Campaign for Love

by Annabelle Stevens

  "Also, you'll notice there's a folder of unfinished work on your desk, left by your predecessor, I'm afraid. You're inheriting all of it as well as the office, but don't let that put you under too much pressure. We will let you find you feet in your own time.

  "In the folder, you'll notice there are three layouts for three different clients. I've outlined the basic ideas. What I'd like you to do is fill in appropriate copy, and don't hesitate to put in any fresh new ideas of your own in the way of logos or slogans."

  Then Quentin Pierce nodded his head in dismissal.

  Suzanna stared at him for a moment, and realizing he was finished with her, opened the door which led from his to her office. She closed it behind her in case he wanted privacy, and then began to investigate her new domain.

  Her office, like Quentin's, had a huge picture window with a magnificent view of Manhattan's caverns and skyscrapers. She could see right up Madison Avenue. Her desk was enormous and her quarters spacious. The latest in laptop computers was on her main desk, and there was a conference table in the far corner with plenty of room to spread out.

  There was a large filing cabinet in the corner next to a door which proved to be a cloakroom and private bathroom, separated from it by another wooden door. On the other wall was a comfortable-looking black leather couch.

  There was a padded swivel chair behind the desk, also in black leather, and two leather armchairs in front of it. Several straight-backed chairs with cushioned seats stood at the conference table. A small shelf next to the wardrobe held a twelve-cup electric coffee pot. The furnishings were completed in deep-pile forest green carpeting.

  Very comfortable, thought Suzanna. So far they haven't missed a thing.

  She went into her bathroom, and was somewhat taken aback to find that, in addition to the usual facilities, there was a stall shower, and even a hairdryer.

  Suzanna freshened up, put her jacket on a hanger on the clothes rack, and took her seat behind the desk. She smiled a little as she thought back to her time in the outer office just a short while ago.

  Isn't it ironic, she mused, that those three pretty girls were so convinced that they would get the job because of their looks, and I'm doing whatever I can to disguise mine.

  She tugged the heavy supporting sports bra she had put on in an effort to disguise her ample bust, and settled her flowing, figure-concealing dress around her more comfortably.

  At last, thought Suzy, I'm on my way up, and no one can ever say, 'Sure! He picked the one with the great looks!' She chuckled to herself at the idea.

  But if she had known in advance what Quentin Pierce looked like, she might have had second thoughts about her transformation into ugly duckling, she admitted to herself as she picked up one of the incomplete layouts and looked at it absentmindedly whilst trying to recall Mr. Pierce's appearance. Though she knew that it was a no-no to think of work colleagues in such a way, he surely was handsome.

  Tall, she itemized to herself. Maybe six-three, very masculine, broad shoulders, narrow waist, flat stomach, slender hips, taut thighs, absolutely gorgeous! Her mind recalled his masses of black, thick waves and deep blue eyes.

  If I were interested in looking for a man, which I'm not at the minute, I'd probably love to run my fingers through that hair and drown in those eyes, she reflected with a sigh.

  She frowned at this thought, and shook her head. For heaven's sake, it was only her first day on the job. She couldn't afford to let herself be distracted.

  But ever the professional, even as her mind had been wandering off onto Quentin's wonderful attributes, Suzanna had been sorting through the three pieces of work on her desk. A couple of ideas worth developing further came to mind.

  Then she recalled the look Quentin Pierce had given her when she'd inadvertently smiled at him. It nagged at her conscience.

  I'll have to remember to smile with my lips closed, and sort of veil my eyes, she decided.

  Suzy knew only too well the power of her eyes. They were the one thing she couldn't do much to disguise, even with the horn-rimmed window-glass spectacles she was wearing.

  He eyes had often been commented upon, for they were unbelievably wide-spaced and large with a thick fringe of long, black lashes, upper and lower. The irises were light amber with a ring of sea green around the pupil, making them seem larger than they were. Everyone always stared and commented.

  She would just have to keep her eyes down if she could. Heaven help her if Quentin ever found out what she really looked like. She needed this job, if only to salvage her professional reputation and get a solid resume that didn't pose more questions than it offered answers.

  "Flighty indeed," she muttered as she literally rolled up her sleeves and got to work. Only because she had been forced to flee...

  But not this time. Too much was at stake and she was through with every man she met trying to make her dance to his tune. God help Quentin Pierce if he ever tried.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Suzanna was still deep in thought working on her three new accounts when she absent-mindedly removed the heavy black tortoise frames to rub the bridge of her nose.

  A short time later, there was a light knock at the door. It was of course the subject of her musings, the handsome Quentin Pierce himself.

  Suzanna looked up, startled, with the phony glasses still dangling from her fingers. She recovered almost immediately, and using both hands, she pushed them back up onto her patrician nose and tried to look back down at the campaign.

  But she hadn't been fast enough. He'd got a good look at her without them.

  Damn.

  "I hope I didn't startle you," Quentin said with an apologetic smile. "I thought I'd look in on you to see if you have any problems, or questions about the work."

  "You didn't, really, and I don't," replied Suzanna with a careful smile. "I would like to know, though, if there's any one campaign that takes precedence?"

  "No," he replied. "They're all equally important. You might as well start with whatever one is on top."

  "I noticed that one is for a different kind of snack, pretzels covered with flavored chocolate in peppermint, orange or lemon. I thought there might be a large picture of one captioned, 'Here's a New Twist on an Old Favorite,' and then the copy telling how great it is."

  "Very good, Ms. Sills," he said sincerely.

  He was standing behind her shoulder, bending over to look at her copy. She could feel his warm breath, and his masculine scent made her tingle all over.

  Oddly enough, it was at that moment that Quentin Pierce asked, "Ms. Sills, what is that marvelous fragrance you're wearing?"

  Amazed at the question and somewhat confused by his nearness, she looked up at him questioningly, only to meet again the impact of those deep blue eyes head on.

  "I'm afraid I don't use any," said Suzy in a slightly embarrassed tone. "You probably smell my bath soap and shampoo, lemon verbena. I've used it all my life."

  Mr. Pierce seemed flabbergasted at having asked the question. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I don't usually ask such personal questions of my assistants, especially on such short acquaintance. It's just that I'm not partial to any perfume in the office, but your scent was so pleasant it took me by surprise."

  "No apology necessary," answered Suzy. "After all, if we're going to be working so closely, we might as well get to know one another."

  His personal magnetism was overpowering. How she wished she could let her hair down, take off the fake glasses and release her throbbing breasts from the confines of her hideous bra!

  And what a thrill it would be to get rid of the chastity belt, as she was beginning to think of the tight girdle she had put on to avoid any of what she and her friends called 'jiggle'.

  "You're very kind," said Mr. Pierce as he dropped a friendly hand on Suzanna's shoulder.

  "Thank you," said Suzy. She could feel herself blushing, an unusual phenomenon in this day and age, and one she was sure hadn't been lost on Quentin Pierce.

 
He removed his hand from her shoulder where Suzy imagined it had burned an impression, and with a bemused look said, "I didn't mean to intrude on your work. I can see I don't have to hand-hold you at all. I seem to have made an excellent choice."

  With this encouraging remark, Quentin Pierce left Suzanna's office, but left the door ajar behind him.

  Suzanna was left feeling limp and drained. No man had ever stirred her like that before, and he hadn't even touched her, except in a friendly way. Maybe the fact that he hadn't tried to 'come on' to her was what made the difference.

  This must be what her friends meant when they talked of being aroused. It was a new and wonderful feeling that Suzanna had despaired of ever knowing, despite being loaned reams of Cosmo magazines.

  Her hang-ups dated back to an ugly childhood experience which had left its mark in spite of all her attempts to rationalize it. Now, she hoped she might be able to put it behind her after all, if her response to the handsome Quentin was anything to go by.

  However, Suzanna found something else to disturb her. If Mr. Pierce makes a practice of dropping in on his assistants frequently, I'll never be able to relax, she thought with a sigh as she twanged the girdle where it was biting into her waist.

  She had hoped that once she was in her own office, she would have her privacy, and perhaps not have to wear these confining clothes all the time.

  But he had left his door open, and had made it clear he expected them to be working closely together from now on. Suzy knew she'd have to be on guard so that her eyes and lips wouldn't betray the real woman beneath the dowdy exterior.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The rest of the day passed uneventfully enough. Suzanna had lunch with Quentin's personal assistant, whom he had introduced her to when he had insisted she stop for coffee at eleven to meet some of her new colleagues.

  Her name was Sharon Welsh, and she was an attractive red-head with a stunning smile, and a motherly attitude towards Quentin.

  Nothing romantic there.... She had noted to herself as they stood side by side, comfortable but not intimate with one another that she could see.

  Sharon had been kind enough to tap on the door and ask if she'd like to join her for lunch in the employee's cafeteria.

  "I'd be delighted," said Suzanna. "I don't know my way around, and I'll be happy to have you show me the ropes. "

  "Sure thing. I'll introduce you to some of the copy-writers and Junior Execs on our floor. They're really the only ones you'll ever come in contact with anyway. It's a big agency. I don't even know most of the others except for a nodding acquaintance."

  Once at their table, Sharon made a few introductions, then turned to filling Suzanna in on some office gossip, but it was nothing unpleasant or really catty.

  It soon became apparent to Suzanna during lunch that Sharon worshipped her boss from afar, and equally apparent that she harbored a faint hope of worshipping him more closely.

  Suzanna found out from Sharon, with very little prompting to talk about him, that Quentin Pierce, in addition to being successful, handsome and virile, was something even better, namely, unattached.

  Sharon confided, "But of course, a man like Quentin Pierce has a constant succession of women at his beck and call, so his availability status could change at any time. But so far, he seems content to play the field. As far as I can see, he hasn't narrowed his choice to any particular favorite."

  The news didn't surprise her, but she did feel unaccountably disappointed for some strange reason. But at least he wasn't having a fling with Sharon. That would be awkward for the whole team. But as Sharon had said, he was pretty much married to his job.

  After lunch, Suzanna went back to work with a better idea of what working at Elder and Rubin would be like. Although Sharon had introduced her around, none of the young men had said any more than a cursory, "How are you?"

  The women, however, were very pleasant, since Suzanna posed no threat to them on a competitive basis. There was a warm camaraderie among the young employees, most of whom were unmarried and forming tentative romantic attachments with fellow workers, though nothing really obvious.

  Everyone had to be so careful in the workplace nowadays with being politically correct, though with busy business types, how else were they to form romantic attachments if they were working all the time? And who else would they have so much in common with?

  Suzy's only objection in the past was that she would have liked at least half a say in who was pursuing her. But the more arrogant the male, the more oblivious to her feelings, the more demanding of her attention.

  But now that she was dressed up as a dowdy frump, all that would change, she was sure.

  How sweet it is, thought Suzy, not to have to prove to anyone that just because I look sexy doesn't mean that I am sexy, or that I feel sexy.

  In fact, Suzy remembered, back as far as high school, in spite of her titillating nickname, one date was enough to make an escort revise the sobriquet from 'Sexy Suzy' to 'cold fish.'

  It hadn't been fair, of course. She just hadn't met the right man. And in an age with so many things to be careful of, casual relationships or flings just weren't for her. If that made her a cold fish, well then, she would just have to 'flounder' along!

  By the end of her working day, Suzanna had completed two of the three layouts and gotten a good start on the third, with proposed media and running dates sketched in.

  Quentin wasn't in his office when Suzy was ready to leave for the day, so she just dropped the finished work on his desk on her way out.

  To her pleasant surprise, Suzy managed to reach her building on Eighty-Sixth Street without having a hand thrust between her legs, a breast grabbed, or anything rubbed against her in the crowded subway.

  It looks as if my de-sexing program is working, she said to herself. Of course, I'm not kidding myself that it's always going to work this way. I'm sure there will still be days when I'll have to change cars or even switch trains. It's just that today's crop of perverts was a bit choosier.

  Suzy soon stepped into the elevator of her apartment building and pushed the button for the fourth floor, tired at the end of her long day, but elated that everything had gone so well.

  Once inside her apartment, Suzy headed straight for her bedroom, where she unhooked her harness-bra before anything else, even before taking off her outside clothes. The girdle came next, along with the pantyhose.

  When the last stitch had been removed, she scratched and stretched, trying to rub away the red marks left by the tight undergarments. Arching her back catlike, she next reached up and took the pins from her topknot, letting the silken strands of chestnut hair float free to her shoulders. She attacked her wavy locks with a brush until she felt her scalp tingle with restored circulation.

  After a refreshing shower, sponging away the grime of the day with her favorite lemon verbena soap, she looked in her full-length mirror and saw with distaste that the welts were still there.

  Good heavens, thought Suzanna. I wonder if this condition could become permanent? I can't let that happen. As soon as I'm better established, I'll undergo a gradual transformation, she decided as she toweled herself briskly. Starting tomorrow, I'll leave off the girdle. With a loose-fitting dress and long jacket my hips won't be noticed-I hope.

  Slipping into a short white terry robe, she padded barefoot into the kitchen to start dinner. Suzy had picked up some cubed lamb at the market the day before. She sautéed it to a golden brown in her electric skillet, added onions, carrots, potatoes and seasoning with some water, covered the whole thing and lowered it to simmer while she telephoned Elsa. Elsa, a friend from childhood, was probably fixing her own dinner and would be eagerly waiting to hear whether or not Suzanna had gotten the job.

  Suzy was right. Elsa answered almost immediately with a "Hi, Suzy?"

  When Suzanna answered in the affirmative, she asked, "How did it go? Did they hire you?"

  "S-u-u-ure did," exulted Suzy. "Not only that, but Mr. Pierce, my new boss,
said I had the best resume."

  "Tell me all about it," urged Elsa. "Did you really do what you said you would and play down your looks?"

  "Did I ever!" laughed Suzy. "You wouldn't have known me. I skull-dragged my hair into a knot on top of my head and wore phony horn-rimmed glasses. I looked ten years older."

  "But what did you do about your boobs and buns?" asked Elsa inelegantly.

  Suzy whooped with laughter. "That you would have to see to believe. But it will give you an idea when I tell you that nobody tried to pinch my bottom or brush an imaginary spot off my chest all day."