by J. A. Dennam
He leaned in close and murmured, “I just wanted you to know that no one really has a clear idea of what went on yesterday.”
She blinked. “Okay.”
“I mean, they’ve been guessing, but no one actually overheard anything solid.”
This time Brooke gave him a patient smile. “Thank you, Roger, but I really don’t care what people think.”
His face froze in confusion. “You don’t?”
Her smile remained. “I’m over it. You should be too.”
When she moved to walk around him, he caught her by the arm. “In that case, you want to have lunch with me today?”
“Not on your life.”
Behind him, she noticed Ethan giving them both his undivided attention. It was the first sign that he’d even been curious about the effects of yesterday. Ignoring him completely, she headed toward Ken’s office.
Ken Stevens was reclining in his desk chair with the lights out, the blinds closed, and a moist washcloth draped over his eyes. She rapped a knuckle against the open door. “Excuse me, sir?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll need to—” The man looked like a statue. Brooke took another step into the darkened office. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah.”
But he didn’t sound okay. That’s when she noticed the open bottle of ibuprofen on his desk. If Brooke understood anything, it was what pain looked like. “Is it sinuses or stress?”
“I have two coworkers constantly at each other’s throats,” he droned. “I’m going with stress.”
Guilt over her part in his suffering softened her heart just a tad. Having put in a few hours running an office, she felt his pain in that too. However, if he’d only kept the old staff, perhaps he wouldn’t be steeped in so much drama…as long as he kept a blind eye to the darkroom antics as her father had. Brooke pursed her lips. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”
She walked to her desk and removed a few items from the top drawer. Then she headed for the break room where she took a mug from the cabinet and filled it with a small amount of water. As she searched the drawers for a plastic spoon, Ethan walked in.
Hands in his pockets, he studied the colorful buttons on the soda machine.
As if the selection has changed since yesterday, she thought with an annoyed tilt of her mouth.
He broke the silence behind her. “Are you really over it, or just acting that way?”
A small flutter churned in her stomach. Resisting the urge to run from the room like a skittish cat, she said, “I’m not going to Ken if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I wasn’t. You have as much to lose as I do.”
Brooke marveled that it had taken him so long to voice that subtle reminder. Locating a wrapped straw in the back of a drawer, she straightened and scooped up her items. “If you’re trying to goad me, it won’t work.”
“I wasn’t trying to goad you.”
She put on her most professional smile before backing through the door. “Then we can put it all behind us.”
When she returned to Ken’s office, she found that he hadn’t moved an inch. Brooke unscrewed the cap from a small jar and shook a bit of red powder into her palm.
He lifted a corner of the washcloth and peered out from beneath it. “What’s that?”
“Cayenne powder. It’ll help with the headache.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Ken sat up a little, “but I think sneezing should be avoided at all costs.”
She dumped the powder into the mug of water and gave it a good stir with the straw. “Trust me on this. Cayenne is full of natural good stuff that inhibits pain and it works fast if you apply it right.”
His look turned dry. “Let me guess. You’ve never taken an aspirin in your life.”
It wasn’t far from the truth. Brooke smiled a little. “I avoid pharmaceuticals at all costs.” She soaked a couple of cotton balls in the mixture and dug them out with the straw, squeezing out some of the liquid. “Lay your head back.”
“What exactly are you going to do with those?”
“Oh, don’t be such a baby. This is how I manage all my headaches, just relax.”
Still hesitant, Ken leaned his head back. She shoved the first discolored cotton ball up one nostril. He reared up with a guttural growl. “Ah! That burns, damn it!”
Brooke prevented him from batting her hands away. “That means it’s working, Mr. Stevens, just relax.”
“Do you really think I’m going to let you stick that other one up my nose?”
“Yes.” She laughed. “You’re a tough guy, you can take a little discomfort. Once it subsides, you’ll notice a difference in your headache.”
“My biggest pain is standing right beside me shoving foreign objects in my face,” he griped.
“As long as you don’t suck them up, you’ll be fine. It’ll only take a minute.”
When the second one went in, a noise came from the doorway. Brooke looked in that direction and saw Ethan looming there.
“What the hell is going on in here?” He walked closer to inspect the scene. “Ken? Can you confirm that you are a willing party to this?”
“Dot really,” he mumbled nasally.
Was Ethan following her? Afraid she’d rat him out despite her claims? “Go away,” she said with annoyance.
Ethan flipped the lights on and graced Ken with a look of horror. “It’s my job to look after my boss.”
“He’s fine,” Brooke said through clenched teeth.
“He has carrots in his nose.”
“They aren’t carrots, they’re cotton balls.”
While she gathered her things, the two men shared a look—Ken’s more of a plea for rescue. “I think he passed that stage when he turned three,” Ethan claimed, a hint of humor having seeped into his countenance.
Ken sat up. The washcloth dropped from his forehead and right into his cup of coffee. With a loud curse, he dug the thing out and glared at Brooke, who offered the mug of orange water as a solution to his immediate problem. He plopped the dripping rag in there. “I thought you were here to ease the headache, dot bake it worse.”
“You’re absolutely right, sir.” She grabbed some tissues and began mopping up the mess. “Ethan, leave.”
Ethan stubbornly crossed his arms. “No.”
“You’re making his headache worse.”
“God bless Aberica!” Ken ripped the soggy orange balls out of his nostrils. “Both of you just get out!”
The orange streaks beneath his nose completely ruined his air of stern authority. Hiding a smile, Brooke gathered up her stuff.
“Don’t you laugh!” Ken grumbled.
A snort escaped. Doubling her efforts, Brooke curled her lips inward and bit down on them hard. Unable to speak without falling apart, she simply ran from the office with Ethan close behind. But it wasn’t in her to let Ken off the hook that easily, so she went back and stuck her head through his door. “It worked though, didn’t it?”
Ken masked his look of amazement behind a scowl, but not before Brooke caught it first. Her grin reflected a victory. “Oh! And I’d like to schedule a half-hour meeting in my office at 2:30,” she added while Ethan began to tug on her arm.
“Fine!”
“And I’d like Penny to handle the graphics.”
“Absolutely! Get out!”
When they returned to their desks, Brooke half expected Ethan to make some snide remark about her calling it “her” office. Instead, she was surprised to hear a similar snort to the one she’d produced. When she realized he was suppressing his own amusement, it brought back the image of Ken with a thunderous frown and comically orange nostrils.
Her stomach convulsed in a laugh that she promptly stifled behind her hand.
Which spurred another snort from the other desk. Brooke clamped another hand over her mouth in a concerted effort to keep it in. But then Ethan’s quiet, wheezy laugh infused the air.
Unable to control it any longer, Br
ooke let hers loose, while trying to keep it quiet, which only escalated the problem. Within moments, they were both laughing out loud. She wiped the tears from her eyes and told him to stop it.
“What’s going on here?”
Just like that, the moment faded. Shannon stood there with her Diet Coke, notepad, and a look of wide-eyed censure. Brooke could swear that the woman was jealous over finding them doing something as normal as sharing a laugh.
Shannon cocked her head and then turned to Ethan. “I have your bid ready. Let’s talk about it, shall we?”
When Ethan got up and followed Shannon into her office, Brooke buried herself in her computer screen, vowing not to watch. It was none of her business what those two did behind closed doors. As long as it wasn’t conspiring to cheat or steal her corner office using underhanded tactics, she wasn’t the slightest bit interested in their business.
Not even a little.
14
“HAVE YOU SEEN ETHAN?”
Brooke turned to find Ken Stevens standing behind her, sans the orange nostrils. She looked at the time on her computer screen. It was just after two in the afternoon. “No, I haven’t. You look like you’re feeling better though.”
“I am,” he admitted as his gaze searched the room. “Can’t say I’d shove that crap up my nose all the time, but it seemed to work when the ibuprofen didn’t.”
She knew it! The satisfaction of a personal win was as good as any other. With a confident smirk, she asked, “Is there something I can help you with?”
At first Ken shook his head, but the man was definitely struggling to make a decision. Finally, he said grimly, “Ted Troll with Romcore is in the waiting room for his two o’clock meeting. Ethan seems to have disappeared.”
Disappeared? One thing about Ethan: He was never late for a meeting. And this was by far his most important meeting yet. “Maybe he got stuck in traffic on his way back from lunch.”
It was well known that Naples was a city full of continuous road improvements—something else newbies would have to learn to navigate.
“I wouldn’t know,” Ken said, clicking out a text on the keypad of his blackberry. “I called his cell and it rang on my office’s floor.”
That didn’t sound like Ethan either, unless he’d gone searching for the phone he lost. Then Brooke recalled the way Ethan had wooed her clients with his charms when she’d been in the darkroom waiting for Roger. If she hadn’t shown up when she did, he might have snatched them right out from under her. It was something she would never do to a fellow account specialist, but perhaps a little payback was in order…a scare for a scare. Occupying herself with the email she’d been typing, she asked with subtle innocence, “Would you like for me to handle Mr. Troll until Ethan gets back?”
She could feel Ken’s gaze boring a hole into her back. “There’s enough tension between you two. Better not to exacerbate it.”
Brooke typed her closing and hit send. “Mr. Stevens, I think we are all aware that Romcore is Ethan’s client.” She spun around in her chair to grace him with a dry smile. “It would be like trying to steal a lion from the zoo.” When he still balked, she shrugged it off. “You’re right. It would be better for you to handle it.”
“I’m already late for my tour of the seventh floor with the building’s manager.” Ken checked his watch. “Go ahead and get Mr. Troll settled in. If Ethan doesn’t show up in the next five minutes, you have my blessing to conduct the meeting in his stead. Bill Knight expects to attend also.”
She hid her glee behind a respectful nod. Ken disappeared for a moment and reappeared with a file in hand, which he placed on her desk. “Look through it real quick first just in case. I won’t be available for the next half hour, so I trust you to handle it on your own if Ethan doesn’t show. Oh, and tell him I left his cell phone on his desk.”
“Don’t worry about a thing,” she assured with a kind smile. “He’s probably in the lobby with Mr. Troll as we speak. If not, I’ll take care of it.”
But Ken was already gone. Brooke picked up the file and, resisting the urge to prop her feet up, scanned the contents. Even if Ethan showed up at that very moment, he’d see her with it and explode. Cue her line: Paybacks are a bitch.
Thumbing through the paperwork, she found a copy of their original bid, the competitor’s lower bid, and a new bid that would surely win Monroe Graphics the account. Offering custom cover art free of charge for the first textbook was a pretty sweet deal, but Brooke had dealt with clients like Ted Troll before. He’d balk and try to negotiate an even better deal, dangling all of their future business in front of Monroe’s nose.
As far as Brooke was concerned, someone so reluctant to fork out the cash usually didn’t have the backing to publish a textbook, let alone a whole series of them. She also found it odd that Mr. Troll hadn’t just accepted the competitor’s winning bid and left it at that, like most people would.
Brooke took out that particular bid and gave it a quick scan. Almost immediately, something strange caught her eye. She reached for her cell phone, thumbed through her address book and made a call.
Five minutes later when she entered the lobby, a tall white-haired man in golf apparel stood at the windows. A single white glove dangled out of a back pocket as if he’d just come from a game. His sunlit profile was a harsh one complete with hooked nose, bushy eyebrows, and a practiced scowl of discontent.
On her way by the reception desk, Letreece waved Brooke over and whispered, “Ethan’s MIA and I will go Scarface on this guy if you don’t get him off my ass.”
Brooke stole a glance at the man by the windows. “Then I’m about to make your day.” She cleared her throat and spoke loudly. “Mr.Troll?”
He turned around. Brooke walked over and extended her hand. “Brooke Monroe.” They shook. “I apologize for the wait.”
“Where’s Ethan?”
The gruff manner in which he spoke was testament to his displeasure with Monroe Graphics so far. Brooke gave him her most professional smile and beckoned him to follow her down the hall of windows. “I believe he’s stuck in traffic. I’ve been asked to fill in for him until he arrives.”
The man didn’t budge. “No offense, Ms. Monroe, but I’d rather deal with Ethan.”
Her smile never wavered. “None taken. I’ll just get you settled and you can review our offer while you wait.”
Shoulders back, Brooke walked with a sway to her hips that bespoke of a woman with confidence, something Mr. Troll most likely didn’t want to deal with. She allowed him to enter the conference room first and then chose to leave the door open.
As Brooke settled at the head of the table, Mr. Troll watched as if she were daft. “I’m thirsty,” he snapped. “Mind getting me a ginger ale?”
She opened the file and chose the top page. “Oops. I completely forgot to offer you refreshments, didn’t I?” She looked up and smiled. “Please sit down.”
“Aren’t you going to—”
“I’m a woman who likes to get down to business, Mr. Troll.” She slid the page across the polished wood. “If this offer agrees with you, I’ll get you that drink.”
His look narrowed, but he finally pulled out the cushioned chair beside her and sat down. “Wasn’t your lead illustrator supposed to be a part of this meeting?”
Brooke waited while he flicked open a pair of reading glasses and perched them on his nose. “Bill’s time is fairly limited since his work is in such high demand,” she said, propping her chin on her palm. “If you’d still like to see him after you look over the offer, I’ll be happy to call him in.”
He picked up the bid and scanned it. Slowly his sunburned face contorted with ire. “What the hell is this?”
“It’s our offer,” she replied.
“It’s the same offer!”
“Precisely.”
The glasses came off and he angrily shoved the paper back in her direction. “I don’t like games, Ms. Monroe. If Ethan isn’t available, I want to see your boss.”
Brooke sighed and nodded in complete understanding. “I don’t like games, either. They tend to muddy the waters until you can no longer see the bottom line.” She straightened in her chair, back to her professional demeanor. “Unfortunately, my boss is also unavailable. I know how valuable your time is, so please allow me to explain why our bid hasn’t changed.”
He watched with a scowl as she fished another document from the folder.
A few minutes later, Brooke stood at the lobby windows with the file beneath her arm and her nose to the glass. “I am sooooo fired,” she mumbled as she watched Ted Troll storm from the building’s entrance and streak across the parking lot in a fit of rage.
Letreece came up behind her and scoped out the scene below. “What did you do?”
Mr. Troll struggled with the door handle of his silver Jaguar, his mouth moving with what was sure to be a string of colorful words. Brooke sighed. “I made an executive decision that wasn’t really mine to make. Ethan won’t be happy.”
“Girl, you are brave for fanning that flame.”
“It was the right call,” she said with confidence. “Hopefully, Ken will see it that way.”
“Wait a minute, what is that kooky old fart doing now?”
They both watched as he seemed to take his rage out on the clouds. Then he spotted them watching through the eighth-story window and pointed directly at her. Brooke reared back, wondering what sort of evil spell he was casting on her. But, no, it was as if the man was carrying on a conversation with another person. With a strange feeling in her stomach, Brooke looked above her at the paneled ceiling. “Does Ethan ever go up to the roof?” she asked.
“He takes the stairs a lot,” Letreece answered as she made her way back to the reception desk. “Whether he goes up or down, I have no idea.”
Chewing on her bottom lip, Brooke continued her surveillance of the man in the parking lot, but he’d already gotten in his car and was backing out. With nothing left to see, she decided to check the roof just in case. “I’ll be right back,” she said to Letreece. Halfway to the stairwell, though, something occurred to her. Better to be armed with some facts just in case. So she went back to Letreece.