White Balance

by Paton, Ainslie

  He’d been all work, despite the glitter this afternoon as well, and with Blake in the room, it was easier to remember to behave, though she was desperate to comb her fingers through Aiden’s hair. She’d made it through the rehearsal by avoiding looking at him, but now they were about to do a final document review and he was focused on the presentation, she had the time to watch him and not get caught out.

  “Are we doing a pitch phrase?” she said, catching Blake’s eye as he stalked about the room, his own edgy energy all about the chase.

  He clapped, once, fast and loud. “You bet.”

  “What’s a pitch phrase?” said Aiden, looking up. He had his contacts on. He’d spent the morning with Cody and Jas. He’d arrived wearing dark sunglasses and the warmth of the winter sun. He looked relaxed and at ease. It was hard to believe she’d kissed him. Hard to believe she wouldn’t do it again. Seeing him like this, focused on the work, it was easy to forget he had problems.

  “Something to make it more interesting,” said Blake, watching the projection of the presentation as Aiden scrolled through the pages. “Typo on the third line.” Aiden corrected and Blake said, “Whoever gets the pitch phrase into the presentation gets a hundred bucks from the others.”

  “You don’t think it’s stressful enough to remember what we need to say?” Aiden corrected another typo and re-sized a graph.

  “If you can’t take the heat...?”

  “What’s the phrase?”

  Blake said, “A dancing monkey,” and looked to Bailey for approval.

  “A monkey in a tutu dancing in the desert,” she said.

  Blake hooted, “That’s it!”

  Aiden groaned. “You guys play rough.”

  Rough. That wasn’t rough. That was a bit of fun. Something she and Blake had often done when they’d pitched together.

  Rough was the surf she’d shot this morning. The high tide had almost eaten the beach away and the surf was pounding the shore, dragging the sand into its jaws, then spitting it back out with a roar of power, and a promise to do it all again.

  “Who usually wins?” Aiden said, hitting save on the document, then transferring the attention he’d paid to the screen to her and Blake.

  “We’re about even,” said Blake. “But I haven’t had anyone to challenge me in a long while. Suppose you’re rusty too Bails, from pitching on your own?”

  “That gives us a level playing field,” she said, but she was thinking about how Blake had the edge. He probably did twice the number of presentations she did. There was a hundred bucks gone that could’ve been spent on shoes, or something designed to boost her own ego not Blake’s.

  “Too rough for me,” said Aiden. “I’ll admit defeat now and clear the field for you both.”

  “Frigging wimp,” said Blake. “By the way, Bails, don’t believe a word he says. That’s a tactic, letting us think he’s not going to play. Watch your back.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, comes on all Gentleman Jim, letting you think butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, but he’s really more...” Blake’s eyes shot upwards as he searched for the right words. Aiden filled the blank, “Like a monkey in a tutu dancing in the desert.”

  Blake opened both hands in a ‘see, I told you so gesture’. “I’m getting a beer.” He looked from her to Aiden, they both shook their heads, and he left the room.

  “Too rough for you, Gentleman Jim,” Bailey said, aware teasing Aiden was a bad idea, especially if he played the game.

  “I’m more fragile than I look, Bails.”

  Oh, he wasn’t playing. He was frowning at her across the edge of the laptop. Suddenly the glitter was a sad parody and she had to brush it away. She came around the table towards him.

  He said, “What?” quite sharply as she approached and moved away from her hand as she put it out to touch him.

  “You have glitter in your hair?”

  His own hand came up to rake across his head, he groaned, “Jasmine. It’s insidious and devilishly sticky.” He let her touch his hair gently, and sighed when she combed his fringe back bringing his head up so they were looking in each other’s eyes. “Don’t let me go into the presentation tomorrow with glitter in my hair.”

  He might’ve been saying, ‘don’t let me fall for you, don’t make me hurt you’, the look on his face was so raw. His hair was squeaky clean, silky black softness under her palms. She fought hard not to dig her fingers into his scalp and press her desire into his brain.

  “I won’t.”

  “Bailey.” He said it firmly as a warning, but dropped his head forward to give her better access.

  “A friend wouldn’t let you show up at a million dollar pitch looking like a nerdy scrapbooking reject.”

  He sighed and caught her hand in his. “It’s not just me is it?”

  They locked eyes. She’d never told him what she felt. Thought it would be better that way, make it easier if that scene in her house could be written off as the result of too much hard core flirting, and a late night misunderstanding. But it must’ve been written all over her face, as it was in the way she touched him; with reverence, with astonishment about how he affected her.

  “It’s not just you.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he sighed.

  She gulped, closing her eyes momentarily to block out the sight of his regret. “Hey, a girl can never have too many friends.” When she opened them, there was Blake, three beer bottles in his hand a ‘what the’ look on his face. “What’d I miss?”

  Aiden released her hand and spun his chair towards Blake. “You were going to let me know I had fairyland follicles exactly when?”

  Blake grinned. “I was thinking I’d see how you shaped up tomorrow morning and drop it on you about two minutes before we pitched.”

  “Nice.”

  “Can’t have you feeling too bloody comfortable.”

  “And you’re actually on my team.” Aiden shook his head at Blake and spun his chair back, “Is there anymore, Bails?” He was all business. It was a decent cover. Blake stopped looking like he’d discovered gold and handed them both a beer they hadn’t wanted till now. He started reviewing the leave-behind document.

  Bailey took a slug and brushed her hand through Aiden’s hair again. “It’s everywhere. What did she do to you? It’s on your face too.”

  He laughed, but dropped his head; it was a kind of flinch to caution her against touching him. They both knew, despite Blake’s presence in the room, she wanted to.

  “I’ll have a good scrub, but you’ll have to check me out in the morning. It doesn’t seem to wash off. I don’t think it’s going to inspire confidence if I show up doing the fairy princess caper. They are a beer company.”

  At the end of the table Blake snorted, “Beer fairy,” vastly amused with himself. “Should we change the pitch phrase? A beer fairy waved his magic wand and upped consumption.”

  If Bailey had a wand she’d have waved it to change things. But what would she change? It was despicable to wish Aiden had never meet Shannon. But that’s what she did wish. Because she could wish he’d get over her till she sprouted polka dots and it wouldn’t happen. And if she handed Aiden the wand, he’d wave it to bring Shannon back. There was simply nowhere for her in this picture.

  “I like the monkey,” she said. The monkey was surprisingly apt. He was a figure of fun, something to laugh at, particularly trussed up in a ballet skirt and aping human behaviour. Even the second part of the phrase, ‘dancing in the desert’, was fitting, because being with Aiden made her feel like dancing, but all her feet would kick up was dry dust and desolation.

  33: Swagger

  Blake opened the presentation. The guy was all swagger, but his arrogance was tuned perfectly to the mood of the Bitters’ team. They didn’t do humble, they certainly weren’t going to hire it. Humble was a weakness, a show of indecision, so a certain amount of swagger was a special on the menu, and Blake was doing a fine job of dishing it up.

  Aiden watch
ed the faces of the six man Bitters team, checking their digestion. Blake and Bailey were unknown quantities to them, so it was Blake and Bailey they had to taste test.

  Blake was doing fine, reading the temperature of the room well and making his points clearly and easily. No monkey yet, though Aiden expected to hear it any minute. Bailey had yet to speak outside of the introductions and general chit chat before they’d started. He was nervous for her. She presented well in their rehearsal, but this was the big-top and she was the curiosity, the special event expert the brief called for. The only one in the room wearing lipstick and showing bare knees.

  Figuratively she was the monkey, and they were all waiting for her to dance.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so anxious in a pitch meeting. Blake was winding his portion of the presentation up, getting ready to hand over to Bailey. She was sitting between them, a watchful expression on her face, a smile but a guarded one. She was reading the room too. This was the first time he’d seen her dressed in a suit. Heed was a casual workplace and she dressed simply in jeans and ts, but today was a dress up day. She wore a dark grey tailored suit, a dress with a jacket and sky high heels that’d changed the height ratio between them when she did her glitter inspection in the car park before they came in.

  She’d stood so close and looked carefully over every millimetre of his face. It was like a reverse strip tease, the deliberateness of it, more of a heart starter than he needed, and a good thing it happened while Blake was busy taking a call from the office. She smelled divine, not floral, something sharp and sassy. She had a hunk of twisted silver around her neck and a silver clip in her hair that had the effect of making her look more like rebellion than stuffed corporate shirt. The dress showed off her legs in a way jeans didn’t have the guts to. He remembered her legs from that night at her house, but in those heels, sensational. She knew what she was doing, this was a seduction, and he was so hooked it was almost painful.

  He hadn’t wanted to ask how she felt about him. He didn’t need to. It was there when she looked at him. Not pity any more, but flirting at the edge of a stronger, deeper connection. He was sorry he had asked, because now there was no pretending she was simply indulging him and being friendly. And pretending was one of his key capabilities. Pretending got him up in the mornings and sanely into bed at night. Bailey had stripped him of make-believe. She was all too present; all too real.

  When Blake handed over and she stood, she had every eyeball riveted. The Bitters’ men were stuck to her like Lego pieces, snapped into place by the way she walked to the top of the table, and locked in to her every word and gesture.

  Aiden completely lost track of what she was saying. If she’d have mentioned the frigging monkey he’d only know if he learned it later. He was engrossed in the sense of her, so separate from him at the front of the room, working hard to sell their concepts, but now so close to him in so many other ways. He heard the slight hitch in her voice that signalled her adrenaline was pumping. He saw the quick movement of her eyes as the evidence of her ability to measure her impact, even as she was engaged in delivering her message. Her hands didn’t shake, her manner betrayed no anxiety, but the way her teeth occasionally grazed her bottom lip told him she was tense with expectation.

  She didn’t need to be, but she couldn’t know quite how bewitching she was. She shone like reflection off the polished duco on the hot pink convertible, parked by the blue sea White Balance had offered for the morning snap.

  On her lips was the play of a knowing smile as she drew the Bitters’ boys pictures of what her event would achieve. She made magic seem achievable as she wove a spell to demonstrate her ideas, and how they could be brought to life to launch the low calorie beer.

  About halfway through her presentation Aiden stole a glance the boys. Bailey needed to win more than their attention. If all they noticed was her trim figure and great legs, the game was over. They had to buy what she said, and believe she could deliver on it. One look was all it took to see they were reaching for their wallets. Now it was up to him to bring it home.

  When she concluded he stood, and they swapped places. She gave him a smile that might have powered a space shuttle when they passed each other. She sat beside Blake and Aiden went to the top of the table. He walked the group through a project timeline and budget options, summarised the whole proposal, reiterating the key points, then opened up for questions.

  Tom Bittersfield, the seventy-five year old CEO, and grandson of the company founder pointed at Aiden. “We haven’t forgiven you for moving off our account at CAT. You pull that stunt again and it’ll be a long time till anyone you care about works on our business.”

  Aiden walked back to his seat. He’d expected something like that from Tom. “You know how it is, Tom, I like to keep things fresh. And we know this isn’t about me. It’s about my new colleagues.”

  “You’re right. We already know you’re a sell-out. But then we wouldn’t be talking to you if we didn’t think you offered us something we can’t get anywhere else.” Tom pointed at Blake. “You say that cocky son of a bitch is a friend of yours.”

  “Some days,” Aiden looked at Blake, “some days he’s just a cocky son of a bitch.” He grinned at Tom. “But he’s one of the best in the business, and you can trust him to give you the truth, especially when you don’t want to hear it.”

  “That’s very true,” said Bailey with a surprised laugh, making Blake look uncomfortable and the other Bitters men laugh too.

  “And you, young lady,” said Tom, pointing at Bailey, making Aiden grimace at the patronising expression. “Why should we trust you? You don’t work for Heed permanently.”

  “That’s right. I’m completely mercenary. I work for me. And sometimes I work for Aiden.” She tipped her thumb towards Blake, “and that cocky son of a bitch.”

  Blake muttered, “Alright,” and the group laughed again. Aiden reminded himself to keep breathing. They’d known Bailey would be under pressure. This is where they saw if she could shine like a diamond.

  “Tom, you can trust me because I’ve run my own business successfully for six years now. Because I’ve earned my stripes, I know my trade, and because it’s in my best interests to do an excellent job for you. My greatest asset is my reputation. I only keep that alive by doing great work, no matter who ultimately pays my bills.”

  Tom leaned forward. Aiden knew he was lining himself up for a good shot at Bailey. “If I rang my good mate, The Honourable Minister for Energy and Environment, I guess he’d say you did a good job on the launch of his national energy plan? That your reputation was intact?”

  Bullseye!

  Blake stiffened. Aiden held his breath and Bailey grinned. “I think he’d say I was singlehandedly responsible for bringing down the electricity of a whole city grid and making his department a national laughing stock.”

  There was a general intake of breath. Everyone in the room was invested in this.

  “And were you?”

  Bailey lent forward too. If Tom was rattling her, it wasn’t showing. She looked calm and composed, a subtle smile lighting her expression. The whole room was poised for her answer. After all the work, the days, the nights, the weekends, to assess the brief, brainstorm the ideas, create, cost and submit the proposal, prepare the presentation and do their song and dance act—it came down to this. Did Tom Bittersfield believe in Bailey Wyatt?

  If he could’ve, without calling attention to it, Aiden would’ve reached out to hold her hand; to tell her whatever she said would be ok. They’d live with it, they’d done their best, and there were other accounts they could go after.

  Bailey flattened both palms on the boardroom table, pinned her big blues on Tom and said, “Only if I was a monkey in a tutu dancing in the desert.”

  There was a shocked pause. Aiden watched Tom’s face and knew the instant when they’d won the business. It was the moment Tom lifted his chin, slapped his hand on the table and roared with laughter.

>   34: Blowout

  They managed to hold it together long enough to leave Bitters’ reception and get to the car park. Once they hit the tarmac decorum was out with last week’s garbage.

  Bailey said, “Pay up!” and stuck out her palm, but Blake knocked her hand aside, scooped her in his arms and swung her around. “You were fucking fantastic!”

  She battered him about the shoulders. “Put me down. We haven’t won it yet.”

  “We will. Did you see Tom’s face? He’s in love.”

  “Put me down. In love with the concept.”

  Blake said, “You are the concept,” but he put her down, then smacked her forehead with a loud kiss, and threw a solid punch to Aiden’s arm, before grabbing him for a bear hug. “That was the bomb. How long will the old bastard take to decide?”

  Aiden pushed him off. “A week, possibly two. He’ll make us sweat.”

  They were standing so group-grope close it was natural for Bailey’s hand to end up in his. A mutual decision, part circumstantial, part deliberate, but there it was—her hand in his, her shoulder pressed against his arm.

  “What if I was too much of a smart arse?” she said, tilting her face up to look at him.

  “You were just right. Tom was trying to throw you off. You showed him you weren’t scared. It’s exactly what he needed to hear.”

  Blake flapped two fifties at Bailey. “You know I let you win.” She snatched them from him, then released Aiden’s hand to use both of hers to shove Blake away. “You’re so full of yourself!”

  He backed off, hands grasping for phone and keys. “I’d love to hear more about my positive attributes, but I have to run, my bookie calls. You guys need a taxi.”

  Bailey said, “Bookie?” to Blake’s back as he disappeared between parked cars, but shook it off and turned back. She jammed her hands on her hips, tossing her head. “Pay up!”

  Aiden shook his head. “No, no. I wasn’t part of that bet.”

  Bailey’s mouth dropped open and she adjusted her stance, lifting her chin defiantly. “You were so.”