He noted the flicker of interest in a group of women off to his right. Excellent. Sure he wasn’t as bronzed as all the beach babes down here, but too much sun was bad for you right? And just because he sat behind a desk every day, didn’t mean he didn’t get out to stretch his muscles now and then. He surfed when he could like most red blooded Australian men and he pounded the beach-side pavements at night when his days were too busy. Most of the time.
He just didn’t need to parade his physicality in a competition, there was too much money to be made clothing the world’s trendiest to spend all his time in the water.
After the year he’d had though, some time on the beach was not only nice, it was necessary. If he was going to keep his company at the top he needed to crush the new upstart brand that was stealing market share from his casual men’s clothing line. And to do that he was going to need some fresh thinking, and some fresh PR talent. That’s where the surf circuit came in.
Dom sighed when he thought of the countless meetings he’d had with his advertising agency these past weeks, coming up with all sorts of marketing campaigns that left him cold. If you wanted something done right, sometimes you just had to fire the Muppets around you. Control freak much? No. He just had high standards.
He’d heard about a young PR woman in the surf scene that was doing amazing things, so he’d come up to the Quicksilver event to meet her. But first, he looked at the ocean, he needed a swim. A swim, a beer and then he’d check his emails before his meeting.
His phone buzzed once, twice, three times. Crap. He looked up at the sky where the sun had just burst out from behind a cloud and was quickly and efficiently shedding itself of anything remotely gray and dowdy. The afternoon was going to be a cracker. His phone buzzed again. “Alright already.” But he could at least get his feet wet while he decided if there was anything important he needed to attend to.
Better. Despite the big waves with all manner of surf-heads attacking them in the back break, the shallows off to the side were gentle enough. Dom sighed happily as the cool water nibbled at his ankles and soothed the heat away from his body. Okay, so he’d settle for dipping his toes rather than his whole body and checking his emails at the same time. Pretty awesome compromise.
“Yes. No. Next week. Must be dreaming.” Like he did at his desk, Dom chatted to the clients and suppliers as if they could actually hear him when he replied to emails. He glanced up and realized a photographer was giving him a very strange look.
“Oh, just working, you know.”
The man raised an eyebrow and then shrugged, dismissing Dom as effectively as if he’d told him to go hide under his desk.
Whatever. The tall tanned photo-lurcher might have a dream job following the sun, surrounded by scantily clad women, but he was still working for someone else, and likely being paid peanuts. Being in charge was the only way Dominic knew how to operate and he’d stopped working for peanuts when he was a teenager. He and his brother had been going to take on the world back then. Well now, it was up to him to make sure the world took up everything he could possibly throw at it.
He got to the last of his emails. “Try again next year when you’ve got a better pitch.” This time he didn’t even bother to apologize to photoboy. Just kicked a last spray of water, letting the drops catch the light and glimmer like fish for a second, then turned his back on the ocean.
Back at the top of the beach he pulled on his shirt and checked the message from his personal assistant again. Apparently Maya Taylor is not with her agency anymore but even they admitted she’s booking great names in the surf world. I’ve made a meeting with her at three. Best place to find her is in her hotel suite. She should be expecting you.
He checked the time. Two o’clock. He needed to get a move on.
Dominic inspected his freshly changed shirt before he knocked. Good. The new sportier shirts like the one he was wearing had just launched so hopefully they’d help put some profit back into the company. If he liked something enough to wear it to a first meeting, it usually meant the line would be a winner. He had a knack for recognizing talent and when he found it, he made sure he offered enough money for designers to come work for him. The trouble his casual line was in just didn’t make sense to him. He needed to fix it and quick. He rapped quickly on the door. No response.
Hang on. Was that—? He leant in closer. That sounded like someone sniffing inside. Great. Just what he needed, some PR bimbette with a cold or a coke problem. His mind flashed up an image of a blonde, vacuous woman with no sparkle in her eyes, and a simple talent for pushing people in front of cameras at the right moment. His experience with PR girls had thus far been somewhat dismal. He should have just checked out the surfers on the beach, picked one and made them an offer they couldn’t refuse to be in a campaign for his brand. That’s what he’d usually do. There were ways of doing business, and then there was his way. And his way always won out. Still, he was there. He knocked again.
“Who is it?”
Okay, so she didn’t sound too ditsy. Her voice was deep actually. Deep and warm. “It’s Dominic Wolfe, my people have been trying to speak to your people? Did you get any of my assistant’s emails? She said she’d booked a meeting at three.”
There was a pause then a scurried rush of noise. Hiding a lover perhaps? Dom shrugged. It figured that someone involved with scantily clad men and women all day would get in on a little action. When in surf land…?
The door opened and a woman with shoulder length curls covering her face stood in the shadow of the door.
“Sorry. The day has totally got away from me. Perhaps we should postpone, the place is a bit of a mess.”
Dom looked beyond her to the immaculate living area. “Don’t worry I won’t keep you long.” Without waiting for an invitation he walked past her into the room.
He headed straight for the small couch and sprawled into it. No sign of the mysteriously tidied up lover.
The PR woman, Maya, he remembered, stood at the door for a moment then sighed, shut it and walked over to perch on the other end of the couch. “I’d offer you a drink, but I don’t know if I should. I’m afraid I’m woefully unprepared for this, so I don’t know if you drink like a fish, if you’re tea-total, a recovering alcoholic, or if you have a penchant for exotic tea. I apologize.”
Nice. Straight up. Dom let the smile out. Not such a bimbette. He looked at his watch. Why the heck not? It was almost as hot in her room as outside. “I’d love a beer if you’ve got one.”
“Lager or ale?”
His eyebrows shot up. Better and better. “Ale.”
She disappeared into the small kitchenette off the side of the living area and returned with two bottles. “I’m not usually much of a beer drinker, but after the day I’ve had…”
He nodded and took a swig of the ice cold beer. Oh dear lord that was good. He pulled at his shirt. Did she not believe in air con or something?
Pushing the hair out of her face finally, Dom tried not to let the frown he felt show as her red nose appeared. He remembered the sniffing and his big brother protectometer clicked into gear. “How’d you manage to get a cold in this weather?”
She looked at him askance then something clicked and—was she blushing? What was embarrassing about a cold? “Allergies.” She waved a hand as if the word would magically solve all her sniffly nose problems, then straightened. “So, I do know who you are, but I’m afraid I haven’t got the information about why you’re here. The Wolfe brand isn’t exactly synonymous with surf culture. Should there be something in my inbox that I’ve missed?”
Allergies my ass. But still, points for moving swiftly on. And points for knowing who he was and what he did without any sort of briefing. His assistant might need to be reassigned to some menial research project in a dark room for a week or so. “Seems there might have been a breakdown somewhere. My apologies, I heard that you’re on your way up. That you might be able to share a few ideas if I’m interested in seeing who’s who on the
surf circuit.”
“Wolfe clothing and surf culture hey? Interesting. Now I really do feel out of the loop. I like to know these things before the CEO of the company turns up on my doorstep. I apologize again.”
“Best we just fire the douchebag who was supposed to let you know.”
She smiled for the first time since he arrived and the way her face lifted almost moved his hand to his head in a forehead slap. Of course. The red nose and puffy eyes weren’t from any sort of cold. “You’ve been crying.”
She started. “Oh no. Allergies, like I said.”
But with the word crying, he saw a glimmer of moisture settle around the bottom of both pale green eyes. Crap. He hadn’t meant to make her cry again. His sisters would have been rolling their eyes at him, or more likely booting him in the shin, had they been there.
He looked at his watch.
“Could you give me one minute to double check my inbox? I’ll get you another drink while I’m at it.” She rushed out of the room before he had a chance to reply.
Dom drained his first beer and let the full fruity flavor rest for just a moment at the back of his tongue before he pulled out his phone to send off an email to his PA to find out where the disconnect had happened. Setting the empty bottle on the floor he glanced behind the sofa and spied a half drunk bottle of gin. Uh oh. Game changer. No wonder she’d been so perky with her I-don’t-know-if-you-drink comment. An alcoholic PR girl was something he did not need. So you’ll just move on. Yep, there’d likely be plenty more where she came from. Shame though, he’d already started to like her straight up attitude.
She came back with his beer and a few pages of printed paper. Handing the drink to him she sat without looking up.
“So you got some briefing info. Good.” Best he kept up the chat in case she was going to dissolve into a gin soaked mess, he couldn’t be bothered with that today.
“No, Google.” Her head still scanning the papers, Dom took the chance to check her out properly. Lean legs peeped out from grey dress shorts that didn’t do anything for her, cheap stilettos were plenty hot but seemed out of place and her lighter grey shirt was totally the wrong color, especially with the added flush of whatever had made her cry. Nothing to write home about. You sure? He blinked slowly to make himself readjust. Maybe he wasn’t being fair. The clothes weren’t bad, they were smart enough, fashionable even, especially the shoes, they just didn’t fit her right, didn’t…work, definitely not for someone as short as she was. Yet even under her awkward sense of style, there was something about her. Something simmering, a heat ready to be exposed. She definitely had legs it was a crime not to show off. But she was hunched in on herself, her grey shirt drawn around her like she was using it to hide. Probably was. There was always a reason someone took to a large bottle of gin in the middle of the day by themselves, and it usually wasn’t a good one. Time to cut his losses.
“Look, it seems like this might all have been a bit of a waste of everyone’s time,” he said.
“One sec.” She kept scanning the print out in her hand.
He stood up.
“I said I was almost done.”
Maybe straight up had been the wrong word for her. Rude might be closer to the truth. A rude alcoholic he did not need. “Look, like I said. This might not be the right fit. I think it’s best—”
She held up her hand and eyeballed him with a surprisingly intense gaze considering the gin. “Wolfe clothing has been caught napping. ZeeMens is stealing market share in the casual segment and you need to rebrand. Fast. You’ve thought about going mainstream with your “face” but, because you’re a smart man, you know even better than your marketing team that there needs to be an edge to anything you put out otherwise you’ll be accused of just creating a dumbed down version of what you already have. The cool kids ain’t gonna buy that, they’re gonna buy it because it encapsulates cool. Because it yells, this is part of who you want to be.”
The silence filled up the room a moment longer than was comfortable. “I thought you said no one briefed you.”
She held up the papers – printed screen shot of his company website and ZeeMen’s, and two short pieces by a couple of fashion bloggers Dom had never even heard of. “Google, like I said. I like to do my own research.”
Impressive. And when she spoke like that, forceful, in control, full of confidence and sassy smarts, there was something about Maya Taylor that was—was what? Sexy? Dom shrugged his shoulders. Maybe. Still, there was the gin.
“I can’t pretend to not be impressed. But it takes more than that for me to decide to work with someone. This is a big deal for Wolfe Clothing. It’s a big deal for me, personally. I need to work with people I can trust. You’re not exactly a senior PR professional, but I thought I’d give you a go seeing as people say you’ll be big one day. I like backing up and comers.
She stood, hoping perhaps to gain control, but her five foot nothing frame didn’t help her much. “I’m the best in the business. Your people said I was an up and comer and they were right. Give me a year and I’ll be heading things up for the WSL. If you’re looking to use the surf scene to get your brand some cool appeal, you want to use me. And I’m completely trustworthy. You can ask anyone.”
Dom eyeballed Maya and her eyes didn’t flinch. If anything the pale green darkened a shade and he noticed flecks of emerald around the edges. He bent behind the sofa and picked up the bottle of gin. “So I don’t need to worry about this?”
There. The blush again. There was something much bigger going on with her.
She cleared her throat. “I did say I’d had a bit of a day.” Something in her voice cracked and Dominic found himself softening. She clearly wasn’t an alcoholic, the clear skin, the poised manner, maybe it was just a bad day. But a guy didn’t grow up with three sisters and not come to recognize the thin sound of a woman’s voice about to break. He might not work with her after this, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t give her five minutes.
“Hey, sit down. I barged in and interrupted.” Moving to take her arm he guided her onto the chair and perched on the thick padded armrest. Her sob came out with a rush and she pulled her hair down over her face again.
“That’s not really going to help. You’ll just get your hair wet.”
She hiccup-laugh-sobbed and reached behind her for a box of tissues. “Sorry. God. How unprofessional. I’m not a big drinker, honestly. And I’d only really had two drinks before you got here. But—” she took a shaky breath. “I know I could do great things for your brand.”
What a trooper. “You already won me over with your I-like-to-do-my-own-research bit, but like I said, I want to trust the people I work with. Especially on something like this. So, do I need to know what’s happened, so I can trust you?”
She paused, bit her lip, and the flicker of heat this pushed through Dom’s veins was a surprise. They were full lips, true, eminently bitable, interesting that he hadn’t noticed when he’d first checked her out. Then again, if she’d pull her hair out of her face for half a second, there might be a whole lot more underneath that he’d like the look of.
“I made a fool of myself that’s all. Happily I don’t think anyone except me knows, but still. A girl has a right to hide when her ego gets hammered.”
“Ah. The old unrequited love bit.” Dom patted her on the shoulder a little awkwardly. What the hell was that? A flicker of disappointment? Unlikely, must have just been a reaction to her emotional state. He hated to see a woman in tears.
“I have three sisters. Trust me when I tell you he wasn’t worth it.”
Maya sighed. “I know. I’d just hoped—I’d thought—I don’t know, I guess it’d be good for him to be with someone like Brooke. The more I think about it, the more he was probably right. She’s a great fit for him. Her rock n roll brand will make sure he doesn’t get stale, and his sensible nice-guy shtick will make everyone take her a little more seriously.”
Dom’s eyes widened. “You have a crush on some g
uy who likes someone else, yet in the space of a couple of gins you’ve rationalized their relationship in terms of brand appeal?”
Maya’s shrug was full of defeat. “Better than beating myself up about why he likes her better than me.”
“Guy’s clearly a fool,” said Dom, surprising himself with the vehemence of the words.
Her laugh took him by surprise too. “Here was I thinking I’d made my crap day about a million times worse by ballsing up this meeting, and you turn out not to be the cold corporate I was expecting.
Huh. “I work hard. I expect my staff and contractors to do the same.”
She blew her nose noisily. “Of course.” Her smile sent a wave of something warm rushing down Dom’s spine and more unusual, the smile formed on his lips before he even thought of stopping it.
He had been told she was going to be one of the best in the business, and if her little display earlier had been anything to go by, she most definitely had some mean skills. Add to that the way she’d managed to turn her own heartbreak into a brand analysis for her clients and…Dom checked the woman sitting next to him again before letting the idea out into the world. Why the hell not? It’d be fun and he had plenty to gain. More importantly, it might make him feel a bit better about not helping his sister out when she’d been in the same, or at least the sameish situation. “I don’t think you should write yourself and Prince Surfalot off just yet. In fact, I have a little proposal for you that might suit both our causes.”
She gave a little snigger at the Prince Surfalot comment. Good. A sense of humor was going to make this whole thing much more entertaining.
“This other woman, the one Prince Surfalot wants to date. How well do you know her?”
Maya shrugged. “She’s one of my best friends.”
Dom’s eyebrows shot up. “And she’s going to date the douchebag you’ve had eyes on?”
Making over Maya (Hot Tide Book 2) Page 2