by Tawny Taylor
“Sorry, Fate. I’m an accountant not a marketing director. I couldn’t come up with an original idea if my life depended on it.”
“You’re no help.” The waiter set the white foam box next to Fate and ran off again before she could thank him. “Sheesh! I’m all for waiters who hustle, but every time I want something I practically have to wrestle him to the ground for him to stay long enough to listen.” She arranged her sandwich and salad in the box and closed the lid. Then she looked at Tracy.
Tracy dropped her gaze and, biting her lip, toyed with her napkin.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No.” Tracy continued to avoid her gaze. “Although being told I’m no help isn’t exactly what I wanted to hear today.”
God, am I a coldhearted bitch. “Sorry, Tracy. You came at my beck and call, and I insulted you. I swear, I’m hopeless.”
“No, you’re not. You’re my friend, and I wish I could help you. But I have no idea what to suggest. Are you sure they’re going to fire one of you?”
She glanced down at her watch before answering. Ten minutes. “Almost positive. The new VP made it clear they don’t need two heads of marketing, and since he’s the former VP of the Date Doctor’s sales and marketing departments, Ryan has the home-court advantage.”
“What’s good ole Gabe doing? Has he been real secretive?”
“No, actually, he suggested we work on the project together, but his idea is ridiculous. It’ll never work.”
Tracy’s glum expression lightened. “Then do what he would: Badger him into quitting, trick him into leaving. That might work.”
Fate grabbed her purse and fished out a ten, dropping it on the table for her share of the tab. “I’m not following you.”
“Tell him two heads are better than one…. Don’t you love saying that? Act like you’re working with him then trick him into failure. If nothing else, that might buy you some time until your mortgage is approved and you’ve closed on the house. Then, you could look for another job. Quit before they fire you.”
“But that could take weeks. I don’t know if I can work the rest of the day with him. He’s such a pain in the ass.”
Tracy shot her an encouraging smile. “Be a pain in the ass right back.”
Fate looked at her friend, her resolve building. Tracy was right. She had to go along with Gabe’s plan for a while. It might help her find a way to gain the advantage.
If only Gabe wasn’t so damn maddening!
*****
Gabe swept the last crumbs of his peanut butter sandwich from his desk and, forcing his attention back to his laptop, resumed reading from the animated gif-laden web page. Pictures and icons virtually bludgeoned him from all angles. This was supposed to attract him to the site?
Glancing down at his Scooby-Doo watch, a gift from his eight-year old niece, his heart leaped. Almost one-thirty. Fate would be coming back any moment now. He couldn’t wait to see her. Silly, ridiculous, but nevertheless, a fact.
He’d spent the last hour cramming his sandwich down his throat and wishing the hour away. It was so unlike him to go nuts over a woman. He’d quit trying to figure it out long ago. All he knew was that he couldn’t get close enough to her. She was truly magnetic, fascinating, an enigma waiting to be resolved…and he was the Indiana Jones to do it.
Forcing himself to concentrate, he scanned the competition’s web page for ideas. Metro Detroit had more than its share of dating services. He needed a fresh name and approach, something clever, catchy. On the web he’d found services for vegetarians, redheads, astrological, people who were looking for menages—a personal favorite—also interracial couples, inmates, various nationalities, and homosexuals.
The agencies employed wide-ranging methods: everything from biorhythm matching to videos or photos and voice recordings. How would they find a unique approach? What would be their niche?
“What’s so interesting?”
Fate’s voice wrenched his focus from his computer screen, and when he saw her, he silently rejoiced, his pulse trotting, his heart thumping in his ears and his face warming. She was dazzling, wearing a wide smile. Evidently she was one of those people who suffered from low blood sugar. “Hi ya, Doherty. Doing some research on the web. Hoping to get some inspiration. Did you know there is a dating service that uses biorhythm to make matches? Should we check it out, see how it works?”
She remained at the doorway, lingering like she didn’t know whether she was in the right office. “No, I think I’ll pass. Thanks, anyway. I don’t let anyone attach anything to my body, not even doctors.”
“That’s a damn shame,” he muttered. “I could think of a few things I’d like to attach to that body…”
“What did you say?”
“I said…um, are you gonna come in? After all, this is your office.”
A sexy flush spread up her neck and colored her face. She hurried to her desk and slid into the chair.
When she didn’t speak, he continued, “Maybe later we can do some market research. What’s on the agenda today? Have you thought about my idea?”
She rested her elbows on her desk and dropped her chin into her hands, her expression wistful—almost childlike—and utterly charming. “I did a little thinking over lunch.”
“And?”
Biting her lip, she said, “I think we should work together on this project. You were right.”
It took every ounce of self-control to keep from howling with glee, but he managed. And then…he wondered why she’d given in so easily. She was up to something, but he could play along for a while. Forcing a casual tone to his voice, he said, “Okay. Should we start with the target market? Or would you rather think quietly and then discuss our ideas later?”
“No, this is fine.”
“Glad to see you’re not still sore about this buyout thing.”
Her eyes narrowed. Her mouth pulled taut. “It’s been a crazy day. I have always loved my job. Had aspirations of moving up in the company. This has been a little hard to swallow, especially knowing I could end up the recipient of a pink slip.”
“Yeah, it’s been a bit of a shock to me too, but I’m not disappointed by the way things have turned out so far.”
She laughed. “No?”
“Not at all.”
They stared at each other, and he felt like he was a high school kid all over again, caught off-guard in the hallway by the head cheerleader he’d secretly pined over for months. He wondered if she could read his mind with those inquisitive green eyes.
Then, as though a shutter had snapped shut, the emotion he’d seen vanished, and her mien grew guarded again. “Let’s do this.” She flopped open a spiral notebook and took her pen in hand. “Let’s list what is meaningful to our target market, then, hopefully, we’ll find somewhere to go with it.”
He enjoyed the way she took the reins. And her words possessed a trace of proposition he was certain she was not aware of. His playfulness returned. “Okay. My target—er, our target market is single, twenty-something? Right?”
“I don’t think we have much of a choice in that, do we?”
There is that smile! Her whole face lit up. He hoped he would see plenty more of those after they’d both grown more comfortable with each other. He stood and walked to her desk, resting his rear end on a corner and swinging his leg. “Choice? Guess not. Now, what is meaningful to our target market? Off the top of my head, I would list: television, vampire slayers, body piercing…”
Fate cringed. “Body piercing?”
He laughed. “They all have them.”
“I don’t get the appeal.”
“I’m guessing you haven’t kissed a guy with a pierced tongue?”
Her eyes widened to the size of saucers. “God, no!”
He leaned forward, until he was as close as he dared. The fresh scent of her shampoo and light citrus cologne drew him closer. “Then you don’t know what you’re missing.” The empty hole in his tongue rubbed against the roof o
f his mouth. He wished he had his tongue ring in but he always took it out for work. He would give her a private showing—hopefully soon.
Still seated in her chair, she leaned away from him. “And you have?”
With forced casualty, he straightened up, inspected his fingernails and said, “Of course I have.”
“I didn’t know you were gay.”
Her words clubbed him with dazing force, making his head spin. He lost his balance for a split second. Whoa! Where’d that come from? He gazed at her mischievous face, and laughed. “Touché.” He feigned a hairball in his throat, or otherwise massive obstruction, and dashed from the office for a drink of water. Something stronger would have been welcome, but considering he didn’t drink, at least not often, he figured it would only make him lose consciousness.
Then again, maybe unconsciousness was a good thing.
He took refuge in the break room. While he was fishing amongst the lint in his trouser pocket for some change for the vending machine, Duncan greeted him with a grin. “Hey, Ryan, how are the new digs?” He clapped Gabe on the back. “I did you a huge favor, eh? You owe me, buddy.”
“Sure did, Duncan. Thanks.”
“You look shaken. Everything okay?”
Duncan’s rug had slid a little to the left, and Gabe resisted the temptation to knock it off his head. He’d tried for years to convince Duncan the hairpiece wasn’t going to make him look younger, but the middle-aged divorcee wasn’t about to listen to a guy who still had a full head of hair. “Okay? Yeah, everything’s okay. But I have a question for you. This morning, did you threaten to fire Fate?”
“Had to. The brass won’t have two marketing directors. Don’t need ‘em. But I can’t fire you. I gave you some time, though. Told her we would be finalizing the department’s structure in the next few weeks.” He studied Gabe for a minute and then added, “What’s wrong with you?”
“I’ll resign. Don’t fire her.” Avoiding meeting Duncan’s gaze, he slid four quarters into the vending machine.
“What the hell are you talking about? I’m not gonna let you do that.”
“You can’t fire her.”
“Of course I can. What are you trying to pull here? You have something to tell me?”
The soda can clunked down the chute. When it reached the bottom, Gabe gripped it and opened it with a crack. “No.” He let the fizzy cold liquid wash down his throat then looked at his boss, whose bewildered expression almost made him laugh. “I don’t know, Duncan. She’s a hell of a marketing director. You’d be a fool to fire her.”
Duncan shrugged. “If she’s so great, she’ll find another job.”
“Sure she will. But it would be a shame to lose her. Say, isn’t wasting resources a cardinal sin?” Gabe faced the door. “You could convince the owners they would be losing big if they let her go.” He turned around in time to catch Duncan shaking his head.
“I’ll see what I can do, buddy. You know ‘saving’ resources is not exactly my specialty, and not every business owner is committed to conservation—unless you’re talking about dollars and cents.”
Gabe continued through the door. “Sure, but I have faith in you. After all, sales is your specialty.” As he continued toward his office, he hummed, his voice bouncing off the glass and brick and echoing over the lobby. He hoped Duncan’s influence would echo through the company with equal force. If not, both Gabe and Fate could find themselves without a job.
Chapter 3
The unexpected sure makes life interesting.
Hoping for the best but expecting the worst, Fate doodled on a scrap piece of paper. She hated waiting on hold. Worse, she hated uncertainty, precisely what had inspired her call to the bank in the first place. But Carol, the mortgage representative, didn’t appear to be overly pleased to hear from her.
Regardless, she needed to know the status of the mortgage. She’d passed Mr. Duncan in the hallway earlier, and he’d looked at her like she had three heads. She suspected he was waiting until after the presentation on Friday before politely offering her the choice of resigning or taking a demotion. Damn merger!
This phone conversation would determine her response.
Studying the dumpy desk and chair across the room, and listening to the recorded sales pitch on the telephone as she waited for Carol, she took note of his tacky accessories. A calendar with half-naked women draped over motorcycles, an obnoxious doll that sounded like Rodney Dangerfield, and a plush computer with long needles stabbed into it were scattered over his desktop. She could only imagine what his home must look like. No doubt decorated in typical bachelor pad fashion as his dorm room had been: cast-off furniture, hula dancer lamps, and beer signs plastered all over the walls.
They had precious little time to construct the new marketing strategy. He needed to get his butt in here, pronto.
Carol returned to the phone line and, in an unenthusiastic voice, apologized for making Fate wait so long. She then proceeded to explain to Fate that there’d been a delay. They were still waiting for the appraisal. The mortgage would not be going to committee for at least one week.
Fate’s heart sunk. She hadn’t bought a house before but had heard enough horror stories from friends to know things rarely went smoothly. The hope that her purchase would be an exception to the rule evaporated like spilled water in the desert. But then again, why should it go smoothly? What had she done to deserve that?
Considering the state of things in her life, why should she expect anything less than bedlam? She thanked Carol, hung up the phone, and rested her forehead in her hands, her elbows on the desktop. Damn, damn, damn!
“What’s wrong? Looks like someone stole your puppy,” Gabe said as he strolled into the room and shut the door.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing, like really nothing? Or nothing like, ‘I’m not going to tell you,’ nothing?” He slumped into his chair with the grace of a dying dog.
Despite her frustration, she felt a smile tugging at her cheeks. Was he being intentionally silly, or was he simply a goof?
His eyebrows furrowed, he asked, “Now, what have you accomplished in my absence? After all, we are on a deadline.”
Normally such a tone would have evoked a tirade, or in the least, a flood of defensiveness. But for some reason, she found Gabe’s teasing manner distracting, even a little amusing. Why? Probably because if she didn’t laugh, she’d cry.
Holding up her doodle pad to illustrate, she simply shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve managed to produce a remarkable likeness of a Hobbit, or,” as she gazed at her scribbling, she continued, “possibly President Bush?”
He tsk-tsked as he gathered himself from his chair and strode across the room. Swiping the pad from her hands, he studied it. “Looks like I can’t trust you to work independently. How in God’s name you managed all this time without me—well, it’s a wonder!” A silly grin had replaced his scolding grimace. “Nice study of contrasts, bold strokes…I’d say you’ve produced an amazing representation of the misery of the human condition—or a woman’s more delicate anatomy. Can I have it?” He pulled off the top page.
She swiped it from him and crumpled it up. “You sick-o! Typical man. All you see in everything is sex.”
“You expected anything different?” He dropped the pad on her desk and leaned down, until he was far too close for comfort. She could see flecks of gold in his gray eyes, an unexpected surprise. Had those been there years ago? Flashes of heat in cool depth. The air seeped from her lungs and she struggled to re-inflate them. What was her problem? Only this morning she’d hated this guy. He was stealing her job!
Six years. They’d battled for six turbulent, hellish years, the last three bumping into each other at Chamber of Commerce meetings and trade shows in Downtown Detroit, Chicago and Cincinnati. Their brief encounters had always been characterized by barely disguised insults.
He smiled, the expression genuine. Where was that pig-headed jerk she’d known for years? Had she really known
him at all?
The question was ridiculous. Of course, she hadn’t. How could she? Outside of that very brief stint in college, they’d spent very little time together and had recently talked about nothing deeper than the failure of another dating service, or the demise of each other’s. But looking at him now, she had to wonder if, despite their new proximity, she would ever figure him out. His moods were more changeable than Michigan weather. One minute he was cocky and sarcastic, the next deep and introspective.
“How about ‘Temptations’?” he whispered in her ear.
“What?” His question caught her off guard. What was he talking about? The silky tone of his voice and his penetrating gaze warmed her like she’d just eaten a tub of jalapeño peppers.
“The new name. Single Temptation.”
“Oh.” She wanted to giggle. She covered stinging cheeks with cool palms. What was he doing? Was he flirting with her? “Hmm. Pretty racy, don’t you think? Might give people the wrong vibe.”
“What’s wrong with racy? We’re dealing with younger clients, remember? They like racy. Sexy and fast, that’s their world.”
“Not all of them are that way. Are we targeting the fast crowd?”
He backed away, to Fate’s relief. His cologne’s scent—her favorite, Obsession—hung over her desk after he walked across the room. “I have an idea,” he said, after gazing out the window for a moment. The sunlight flashed blue in his silky curls.
His gaze met hers, and she hesitated. There it was again. That crazy connection.
She couldn’t speak, and she was afraid to ask about his idea. For some reason, she thought it might be dangerous. Come on, Fate! This isn’t college, and you’re not the shy, self-conscious little mouse you used to be. She prepared herself for the unexpected, or at least tried to. “Okay, what is it?”
“I still think we should find a game show to work with. Maybe the only way to learn whether or not that would work is to be a contestant.”
She laughed, more from relief than anything else. That had been the last thing she’d expected him to suggest. “Me? On one of those shows? I don’t think so. For one, I’m too conservative. And second, I’m too old.”