Weekend Lover
Page 5
staccato. The sound bounced off high vaulted ceilings lit with art deco chandeliers.
The loud echo, unfortunately, didn't drown out, Anna's voice coming from the earbud.
“Please don't tell me you're late.” The usually husky timbre grew sharp. Her boss was about to
start ranting.
So, Nicole wouldn't say she was late. In this case, late was a technical term. She'd taken
a break to get a much-needed-afternoon-iced coffee. Keeping calm, she tapped a thumb
against the phone's screen. Ten minutes to make it to the top floor. She downed more iced
coffee—the reason she was ten minutes from getting an ass chewing.
Stark quiet filled the earbud. Silence was deadly, because that meant Anna was gearing
up for a condescending rant. It would involve telling Nicole all the things she was doing
wrong and implying that's why she hadn't made it to the next level of managing director.
Reins Anna held like a woman in the 1950's clutched her pearls when bad words flew out of a
pretty girl's mouths. Since Anna was also the founder of Limelight, an esteemed PR boutique,
her word was law.
Nicole's grasp tightened on the phone. “Am I late?” She pffted.
“Then you're there with him now? Because he's already here.”
Nicole choked. Tapped her phone again. Nine minutes. Stay calm. Don't panic. The
computer mogul paid the company a king's ransom to make him look good on paper and TV,
and despite this, the client never show up for scheduled meetings. She usually had to hunt
him down like a repo agent. If he didn't fork over a buttload of money, Anna would have
dropped him long ago for tying up Nicole's schedule.
Reticent to do any kind of public events, she still manged to talk him into a bachelor
auction, on Valentine's Day. In a month. Handsome and charming, he'd be the perfect
bachelor. Unfortunately, he hadn't finalized any of the details, and it was nerve racking to say
the least to build a buzz when the man hadn't even confirmed he'd actually show up.
Knots in her stomach had become a constant companion, and they twisted in her gut
now. After a quick, mournful glance at her feet, Nicole broke into a run. At the first sign of a
trash can, she tossed the coffee.
“Oh, that's wonderful he's actually here. I'm right down the hall.” She rounded the
corner to the bay of elevators and skidded to a halt. Taped to one of the closed doors was a
"Down for Maintenance" sign. One elevator for eight busy floors. Crap on a cracker. She
tapped her phone again. Seven minutes.
“You sound winded. Where are you really?”
She headed to the stair case, glanced up. If she made it in time, the moment she got
home, Nicole would kiss her treadmill. “I really should go now.”
“You really should let me tell you about your new co-publicist. The reason I called in
the first place, but I got distracted by your lack of being where you're supposed to be.”
“Not that I'm on one, but I'm allowed breaks.”
“Not when you have a client coming in.”
True, but Nicole needed breaks and moments of solitude, with her phone off, for the
past two months. Sacrilegious behavior and so unlike her. Something had changed within her
and she didn't like it one bit. She had this feeling before and had killed, burned and buried it.
The troublesome emotion had Nicole off her game and not her usual go-getter-work-at-all-
hours-of-the-day self. She'd been taking time to relax. A publicity manager one step away
from being a managing director, at the top of her game, didn't relax until she quit or died.
“Do tell.” She cleared the first flight with no problem. “Who is it this time?”
“I didn't hire him as a true co-publicist.”
“Good, because you know I don't need help.”
“Of course you don't,” Anna said as though talking to a simpleton. “You vet newbies for
me.”
Third floor and her calves started to scream. Tap. Five minutes. She grabbed the rail,
hand slicked with sweat, and took a breath. “Giving them clients, I don't mind. Training them,
I do. Why me? It's a pain in the ass. Other publicist on your payroll have patience. Anyone
else has more patience.”
“If they can survive your schedule, they can work on their own at a slower pace.”
Fifth floor. Four minutes. She grunted in answer. There would be no kissing the
treadmill any time soon.
“But this new guy might give you a run for the money. I stole him from a competitive
firm.”
“How? Giving me a run for the money, not stealing. Buying loyalty isn't the shocking
part of this conversation.” She puffed and then sucked in a longer breath.
Sixth floor. Nicole would probably pass out the moment she made it. Two minutes. She
moved faster.
“I hired him on as a publicity manager. So, he's a co-publicity manager.” Anna let that
hang in the air before she added, “And, when I called him fifteen minutes ago he was already
sitting down with the client.”
The damn knots turned into lead weights, and it had nothing to do with the marathon.
“No.” The word came out like an epithet.
“Yup.”
Probably explained why Anna wasn't chewing her a new one. This was chastisement
enough. Nicole growled and pushed through the eighth floor's door. Her anger spiked, killing
any unease. Her and her addiction to iced coffee. Really, her need to take a break. She had a
little anger, too, for the client actually showing up this time. And the rest for the interloper
ruining the initial interview for a new campaign.
Oh, yes. He would have ruined it. Most people Anna threw in Nicole's path didn't know
their asshole from a hole in the wall. Anna threw the newbies at Nicole to train, toughen up
and make competent. Anna didn't hire new publicity managers. That was Nicole's job because
she was fantastic at what she did.
Her clients loved her and so did her stuffed-to-the max contacts list. A list filled with
reporters, radio execs, TV and radio personalities, DJs... anyone who would speak her clients'
name with wonderful press coverage. Pretty much everyone but God and the Pope. Not
having the latter had everything to do with a lack of trying on Nicole's part.
And some usurper felt it was ok to go ahead with the interview without her?
“Anna, I've got to go.”
The plush carpet quieted the sound of her heels, and the only click was Anna, finally,
hanging up. Passing the receptionist—blonde, young and pretty—she grabbed some Kleenex
and dabbed her damp face. Very little makeup came off. Still she dug into her purse for
lipstick and reapplied the siren-red shade. Not missing a step, she followed the curve of the
hallway and dropped the Kleenex, lipstick, phone and earbud into her purse.
Nicole gave herself a moment to breathe deep and dispel any irritation. Calm. Efficient.
Capable. Since she'd practiced how that looked in the mirror, Nicole knew she looked every
inch of those words.
She turned the doorknob to her office and stepped inside. Her gaze barely glossed over
the back of the client's head. Her gaze was too busy drinking in, and disbelieving, who sat at
her desk. The man's angular cheek bones gave his bronzed skin a striking balance. The peak
of his nose was thick but sharp. Yet the steel-blue glint of his eyes held a dept
h that left her
breathless. She knew what it felt like to be under that intense gaze.
The last time she'd seen him, his hair had been mussed and tousled by continually
running her fingers through the ebony strands. He'd looked rakish and exactly like the type of
man you took to bed, but she got to know he was the type of man you wanted around long
after the sex glow dimmed. He was a man who had started the small shift within her to relax
and have a little fun.
Now, not a strand of hair dared to stick out from the slicked-back style. He looked like a
shark. A shark perched behind her desk as though it was his.
Damn him.
“Sebastian?” The name spilled from her lips.
End of Excerpt
Document Outline
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter One
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five