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GABRIELLE JOGGED to her cubicle, furious with herself for creating a scene that would make her the laughingstock of the office, yet again.
Tori was right—she was a dweeb.
“Hey, Gabrielle,” her friend called behind her. “Wait up!”
But Gabrielle marched into her cube, and grabbed her briefcase and purse. If she left now, she wouldn’t have to stand on the elevator with her coworkers.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Tori said, then she lost the battle and a burst of laughter filtered through her fingers. “Okay, that was hilarious, stealing Courtney’s thunder.”
Gabrielle expelled a frustrated sigh. “Tori, I didn’t do it on purpose!”
“That’s not the way I’m going to tell it,” Tori said with a grin.
Gabrielle swung her purse strap to her shoulder. “I’m going home.”
“But it’s Friday,” Tori pouted. “We’re supposed to volunteer usher at the Fox Theater.”
Them and every senior citizen in midtown—God, this was her social life. “Not tonight. I’ll call you sometime this weekend.”
Tori clasped her arm. “Are you okay? I mean, it’s not like you haven’t made a fool out of yourself before—” Then she stopped, her eyes wide. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
Gabrielle blinked back moisture and looked down at her stained, outdated suit, replaying the mortifying incident in the conference room and, worse, her stuttering and sputtering around Dell, who always made her feel inept and unattractive. A few months from turning thirty, and in the face of pressure, she regressed to the gawky teenager who had been the punch line of every joke in high school. Lying on the floor with potting soil up her skirt and all her coworkers laughing, she had seen her career pass before her eyes. She would never be in the league of Dell Kingston or Courtney Rodgers. Once a dweeb, always a dweeb.
“Have fun at the Fox, Tori.”
She headed toward the elevator, her shoulders hunched, her hands in her pockets.
“Gabrielle!” Tori called behind her. “Don’t be like that!”
She stared straight ahead as she rode down in the elevator, then walked outside into the summer heat shimmering off the sidewalks in downtown Atlanta. But her friend’s words looped in her head as she waited at the Marta stop for the bus that would take her to the station a few blocks from her cramped midtown apartment. Don’t be like that…don’t dream big…don’t be offended when people overlook you…underestimate you…ignore you.
In the muggy July temperatures, she was miserable in her dirty, wooly suit. When the bus lurched to a halt, she climbed on with other work-weary passengers. Predictably, within a few minutes, the bus was trapped in Friday gridlock traffic.
The traffic, she thought wryly, was symbolic of her career—at a complete standstill.
She loved the field of work she’d chosen, and believed that Noble was one of the industry’s best firms, but she’d had higher hopes for her career. Noble had always been a firm she could see herself retiring from…but she had horrible visions of herself thirty years from now, still a junior account exec, still standing behind the plants at staff gatherings.
As the relatively short drive extended longer and longer, she looked for something to take her mind off the troublesome thoughts about herself. On the seat next to her lay a copy of U.S. Weekly Review. She picked it up and leafed through the bent pages, stopping on an article titled Adrenaline Rush—Change Your Mind, Change Your Life. Intrigued, she started reading the article that asserted most people encountered some sort of plateau in their life, and the only way to get things moving was to harness the mind’s energy and take a risk.
In your mind’s eye, picture what it is that you want, then ask yourself, if you go for it, what’s the worst thing that could happen? You can recover from anything short of death, and if you fail, you probably won’t be worse off. But if you rally your talents and your inner strength, chances are you won’t fail; in fact, you are likely to succeed beyond your wildest dreams.
Gabrielle sat up straighter in her seat, her chest suffused with the strange, prickly feeling that the magazine article was written especially for her. Change your mind, change your life, take a risk.
When was the last time she’d experienced an adrenaline rush? In the evenings, she either worked late or brought work home, which had ceased to be exciting years ago. On weekends she did her volunteer stint at the Fox Theater, which required wearing a red-and-black outfit and showing people to their seats in exchange for sitting in an empty seat or on the stairs to watch the shows for free. She hadn’t dated since…a long time ago. The only special people in her life were Tori, who could be a bit of a downer, and McGee, who wasn’t even a person, but her pet bulldog.
She sighed, conceding that the only adrenal activity she’d experienced lately was when she passed Dell Kingston in the hallway, or the times he had saved her from some bumbling mess she’d gotten herself into.
God, how pathetic that the most exciting thing in her life was a reaction to someone else—someone who barely acknowledged her existence. Other women her age, like Courtney, were creating excitement in their lives by proactively stepping out of their comfort zone and trying something new.
It was time she took control of her life, she decided, lifting her chin.
Then she bit into her lip—but how?
She scanned the article again. In your mind’s eye, picture what it is that you want, then ask yourself, if you go for it, what’s the worst thing that could happen?
What did she want? she asked herself. What would make her happy? To be noticed…to be recognized…to be given the opportunity to showcase her brains and her talents…
She wanted the CEG account.
The bus stopped and the doors opened at the midtown station. Gabrielle stuffed the magazine in her bag and disembarked, her mind clicking. “I want the CEG account,” she said aloud, testing the words on her tongue.
But you heard Dell…he has designs on the CEG account…of course Bruce Noble will give it to him, her subconscious whispered. It was crazy to think that the boss would hand over one of the firm’s most lucrative accounts to her, especially after witnessing her spectacle today.
On the other hand, with Courtney leaving, she was the person who was most acquainted with CEG and its products—she had worked with the product engineers to understand the specs of each piece of outdoor equipment and helped to create brochures to highlight the premium features that CEG wanted to stress to consumers.
She climbed the stairs to her fourth-floor one-bedroom apartment. Hadn’t she walked up and down these very stairs for hours to test CEG hiking boots so she could better understand how they functioned?
She unlocked the door to her apartment, smiling and crouching down to hug McGee and rub his little, flat face. After promising him a walk as soon as she changed, she glanced around her crowded apartment with a frown.
And hadn’t she dedicated much of her and McGee’s living space to CEG products—tents, backpacks, rappelling equipment and camping gear?
With McGee at her heels, she raised her hands and grabbed onto a metal T-bar, then lifted her feet to ride a cabled zip line down the hall—another CEG product—to her bedroom. She put her feet down and set her purse and briefcase on the end of the cluttered bed, unused for the past three months because she’d been testing the comfort of a CEG tent pitched in the living room.
A sigh escaped her as she glanced at the clothes piled on the bed. And hadn’t she given up most of her closet space to CEG workout clothes and running gear?
She didn’t spend the weekends defying death, like Dell Kingston was purported to have done with his rock climbing and acrobatic rappelling and triathlons. But she’d analyzed the products, studied the specs and knew the limitations. She’d bet that she knew at least as much about CEG products as Dell did.
“I want the CEG account,” she repeated, this time with more force.
McGee barked his enthusiastic agreement.
She slowly undressed, peeling her sticky blouse from her body, and bypassed her dry cleaner’s bag in favor of the trash can for her soiled, dated suit. She pulled on shorts and a T-shirt, using her hand to smooth down the loose bits of hair that stuck up from her French braid. Good grief, the stuff was like an unruly scouring pad.
If you go for it, what’s the worst thing that could happen?
She’d be humiliated and have to slink back to her cubicle and be satisfied with her feminine hygiene and hemorrhoid cream accounts. Although, would it really be any more humiliating to be turned down by Bruce Noble than wrestling with a tree in front of the entire department—and losing?
No, she decided. But would she be able to talk to Bruce Noble without lapsing into a babbling fool? She glanced at the discarded suit, which McGee was sniffing suspiciously. And if she were going to step into Courtney’s shoes, she had to step up her wardrobe a notch. Or three.
Gabrielle reached into the back of her closet and removed a pale green suit that her mother had given her for her birthday. Fiona Flannery was a flamboyant redhead who was always pushing her daughter to play up her unusual coloring, frequently sending makeup and beauty products and clothes that Gabrielle hadn’t had the nerve to use or wear.
She held the suit in front of her and stared at her reflection in the closet door mirror. The fabric was soft and clingy, the color set off her green eyes. The jacket was fitted and flirty, the skirt was short—well above the knee.
Remembering Dell’s comment about her long, albino legs, her cheeks warmed. He’d only been teasing her, of course, trying to get a rise out of her. But it was fun to think that maybe the flash in his decadent eyes had been a tiny bit of male appreciation.
Then she smirked at her reflection. If Dell got wind of her vying for the CEG account, would he feel threatened…or would he laugh?
What’s the worst that can happen?
She could always go back to being invisible.
She put a leash on McGee and pulled the magazine out of her bag to take on their walk. McGee was the dearest dog ever created, but he moved his squatty little self like a sleepy snail—a turn around the block gave her plenty of time to reread the “Adrenaline Rush” article for tips on how to begin working toward her goal.
To prepare for an uncomfortable situation, visualize the scene, how you want it to unfold, how you will respond to resistance. Write a script, and practice what you’ll say until you can speak with authority.
Visualize…practice…
She closed her eyes and with great effort, banished the vision of her walking into Bruce Noble’s office Monday morning, her knees quaking, her voice leaving her. Instead, she visualized walking into his office Monday morning, declining his offer to sit, calling him “Bruce,” and telling him that she wanted—no, that she deserved—the CEG account.
But each time she visualized Bruce’s face, he looked incredulous, skeptical and stupefied at her request.
But when she returned to her apartment, now carrying McGee because he couldn’t maneuver the stairs, an idea popped into her head. She rifled through her briefcase, and pulled out the company’s full-color annual report. Inside was a picture of Bruce Noble, his face nearly life-size…and smiling. She tore out the photo and pasted it onto a piece of cardboard, then cut along the outline of his face. Then she fastened the cardboard face to the front of a ball cap.
“McGee, come here, sweetie.”
He lumbered over and stood patiently while she settled the cap onto his meaty head.
“Perfect,” she said, then stepped back to stare at Bruce Noble’s smiling face. “Mr. Noble, I want the CEG account.”
McGee barked, his jowls bouncing, not unlike her boss’s.
“Why?” She picked up the green suit and held it against her. “Because I’ve assisted on the account for two years—I know the products, I wrote most of the literature, and…”
McGee barked, as if prompting her.
She pulled the clasp from her braid and ran her fingers through her long hair, releasing it into all its furious glory. “And I deserve this chance…Bruce. I’ve given this firm six years of my life, and I’m good at my job. Just as good at Dell Kingston. And I’m tired of being overlooked…by everyone.”
The memory of Dell’s mocking smile as he’d pulled her to her feet flooded her with stinging humiliation all over again. He’d teased her, dismissed her, just like the others.
But Monday morning, she thought determinedly, she would be noticed…for all the right reasons.
3
DELL PRESSED the elevator button and drank deeply from his large cup of coffee, trying to wake up. He’d gone mountain biking yesterday morning in the summer heat, then spent the afternoon rock climbing. It had seemed worthwhile—even enjoyable—at the time, but this morning his ass was dragging and his joints moaning.
He nodded to the security guard, the only other person in the lobby at this early hour. But Bruce Noble was always in his office before most people were out of bed, and Dell had decided to use the opportunity to formally request the CEG account. Formally because it was a near certainty that he would get it—he was a senior account executive with an impeccable track record. And CEG was a perfect fit for him because he spent most of his free time outdoors pushing his body to new limits.
Plus, stuffing his resume with A-list accounts was the shortest route to success.
Success meant early retirement.
Early retirement meant having the time to do the things he enjoyed most.
Ergo, CEG was an important brick in his career path.
Still, he didn’t want to appear presumptuous. It was best to follow protocol and plead his case to Noble so that there would be no misunderstandings.
The elevator doors opened and he stepped inside. Behind him he heard the click of high heels on the tile floor, a sound that always spiked his pulse.
“Hold the elevator,” a female voice called.
He pressed the open button, then looked up to see a tall, leggy woman stride across the lobby like a beautiful colt, her slender figure clad in a trendy green suit, her long legs extended farther by a pair of those high-heeled, pointy-toed shoes that made his cock jump. God, he loved those on women.
She walked into the car and murmured, “Thank you.”
He took a deep drink from his cup to cover his frank perusal of the beauty next to him. Her hair was the color of a red maple tree in full fall flame—spectacular.
Damn, what was it about redheads lately that had him so worked up?
Actually, except for the fact that this woman was polished to a professional shine, her makeup glamorous, her posture self-assured, she reminded him a little of…
He inhaled a mouthful of scalding coffee and sputtered like a car engine. “Gabby?” he gasped.
She turned to him, eyebrows arched over the most gorgeous green eyes he’d ever seen. “Yes?”
He blinked. Wait a minute—he had seen those eyes before, only…were her lashes always so long, her mouth always so wide and inviting? “You look…wow,” he said, stumbling over his words.
The blush that pinked her cheeks was the first sign of the old Gabby. “Were you planning to push the button for our floor?”
Feeling like an idiot, he stabbed at it three times before it lit up.
“Did you have a nice weekend?” he asked, still reeling.
“Yes, thank you,” she responded, tucking a long lock of hair behind a delicate ear.
As they climbed, he tried not to stare, but couldn’t drag his gaze away from her profile. The transformation from ugly duckling to siren swan was just short of miraculous.
Desire swelled in his midsection and suddenly, the prospect of Gabby assisting him on the CEG account held even more promise. And she must be entertaining similar thoughts of a collaboration, he reasoned with smug satisfaction, or else why would she be dressed like that?
The elevator doors opened and she walked out in front of him.
“Um, Gabby,” he said.
She turned back. “Yes?”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the CEG account.”
“What about it?”
He pulled out his most charming smile. “Well, I’m going to need some…help. And I know that Courtney found you indispensable.”
The tightening of her mouth told him that Courtney had not been that forthcoming with her about her value.
“I was hoping you’d be willing to share your expertise with me, now that I’ll be taking over the account.”
Her eyes clouded slightly. “Has Mr. Noble officially assigned the CEG account to you?”
“No…not officially,” he felt obligated to say. “Actually, that’s why I came in early, to talk to him about it.”
