Cream of the Crop (Hudson Valley, #2)(82)

Intern Edward walked in during that last part, turned beet red, and walked right back out again.

“See, I may have just contributed to a hostile working environment. Someone needs to step in and save me from myself,” I whined.

“Oh, shut up already, fine,” she snapped, and I gave myself a fist bump. “You owe me. Next time I’m in town, you’re taking me to any restaurant I choose.”

“Done.”

“And you’re paying.”

“I figured.” I grinned, doodling pictures of cows on my scratch pad, and drawing little hearts around them. “Now when I ask Oscar to spend the weekend, he’ll see how responsible I am.”

“You do that. And the next time I talk to Oscar, I’m going to ask him if he’s your boyfriend. He usually comes into the diner for lunch on Wednesdays . . . Maybe I’ll just pop on over and see if he feels chatty.”

I sat up straight in my chair. “You wouldn’t.”

“You know I would.”

“Don’t you dare—”

“Gotta go, I’m feeling the sudden urge to have a tuna melt,” she cackled, hanging up the phone.

“Sonofa . . .” I muttered, dialing her back immediately. Of course she didn’t answer. Or when I called her again ten seconds later. Or answer the nine texts I sent her over the next five minutes, each one laced with increasingly creative obscenities.

“Natalie, you got a minute?” my boss, Dan, asked, sticking his head inside the door.

I looked up, sighed, and put down the phone. “Of course. What’s up?”

“Remember that gourmet food store you worked with last year?”

“Brannigan’s? Sure, they just opened their fifth store—in Chicago, I think.”

“There’s a sixth store now, in San Francisco.”

Huh, I’d missed that in the trades. “Wow, good for them.”

“You still in contact with their marketing team?”

“Yep, want me to reach out?”

He nodded. “If they’re in San Fran, they’ll be expanding again. If they do that—”

“—they’ll need a new marketing strategy. I’m on it.” I cleared a spot on my desk and started making notes. “I’ll reach out to Sara; she’s heading up creative over there now.”

“Perfect, keep me in the loop,” he said, walking back out of the office, pausing just before he left. “What happened to your usual stacks? What gives?”

I was known for having multiple, very neat stacks all over my office. It was how I kept the creative and analytical parts of my brain together. Spread it all out so it was easier to see, but the stacks were always squared off.

I looked around. It was messier than usual. “Just keeping all the plates in the air. They’ll be back in their stacks before I leave today; no worries.”

“Who’s worried?” he said.

Still, I made a mental note to tidy up a bit while I pulled up Brannigan’s website. They’d updated it recently; it had a great new look. After running a mom-and-pop gourmet store here in the city for forty years, the actual mom and pop had retired, passing along their pasta and escargot empire to their kids. The “kids” had turned the business into something new and exciting, which was rare in this niche market. They’d opened a second store in the city, then branched out to the outer boroughs with a flagship in Park Slope over in Brooklyn just when the neighborhood was becoming the most fashionable place to live in in New York City. A fourth store had opened in Philadelphia, and then Chicago. Oh yeah, and now San Francisco.

I looked through my client files, shot off a quick email, and was on the phone with Sara by that afternoon. I’d spent the interim pulling stats on some of the brands and vendors they featured in their stores, and noticed they seemed light on . . . cheese.

An idea began to take shape.

After the usual pleasantries were exchanged, congratulations on all the success (due in no small part to the fantastic campaign my team had crafted for her before they began expanding), I told her that of course Manhattan Creative Group was looking forward to working with them again in the future and that when they were ready to begin the next phase, we were ready to launch them into every major city in the country, making them a household brand. And I might have mentioned, several times, this wonderful new cheese maker from the Hudson Valley, the next big foodie scene in the culinary world . . .

By the end of that call, I’d not only secured a firm commitment for future advertising business with our firm, but planted several seeds about Bailey Falls Creamery, and had arranged to have some of their best cheeses sent to her and her team at their corporate offices in Midtown.

I’d tell Oscar the good news once I knew his cows were being babysat. And after I knew the outcome of Roxie’s conversation with him, about whether or not he was my boyfriend . . .

The outcome came that night when I got a text from Roxie.

Leo will babysit your boyfriend’s cows. Pretty sure no one has ever said that before. Welcome to life in the sticks.

I texted back:

Brilliant! I’ll tell Oscar

he’s free and clear to spend the weekend with me. I thank you, and my future orgasms thank you.

You’re welcome. To both of you.

So? What the hell did he say when you asked him?