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Andy arched an eyebrow: “You’re into leather, too?”
“Not leather,” she scolded. “Faustini.”
Tess and Andy grinned, high-fiveing each other. “Not a bad thirty-second shot,” she said.
“Or!” Carlotta squealed. “Picture me as a dominatrix, a bullwhip in my hand. “You’re not carrying a Faustini?” She cracks the whip. “Take that!”
The enthusiasm was contagious. Soon, they were talking over each other, but the suggestions got more and more outrageous. Tess hated to be a killjoy, but she’d already met with Alberto Faustini, the company’s rather stodgy founder, and he didn’t want anything far-out. He’d told Tess to come up with something provocative, but nothing X-rated, and that was despite strong opposition from his new partner, his twenty-two-year-old wild-child daughter, Gina, who favored vampires, sexual bondage and other gothic images. Fortunately, Gina Faustini didn’t sign the checks.
“Guys,” Tess said, “we want to seduce customers not shock them.”
“Why not shock them? Before you can seduce them you have to get their attention.”
Tess wasn’t sure who’d spoken until she noticed her team members looking over her shoulder. She whipped around, saw the source of the disembodied voice, and was glad not to be hooked up to a lie detector. Her sweaty palms would have shorted the machine out.
How long had he been standing there?
She’d never met Danny Gabriel, but even if she hadn’t seen his likeness plastered all over the agency walls in photographs with business giants and celebrity clients, she would have recognized his personal trademarks—the bare feet, the worn blue jeans and the flowing hair he’d gathered into a loose ebony braid.
Here before her was the agency’s image problem in the flesh. Not his clothes, even Gabriel donned a suit on client days. His attitude. He was Tess’s codirector—and the infamous advertising savant she’d been brought in to teach some manners. The Faustini account had been his before it was given to Tess, and rumor had it that he’d been replaced because he sided with Faustini’s daughter.
What was he doing here now? He’d been in Tokyo all week, drumming up international business, which was his new focus, according to Erica. Tess was supposed to have been formally introduced to him tonight at a dinner with Erica and the board members. She was nervous enough about that. If Carlotta was the agency’s diva, then Danny Gabriel was its rock star.
Tess sat there, thunderstruck, aware that she wasn’t racking up leadership points with her silence. Her team knew him, but they seemed to be speechless, too. Either they were intimidated or expecting a confrontation. There was a good chance that Gabriel saw her as an interloper.
She was an interloper. And this could be a test, but of what? Her worthiness to walk the same ground he did?
She rose to her feet, accomplishing it with surprising grace. “My, my,” she said, her tone both friendly and challenging. “I’ve heard so much about you. Danny Gabriel, right? I’m Tess Wakefield.”
She waited for a reaction before offering her hand. He looked almost approachable, except for those eyes. Sharp. Serrated. Like a cutting tool. They reminded her a little of someone else’s eyes, and it was just enough of a resemblance to make her thoughts heat with unwanted memories.
He nodded, his expression warming slightly. “Faustini management doesn’t know what the hell they want,” he said. “The client rarely does, so it’s our job to tell them.”
“Really? Our job?”
They shook hands, and she covered his with both of hers, pressing down firmly. His focus sharpened. Possibly he was just realizing that she might be a worthier adversary than he’d thought.
“But shock value has a way of backfiring, don’t you think?” she asked.
“For people like me, yes. Not for you, though. You can get away with anything.”
“Excuse me?”
He just smiled. “You have a free pass—in advertising and in life. Use it.”
“What free pass?”
“Your sincerity. The good-girl thing. It sells, especially when it’s used to sell something bad. People might not line up to buy bibles from you, but they would buy sex. They would buy leather, even if it came with whips and chains.”
“Really.”
He nodded. “You make the bad stuff okay. If a sweet thing like you is a little bit kinky, then maybe kinky is okay. You give people permission to do what they secretly want to do.”
“Sweet? You’re quite sure of that?” Tess had never been called that before, and it didn’t strike her as a compliment, no matter how he couched it. Her naturally curly blond hair was cut in a bob, on which she spent a fortune for frizz control, and she still had a bit of California tan and a few freckles left. But she was no angel. Her past might shock even him. As for her work, of course, she was passionate and sincere. If you didn’t believe in the client’s product, you had no business trying to sell it. That was her motto. Obviously, it wasn’t his.
“Shock them, Tess,” he continued. “It’s the only way you’re going to get their attention.”
Neurons were firing in her brain, sending out orders to tighten muscles and tendons, her jaw being the target area. She fought the desire to remind him that he was giving advice to his replacement… then arched an eyebrow and said it anyway. Indirectly.
“Shocking the client will accomplish nothing, except to lose us the account, and I don’t need your help with that.” Thwap.
“I meant shock the public, not the client,” he replied, nonplussed.
“That’s not necessary, either. People don’t appreciate being made fools of. You might get their attention once, but you’ll never get it again.”
He rubbed his jaw, seeming amused. “You have much too high an opinion of your fellow man.”
Present company excepted, she wanted to say, but held her fire. She usually kept a pretty good grip on her emotions—Meredith liked to call it a headlock—but anger wouldn’t get her anywhere with him anyway. She needed to stay grounded because this guy was a raging river. He held nothing back, and she didn’t have that luxury. She had to preserve her energy to save the account that he’d put in jeopardy.
“Are you done with the gym?” he asked. “It’s reserved on Friday mornings for murder ball. You and your team are welcome to join us. Carlotta has a mean serve.”
“Murderball?”
He grinned. “Dodgeball where you come from.”
So that’s why he was here. Dodgeball. Not because he couldn’t wait until the evening to meet her. Figured.
“They may want to play,” she said, referring to her team, “but I have some calls to make. Give us a minute to finish up our brainstorming session, and we’ll be out of your way.”
“Take your time.” Suddenly warm and friendly, he worked open the top button of his white dress shirt. “I need to hit the locker room and change first, anyway.”
She mumbled something about seeing him at dinner that night, and then turned back to her team, not surprised to find them riveted. The gym virtually hummed with tension. A corpse would have been sitting up.
“Let’s meet tomorrow morning in the Sandbox,” she told the team, referring to one of the agency’s many themed conference rooms. “I know it’s the weekend, but we have a deadline bearing down on us like a tsunami.”
Andy rose first, picking up his mat. “So, what kind of a campaign is this going to be? Shock and awe?” He grinned, apparently at the possibilities. “I’m sure I could come up with something that would put Faustini management on life support.”
Hmm. Andy may have just handed her the perfect opening. She had no idea whether Gabriel was still behind her, but she hoped so. This was her chance to make an impression on all of them, but most of all, she wanted him to hear it.
“Keep in mind,” she said formally, “that it will be difficult for Faustini to pay their advertising bill if they’re on life support. They are the client, and without them this agency wouldn’t exist. They’ve hired us to do a job. Let’s do it. Let’s give them the campaign heard around the world. But don’t forget that the client has to like it first or no one else will ever see it.”
Tess couldn’t tell whether they were with her or not, but she wasn’t finished. “It’s not us versus Faustini,” she said. “It’s us and them. We’re a team, and they’re part of it.”
Her team gave her a smattering of applause, and she curtsied. Tess waited for Gabriel to say something, and the silence became awkward. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that he’d already left. So much for the crusading speech.
As she knelt to pick up her mat, she had the feeling the murderball game had already started, and there were only two players. This was a one-on-one with Danny Gabriel, and she was the rookie, fighting for a piece of the star player’s turf. And maybe for her career.
Chapter Two
Tess hovered in the narrow stall, trying not to drop her purse, or anything else, into the sleek, low-slung toilet. She’d just finished her business when a man had entered the bathroom and taken the stall right next to hers. Now she was stuck. Or rather her outfit was stuck. Her cotton gauze jumpsuit had been perfect for the Qigong session that morning, but it should have come with assembly instructions for all the hooks, snaps and tabs. Now she was having a slight wardrobe malfunction. She’d ended up with a hook and nothing to attach it to but a snap. And she couldn’t very well leave the stall half-dressed with a dude next door.
The agency’s bathrooms were coed on the theory that new experiences were stimulating and enriching—and Pratt-Summers was known for providing their creative staff with plenty of stimulation. The coffee lounge offered more choices than Starbucks. It also had an oxygen bar, a tea bar and a gourmet snack bar, featuring exotic dark chocolate from around the world that was said to be as potent as prescription mood elevators. Anything to keep the ideas coming.
Tess had worked straight through lunch on the Faustini account, and this was her first break of the afternoon. All she wanted to do was pee and get back to her desk. But it looked like she was going to have to take herself apart like a model airplane and start over.
The adjacent door opened and banged shut.
Tess hesitated, listening. She could hear him washing his hands and chatting with Mitzi, the mysterious washroom attendant, who seemed to be on a first-name basis with everyone at the agency. Apparently she was as much a fixture as the bathroom’s fancy gold faucets. Tess had heard through office scuttlebutt that Mitzi had been with the agency through every management shake-up, of which Tess was just the latest. She not only guarded the bathroom and the adjoining lounge, she ran an aromatherapy concession, did reflexology and was rumored to be a licensed acupuncturist.
Tess gave up on the jumpsuit. Let it flap. She might flash a few people, but her white cotton sports bra wouldn’t give anyone much of a thrill.
She rolled her neck, aware of clicking noises. A massage would be wonderful, except that Mitzi made her nervous. The washroom attendant looked to be in her mid-forties, attractive in a strange way. She had severely cropped hair, an olive complexion and dark, expressive eyes. She was also short-waisted and pear-shaped, with the lowest center of gravity Tess had ever seen, which probably made her a powerhouse masseuse. And to her credit, she kept a beautiful bathroom. There were orchids everywhere, plush rolled towels, pearlescent hand lotions and the place smelled luscious. Today, it was essence of an English rose garden. But on Tess’s first day at the agency, she’d smelled something she couldn’t identify, and Mitzi had explained that she’d been using oil of hemp for a massage.
Hemp? Could Mitzi add drug dealer to her list of specialties?
Tess had given her a wide berth after that, but she seemed to be the only one who was concerned. As far as Tess could tell, Mitzi was widely revered for her advice on everything from health to dating and relationships. She got more respect than the CEO. Right now, she and the unidentified man were discussing his blood pressure and she was recommending that he burn candles during his power nap.
“Lavender, geranium or neroli,” Mitzi suggested. “Lavender is good for dandruff, too. Makes a wonderful tonic for the hair, and if you put the buds in a dream pillow, it will help you sleep. But be careful, you might see ghosts. And, by the way, I have plenty of that ylang-ylang soap you like. You know, the libido-booster bar with just a touch of nutmeg.”
The man’s embarrassed chuckle made Tess wonder if Mitzi had winked at him. Libido booster? Dream pillows and ghosts? No wonder he had hypertension.
Tess had decided to wait until the transaction was over. She couldn’t be sure the man wasn’t Danny Gabriel, and she didn’t want another awkward encounter with him now. Their dinner tonight would be plenty soon enough.
The moment she heard the man leave, Tess let herself out of the stall and went to the long bank of sinks to wash her hands. Mitzi, keeper of the towels, was seated on her stool at the end of the long counter, her many products displayed on wall racks behind her. She watched Tess intently, ready to hand her a towel when she was done.
Tess thanked her and grabbed some paper towels instead. “In a rush,” she said, taking a moment to scrutinize herself in the mirror.
Good girl? Her? What had Gabriel been thinking?
She pulled on a tight curl, trying to get it to relax and dangle in a provocative way. How did she get stuck with yellow bedsprings for hair? She’d always wanted to be one of those fey beauties whose hair went flying every time she gave it a little shake. The kind who gave men whiplash when she strolled by. She sighed. Not in this lifetime.
Still, she hadn’t had that much difficulty attracting men, especially back in college. She’d gone through a wild-child phase when hormones and adrenaline had uncorked inside her like a magnum of champagne. Reserved as she’d been, she’d gotten bold enough to flirt, and that was all the encouragement certain boys had needed. Suddenly, she was wildly popular. Not for any of the right reasons, of course, but the boys’ reactions had taught her that being sexy was about much more than one’s appearance.
Too bad she’d been riddled with guilt the whole time. Being “bad” had only been fleetingly good. Mostly, the experience had left her confused about her sexuality and her urgent need for male attention. And years later, when she’d finally figured it out, the answers hadn’t been pretty.
The bathroom door swung open behind her, and a small pack of women burst into the spacious room, laughing and talking, probably on a break.
Tess thought she recognized them from the Research Division but couldn’t be sure. She’d been introduced around by a Human Resources person, but she’d met too many people that week. It was all a blur.
“Last night was a Rolling Thunderclap,” one of the women said as the three of them entered separate stalls. “It was loud and fast, and there were reports of smoke coming from my ears.”
“Reports? How many people were there?” the second woman asked from her stall.
“Just me and my boyfriend, but he gave me updates on the half second.”
“Sounds more like a Shake, Rattle and Roll to me,” the second woman said. “Were there coital quivers? I’m a Mountain Fountain girl, myself.”
“And I fall somewhere between Napping Kitten and Arctic Silence,” the third said. “Therapy was suggested.”
Mountain Fountain was a Qigong position, but Tess was pretty sure they weren’t discussing martial arts. She moved aside as the women emerged all at once, not unlike synchronized swimmers. They washed their hands, thanked Mitzi for the towels and disappeared into the adjoining lounge.
Tess glanced at Mitzi, who shrugged. “This month’s Cosmo has a Name Your Orgasm quiz,” she explained. “Apparently, orgasms can reveal hidden aspects of your personality. If you’re limited to one kind, it means you’re not expressing yourself fully as a human being.”
“Ah.” Tess nodded. ’Nuff said. She gave her hair another tweak and frowned. A giant sigh escaped her. Limited to one kind? She should be so lucky. What was an orgasm? She couldn’t remember. Most of hers had been pretty forgettable anyway, if she was being honest. No Rolling Thunderclaps. Even all the heavy breathing in college had been only briefly exciting—and definitely not worth the self-recrimination afterward.
Mitzi was watching Tess with a knitted brow and enough concern to send Tess running. She reached for the Faustini bag the designer had given her, along with a pair of their gorgeous new stiletto boots. Each of the team members had received some Faustini launch products as gifts, and to better help them sell the line. Pride of ownership was a prime motivating factor, and old man Faustini, as everyone called the sixty-two-year-old founder of the company, was smart enough to know that.
“Gotta go,” Tess said. “Work to do.” She gave Mitzi a reassuring nod, but it didn’t seem to register. Mitzi’s health-o-meter was engaged.
“Female trouble?” Mitzi said. “Let me guess. PMS, right?”
Tess was too startled not to respond. She was premenstrual beyond belief, bloated and incredibly hormonal. Worse, she’d never been hornier. She glanced down at her body. “Does it show?”
Tess’s period was nearly two weeks late. Probably stress. She definitely wasn’t pregnant, unless this was an immaculate conception. She hadn’t had sex in months, which seemed to be affecting her cycle.
Good for creativity. That’s what she’d been telling herself. Theoretically, pent-up sexual energy could be channeled into other things, like work. In reality, though, she was getting more frustrated, not less, despite the distractions of a new job and a new life. At this rate, her sexual energy would soon be the equivalent of a black hole, sucking up every productive thought she had. Too bad she hadn’t been assigned to come up with an ad campaign for porno flicks.
Mitzi was off the stool and down on her knees, searching through the cabinet beneath the sink. “Maybe some clary sage and juniper-berry tea? It balances hormones, and it’s a powerful diuretic. You’ll pee like a racehorse.”
Tess reached for her purse. “Does it come in bags?” she asked, ready to buy on the spot. What did it cost? Fifty bucks a bag? Sold. Anything that equaled less bloating was gold.
“Aha!” Mitzi beamed as she pulled out a small box of tea bags.
The transaction went quickly, and the price was fair, but it all felt vaguely illegal to Tess. Maybe because Mitzi had literally gone under the counter to get the tea.
“Did I hear a man in here earlier?” Tess made small talk as she waited for Mitzi to process her charge card. “I met lots of people this week, and his voice sounded familiar.”
“Did you meet Danny Gabriel?”
Tess tried not to act startled this time. “Yes. Was it him?”
“No, but that’s who you were thinking it was, am I right?”
“I thought it might be him. Are you supposed to be psychic or something?”
Mitzi wrinkled her nose at the idea. “If the first five senses work, why do you need a sixth? Good eyes and ears is all it takes around here.”
Laughter drifted from the other room, where the women were hanging out. Tess wondered if they were still comparing personal bests or had moved on to something else.
She signed the credit card slip Mitzi pushed toward her and tore off her copy. “Thanks for suggesting this,” she said, picking up the box of tea. “I’m sure it will help.”
Mitzi had her PDA out and was busy making an entry. It was probably how she kept track of sales or inventory. “You’re welcome,” she said, not looking up, “but I think you might need more than tea, dear.”
Tess was already heading for the door. “Thanks, but I have plenty of soap and candles. This will be fine.”
“Tess Wakefield.”
The urgency in Mitzi’s voice made Tess hesitate. She turned to see Mitzi coming after her with a halting gait. Tess wondered if she was much older than she looked, or if she’d been injured somehow.
