murmured. “It would mean a lot to me.”
She flushed slightly, and looked away, taking a deep breath before looking back at him. “I…I’ll need to do most of the work, though,” she said, and then cleared her throat so her voice didn’t sound so ragged. “And we’ll need to make sure that I’m the one that does most of the talking.”
“Of course,” he said easily. He didn’t agree, but he’d tackle that later—he had a yes and he wasn’t going to mess with it, just as he’d always learned in sales. “We’ll set up something tomorrow to touch base, would that be all right? Then get all the details ironed out.”
“All right,” she said, although she finally sounded a lot less sure of herself. Then she walked away.
Mark gathered his papers together, and Simone walked up beside him. “You are amazing.”
He paused, picking up his pen. “How’s that?”
“I didn’t think anybody could chill out Warrior Princess Carol,” she responded, with a light chuckle in her voice. “But if anybody could, it would be you, huh?”
He chose to ignore that. Simone was his boss, and sort of a friend, but her sense of business ethics could get somewhat hazy. “Thanks for standing up for me with Roger,” he said instead, focusing on her kindness.
“It’s time. I know you’re smart, Mark,” she said. “You just need a chance, that’s all. So—what else do you know about Diva Nation?”
“Not as much as I’d like,” he admitted. “They’re not very big, but their products are amazing—really outside the box.” He smiled slightly, remembering. “I know that they’ve got a perfumed body lotion that is practically hallucinogenic.”
“Really,” she said, her voice ripe with speculation. “I probably don’t want to know how you know that.”
He realized he was letting something slip, and quickly clammed up. “I’ll buy their entire product line before I meet with Carol. And I’ll know a ton more by tomorrow.”
“You know,” Simone said carefully, “I couldn’t help but notice you had a bit of a connection with that Diva Nation woman—Sophie, her name was. Right?”
“She’s a nice woman,” Mark said carefully. “And just because we’re competitors doesn’t mean I need to hate her on sight, does it?”
“I’m merely saying,” Simone continued. “She seemed to like you, too. Maybe you could see what you could find out. I’m sure she’d be happy to talk to you on some kind of neutral ground.”
Mark felt it again—that dirty, unethical, icky feeling. “Trust me, she’s not the type.”
“Already tried, huh?” Simone laughed, and in that moment, Mark wished he were anywhere but here. “I might’ve guessed. You’re going to be a great marketing guy, and you’re going to knock this one out of the park. You’ll be one of the best.”
He smiled weakly, then fled. If being one of the best meant using a sweet person like Sophie…
He shook his head. It wasn’t as if he had anything with Sophie, and even if he did…well, he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that, he promised himself. He just wouldn’t.
