Digging In: A Novel(38)

She pulled away. We were close enough for me to see that Jackie’s mascara-stained eyes were full of shame. “There’s something I haven’t told you.”

No one liked to hear those words, as so rarely did they end with an explanation that brought anything but sorrow or disappointment.

I steeled myself. “What is it?”

“I loved him. With my whole heart. I loved every part of him.”

My mind reeled. “Who?”

She swallowed. “Big Frank.”

I had to let that register for a moment. Jackie and Big Frank? KiKi, aka Mrs. Big Frank, had died only a few years before he did. Had he and Jackie been carrying on an affair? I suddenly felt sick.

“What? How?”

She lowered her eyes. “I never told him. Never acted on it. I obsessed about it, and tried to manipulate situations so he and I would be together at the office. I bought him presents for his birthday and Christmas. I have photos of him in my apartment. That sounds so weird, right? I made a fool out of myself at the Christmas party, trying to get him on the dance floor.”

I didn’t remember that. I was so lost to my own grief at the office party, and even more so when Big Frank was found.

“I regret that I acted like a love-struck teenager. It wasn’t right, even after KiKi died.”

“I don’t know if you can assign right and wrong to that situation. You couldn’t help the way you felt. Do you think he knew?”

She paused before answering. “Yes. Once, a few years ago, he walked by my desk and said, ‘Kid, you’re one in a million. And I’m not gonna be the only one who thinks it, because it’s pretty damn obvious to those who get to know ya. Capiche?’”

Classic Big Frank. So he knew. That was his way, the way of kindness. Of course she loved him. Who wouldn’t?

“You think badly of me now,” she said.

“Why would I? I think nothing of the sort, though this does change things.”

“I know,” she said, defeated.

“The way I see it, you’re a widow, too. All the more reason for us to stick together. No matter what happens in that conference room, I’ve got your back, and you sure as hell better have mine. Capiche?”

She put her head on my shoulder. “Capiche.”



We sat around the conference table, pairs huddled together, waiting for Lukas. No one spoke. Our laptops, open in front of us, didn’t provide enough of a shield, and we each glanced around the room, avoiding eye contact. Two of us weren’t going to make it through the evening. Hunger Games, indeed.

Lukas walked in smiling, which seemed exceptionally cruel.

“Paige and Glynnis, you’re up first,” he said brightly.

Glynnis squeezed my hand under the table. Her pallor shifted from pale to snow white, and I squeezed hers back.

“I’ve just sent you all the file,” I said, voice shaking. The others dove into their mailboxes. Were they simply curious or rabid to see us fail? I looked up, and Jackie gave me a subtle thumbs-up. It was enough to give me a little courage.

“Start the video now,” Glynnis squeaked.

The short video that Trey and Colin had begrudgingly helped us with looked polished. The music, ’60s Motown, began, and the image of Diana Ross sitting at her makeup chair, gorgeous and confident, appeared. The music shifted seamlessly into something more modern, and the image morphed into Tina Matthews, pop princess, in a similar position, her eyes showing that whatever the joke was, she was in on it. Then the ad popped up, the makeup in the foreground, the background split between the past and present. We’d re-created both backstage spaces perfectly. The words were displayed in frosty pink letters: The Past Makes a Beautiful Present. Glynnis had added a pink bow around the lipstick at the last minute, and the color contrasted beautifully with the black-and-white photographs.

“I really like it,” Jackie said immediately. She looked up at me, and I could see the pride in her eyes. I was so grateful for it.

“Thank you,” I said.

“The pink is a little too girly,” Rhiannon started, and I wished the earth would open up and swallow her whole. “Overall, I think it’s effective. I like the message.”

Shocked, I could merely nod in her direction.

“You can’t use those images without paying a fortune,” Byron noted.

My smile was brittle. “We’d substitute something similar.”

He flicked a key on his laptop. “Then the effect is completely gone.”

I glanced around the table. All eyes were on me—should I defend myself? I didn’t know. “I disagree,” was all I said.

Lukas put his elbows on the table and peered at me over the top of his glasses. “Byron has a point. You couldn’t go to a client with material that would add substantially to the cost of the project. I like the concept, Paige and Glynnis, really, I do, but I’m not sure of its . . . sustainability.”

“It’s not a rain forest,” I mumbled under my breath, and Glynnis kicked me. The others stared at us in relief. We hadn’t hit this one out of the park. We’d made it to first base, but that barely counted, even in make-out sessions.

“Byron, why don’t you show us what you and Rhiannon have come up with,” Lukas said, turning his attention to the A team. But had they brought their A game?