Between Hello and Goodbye(4)

Which was frequently.

“They’re early,” I said, storming into my office.

Jess bit her lip. “Er, well…”

“Okay, fine. I’m late.”

Again.

“Carl is stalling them.”

“Carl? I’ll have to peel his lips from their asses.” I dumped my purse and glasses on my desk, chugged some water and chased it with coffee, then strode back out of my office. Jess scurried to keep up.

I held out my hand. “Art.”

She handed me the leather-bound portfolio from the art department she’d had tucked under her arm.

“Is it what I wanted?” I asked.

“You haven’t looked at it?”

“Is it what I asked for?”

“Well, yes…”

“Great.”

Outside the conference door, I forced my headache to take five and heaved another breath. “How do I look?”

“Perfect.”

“You’re an angel. Wish me luck.”

Without waiting for a reply, I pushed open the conference room door. On the table’s huge expanse of polished wood were the remnants of coffee and pastries. Three executives from Nestle were looking about ready to murder Carl, a junior client liaison, doing his kiss-ass soft shoe.

“Gentlemen.” I breezed inside. “Thank you for waiting. Carl.”

I gave him a you-can-go-now look. He returned an affronted glance. “You’re welcome,” he murmured and slipped out.

“We have meetings with two other potential agencies today, Ms. Benson,” said Mr. Nevinson of Nestle Corp. He tapped his Rolex meaningfully. This guy was the decision-maker. The snake I needed to charm.

“Well, aren’t you lucky you’re seeing me first?” I flashed him a brilliant smile and opened the portfolio. “Gentlemen, I’m about to clear your schedule.”



“Ms. Benson…? Faith?”

A light touch on my arm roused me from a dream in which the hot stranger from last night was tapping my forehead with a ball peen hammer.

“Hmmm?”

I jerked awake, disoriented. Jess set a glass of water and two Advil on my desk, where I’d been sleeping, my head pillowed on my arms.

“Terrance wants to see you.”

“What for?”

“He didn’t say, but the Nestle people have signed.”

“Already?” I rubbed my aching temples. “What am I saying? Of course they have.”

Naturally, I’d slayed the pitch. By the time I was through with them, dour Mr. Nevinson was laughing and inviting me to play tennis at the club.

I downed the Advil and chased it with a swig of water. A hand mirror appeared in my line of vision along with a Kleenex.

“Lipstick,” Jess said.

“You’re a sainted woman.”

I wiped the smear of pale pink from my chin, smoothed my rumpled blouse, and put my suit jacket back on. “How do I look?”

Jess beamed. “Coleman, Cross & Benson has a nice ring to it.”

She was right, it would be something to see my name on the letterhead…and on the front of the building, and on basically everything our agency touched. My stomach rolled and it wasn’t the hangover. It was all so very…permanent. The kind of move you can’t take back.

I heaved a breath and tugged my suit jacket down. “Okay, I’m going in.”

I strode across the offices and blushed to my newly touched-up roots as my coworkers rose to give me a standing ovation. The Nestle account meant millions, and they all knew it.

I smiled modestly, concealing all evidence of the thundering headache pounding behind my eyes, and stood before my favorite boss’s door. The other door read Cynthia Cross and was closed. The agency’s second partner was in Manhattan locking up the establishment of a second office; my recent victory was sure to seal the deal.

I knocked on the door, then peeked in. “You decent?”

“Come in, Faith.”

Terrance Coleman was pacing behind his desk, rubbing his chin in thought. He resembled Idris Elba—sharp and handsome as hell in his gray Brioni suit and maroon tie. But his expression reminded me of my vice-principal at Roosevelt High—gravely serious and mildly disappointed to see me in front of him after whatever trouble I’d gotten myself into. Again.

“Everything okay?”

He gestured. “Sit. We need to talk.”

I sank into the plush seat across from the immense glass and chrome desk.

“What’s wrong, Terry? Why do you look like it’s someone’s funeral? Mine, specifically.”

Terrance pursed his lips. “Cynthia and I want to make you a partner.”

I held my breath. Here it is. Everything I wanted. Isn’t it…?

“But I might have to fire you instead.”

I gripped the back of the chair in front of his desk, the air going out of me. “Uh, wow, Terrance. That’s quite a spectrum to lay on a gal. I heard Nevinson signed.”

“He did. A multimillion-dollar, three-year contract for us to handle their online, print, and overseas marketing for the entire Pacific Northwest. We’ve been trying to land them for years. Thanks to you, we got them.”

“So clearly, I should be fired.”