Campaign for Love

by Annabelle Stevens

  Her closet finally yielded a figure-concealing yet becoming worsted wool suit of forest green with a straight skirt and boxy jacket. Her best ivory lace blouse had a froth of ruffles at the neck.

  She thought about it for all of two seconds, then decided to leave off the fake glasses. In addition to the pale pink lip gloss she permitted herself, she used a mere suggestion of green eye shadow and brush of mascara. She wore her hair up, but loosened slightly with a few tendrils in front of her ears, giving her face a softer look. A glance in the mirror told her that Quentin would think she had made an extra effort to look her best, but she was not too obviously transformed for him to worry.

  Suzanna knew she had made the right decision on clothes and makeup as soon as she arrived at the office.

  For once he was already seated at his desk. "Good morning," he said, smiling. "That's a very becoming color. You should wear it more often - and leave off the glasses more often, for that matter."

  "Good morning, and thank you."

  Suzy smiled demurely, remembering to keep her lips closed and her eyes downcast. She had no way of knowing that her look was the antithesis of what she'd tried to achieve. Her enigmatic smile and lowered lashes were unbelievably seductive to most men, as her friend Elsa had warned her.

  She saw Quentin frown slightly, reach for his attaché case, and then rise to his feet like one in a daze. He followed her into her office as if mesmerized.

  Suzy put her desk between them safely, and sat down.

  But Quentin put his case on the tabletop, then picked up one of the chairs and carried it around to her side. He opened his case, cleared his throat and said, "Before you get busy, I thought we ought to go over our client's advertising program so that we'll both know what we're doing."

  "Good idea," said Suzanna briskly, trying not to show him just how unnerved she was by his sitting so close.

  He took out a dozen layouts, spread them out in front of her and said, "I think display did a great job on these. I know our client will be impressed."

  "I hope so. How much of what I gave you have you passed on?"

  He shook his head. "Not a thing, except that my assistant uses their Quik-Bix all the time, and has a surprising number of recipes for them. That's why they wanted to meet you at lunch today."

  He pushed the layouts over to her, then moved his chair closer as he went over each one point by point.

  He was close enough so that Suzy could feel his body warmth and smell the manly combination of scents, after-shave, soap and hair gel, and something that was distinctly Quentin, a sort of musky aura that aroused Suzanna's newly-awakened desires.

  She became aware of his knee touching her leg, whether by accident or design she had no way of knowing, but she forced herself not to pull away. She also forced herself not to rub against the pressure.

  The trouble was, with him so close, she only half heard what he was saying. His knee, his voice, his hand that occasionally brushed hers, all served to distract her until she felt like she couldn't string an intelligent sentence together. She had an almost overpowering urge to reach out and feel his thigh. She could see his hard muscles outlined even through the winter-weight fabric of his trousers.

  She swallowed and licked her dry lips just as Quentin put the papers back into his case and clicked it shut.

  He looked purposefully into her eyes as her gaze met his, and gave her a tentative smile that seemed to enclose them in a circle of intimacy.

  Abruptly he got to his feet with a muttered, "Damn!"

  Then, surprisingly he said, "Suzanna! What am I going to do with you? Another look like that and I'll forget the promise I made to you last night."

  "If it's the one I think you mean, I have no intention or holding you to it, Quentin."

  He grinned and shook his head. "You aren't making it easy for me. But luckily for you, this isn't the time or the place. You've been with us for a short time now, but the thing is, I don't think I know you any better now than when you started. Sometimes I think I know less."

  She shrugged one shoulder. "There's not much to know. I think you know me at least as well as I know you."

  "Touché! But there's a lot more to you than meets the eye. I hope some day you'll feel you know me well enough to share your secret, whatever it may be."

  "That doesn't seem very likely, does it, after what you said last night," she observed quietly.

  "As a matter of fact, it does," he replied as he tucked the last of the layouts into his case. "We'll be thrown together more than ever now that we've gotten that new cosmetic account."

  "I don't understand. What cosmetic account, and why should it make a difference?"

  "The account is Femme Fatale and, among other things, we will have to go out on location, probably somewhere in the Bahamas, while they take stills and film for their new campaign which we will be laying out for them. You'll be free to go, I hope?"

  She nodded, thrilled at the prospect for more than professional reasons. "Oh, absolutely. I have no ties."

  "Good. Now I'd better get some work done before we meet those clients for lunch. Friends?" he asked, extending his hand.

  "Of course. Always," she answered as she took his hand in both of hers and gave him a warm, though not dazzling, smile.

  "There!" he exclaimed. "You've done it again with that innocent, almost shy smile that still manages to be alluringly full of promises and possibilities."

  "Is that bad?" asked Suzanna mischievously.

  Quentin looked at her intently, took a step that brought him within touching distance, then, in one swift, unexpected motion he swept her into his arms long enough for Suzanna to feel his arousal. Then with one mere peck of a kiss, he released her as suddenly as he had enveloped her, barely giving her time to enjoy her feeling of power. Then he was gone.

  Her legs were so weak that the quick release almost caused her to fall. She reached for the desk and held on until she had regained her self-control.

  Then she headed for the bathroom, where she dashed cold water on her face and let it run over her wrists. It helped a bit, but Suzy knew enough to know that what she really needed was a cold shower.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The rest of the morning passed quickly, and almost before she knew it, Quentin was standing in the doorway saying, "It's almost time to leave. Are you ready?"

  Suzy went to get her fake fur coat and hat, standard equipment for New York's autumn chill.

  "I'll be right with you," she said as she slipped the cape over her shoulders and put the hat on with a brief glance in the mirror in her handbag.

  The soft faux mink was a bit too becoming, but it was worth it to see the look of admiration in Quentin's eyes.

  As they left through his office, he took a vicuna topcoat from the rack and shrugged into it as they passed through the outer office.

  Sharon looked up in surprise as Quentin said, "Lunch with a client, Ms. Welsh. You can take an extra half hour for lunch yourself."

  "See you later," said Suzanna.

  On the way down in the elevator, Suzanna could see Quentin taking inventory on her, probably because he wanted her to make a good impression on a valuable client. Almost as if he read her mind, he said, "You look extraordinarily attractive today, Suzanna."

  "Thanks. I used to have a grandmother who said, 'Fine feathers make fine birds.'"

  Quentin threw his head back and laughed, taking Suzy completely by surprise.

  "Smart woman, your grandmother. But it's more than just fine feathers."

  "Well, grandmother had another one that might apply. 'A little powder and a little paint makes you look like what you ain't.'"

  "Your grandma must have been a funny lady."

  "She was. When I know you better I'll tell you some others."

  "I can hardly wait," he said with a broad grin. "You know, I just realized that this is the first time I've seen the lighter side of you. You're usually so dead serious and up-tight that I didn't know you had a funny side.
I like it."

  She wrinkled her nose. "You make me sound like an old prune."

  "Not at all, just very, well, restrained.

  Once they reached street level, Quentin ushered her to the curb and hailed a cab. Because it was a beautiful dry day, they didn't have long to wait.

  In a short time they were at Four Seasons and the Maitre d' was asking them about their reservation. Quentin gave his name and the names of the other two members of their party, and then a waiter showed them to their table.

  Suzanna and Quentin, first to arrive, sat down and ordered drinks while they were waiting. The ice had been broken and the thaw set in. They started the getting acquainted process by exchanging personal statistics.

  "Do you have a family?" Quentin asked.

  "Yes," answered Suzanna. "My parents are retirees living in Dallas. You?"

  "The same, except mine are in Phoenix."

  The small talk continued with roots, schools and childhood reminiscences. Between the vodka martinis and the confidences, the atmosphere soon warmed to mellow. Suzanna and Quentin were both a bit sorry to see the waiter approaching with their clients. Quentin stood to make the introductions.

  "Ms. Sills, may I present Cyrus Reed, President and Chairman of the Board of Imperial Foods. This is their advertising executive, Barry Jarvis. This is my assistant, Suzanna Sills."

  Suzanna offered her hand. Both gave her a firm handshake and a cordial, "How do you do?"

  Cyrus Reed was a well-built man, about fifty-five, with iron gray hair and a ruddy complexion. As he took a seat across from Suzanna, he positively beamed. "I can't wait to hear some of your ideas. I've heard lots of good things about your work from Quentin."

  "Thank you," she replied. "It was easy, really. It just happens that I've used your Quik-Bix for years, and I'm always coming up with new ways to serve them. When I told Mr. Pierce, he said you'd be interested."

  "That's a very fortunate coincidence for our company," said Barry Jarvis. "I'm sure you'll come up with some more magic for our other products as well when the time comes."

  "As a matter of fact, I have some already."

  They all smiled indulgently at her, and for once she felt the belle of the ball without having worry that it was because of her beauty. This time all the men wanted her brains. It was a novel feeling.

  The pleasantries over, they gave their orders to the hovering waiter. While they were ordering, Suzanna studied Jarvis. He was about Quentin's age, tall, lean and suave with dark brown hair brushed straight back from a high forehead. His brown eyes were dark and intense, and his jaw had a stubborn thrust. A warm smile and ready laugh saved his otherwise forbidding appearance.

  "I, for one, can't wait any longer to hear about the campaign you've mapped out for Quik-Bix. Tell us about it, please," said Cyrus as soon as the waiter had gone.

  "I'll be glad to. Mr. Pierce has our art department's layouts, which he'll show you when the table is cleared after lunch. For now, the basic idea is a six-month series, the basic theme being "On the Q.T. Which is a play on QB for Quik-Bix. They'll never know you didn't make it from scratch."

  "Very clever."

  "We're starting with Monkey Bread. It can be made in a tube pan or just a coffee tin, greased. The only ingredients are your Quik-Bix and melted margarine, slightly cooled. Your Quik-Bix are dipped individually in the margarine or butter, then layered on top of each other, slightly overlapping.

  "After they're baked, they're unmolded and the buttered biscuits can be pulled off and eaten one by one as a monkey would. Variations are great, too, like a sprinkling of white or brown sugar, or putting cinnamon and nuts between the layers."

  "That sounds fantastic," enthused Cyrus Reed.

  "Dumplings are even easier. You simply lay your Quik-Bix on a cooked stew or fricassee, cook them uncovered for about ten minutes, then covered for another ten. They're lighter and more uniform in size than home-made. And since they're light, people eat more of them, which won't hurt your sales," said Suzanna with a grin.

  "That's what we're aiming for, to sell more of them," said Barry.

  "Another popular recipe calls for Quik-Bix, a deep fat fryer, and a brown bag with cinnamon and sugar. After frying the 'doughnuts' you simply shake them in the bag with the sugar and cinnamon for the tastiest, tender doughnuts you've ever eaten.

  "If you want to be real fancy, you can roll them out slightly, put a teaspoon of thick preserves off center, fold it over, moisten the edges to seal it, then proceed as before."

  Cyrus smiled. "Those recipes sound so delicious and so easy. I'll have to tell my wife about them."

  "There are more," said Suzanna. "Most of them just as easy, but you'll find them all in the layouts. Sticky-buns, assorted sweet rolls and salt sticks, to mention a few."

  "You're a real prize, if I may say so, Ms. Sills," said Barry Jarvis. He leaned in closer and proposed a toast.

  "Here's to booming sales in no time, and some of those great sounding doughnuts as soon as we can get our test kitchen to work."

  He and Suzanna seemed to hit it off immediately, which should have made Quentin happy. That was not, however, the impression he gave Suzy throughout the rest of the lunch, going more and more quiet throughout the afternoon the more Barry tried to draw her out, and became more chatty himself.

  The spreads were a huge hit, as she knew they would be. So why didn't Quentin look more pleased?

  Finally, having concluded their lunch and their business, they said their goodbyes. As they rose to leave, Cyrus Reed exacted a promise from Suzy to visit their test kitchen with Quentin at their first opportunity.

  Suzanna and Quentin taxied back to the office not quite an hour later than usual. Suzanna had a feeling of elation over the kudos she'd earned.

  This is definitely where it's at for me, she exulted inwardly.

  After saying "See you later," to a rather surly looking Quentin, she got right on her next surge of ideas.

  Back in her office, Suzanna got onto her computer right away and started to map out a campaign for another of Imperial Foods' products, 'Spudz' an instant mashed potato that Suzy used in lots of unexpected but delicious ways. She was sure they would also be a pleasant surprise to the Imperial Foods clients.

  Off and on she could hear the sound of Quentin's voice giving instructions to Sharon, or talking on the phone. She would have liked to discuss some of her ideas with him, but he sounded too busy, and after all, he had not been in the best mood after the lunch. In fact, he had been most curt in the taxi.

  After what seemed only minutes, she heard Sharon call, "Goodnight, Mr. Pierce. Goodnight, Suzanna."

  She glanced at her watch and saw it was already five o'clock. She called, "Goodnight, Sharon," and started to get her desk back into some sort of order.

  Something made her look up. There was Quentin, watching her from the doorway with a bemused expression.

  "Oh, hi, Quentin. Anything I can do for you?" Suzy asked.

  "Uh, no, not really, unless you have some ideas on Spudz you'd like to bounce off me."

  "As a matter of fact, I think I have some terrific ones. I was sitting here wishing I could do just that, but you sounded so busy.''

  "Never too busy for my star," he said with a shake of his head as he walked in and sat down in what Suzy was beginning to think of as 'his' chair.

  "I thought about a few ways that I use the Imperial food products." She put the recipes she had written out from memory in front of him.

  He flicked through them and gave an approving nod. "Mmm, my mouth is watering already."

  "Do you think they would go for it? They're not too exotic, are they?"

  Quentin considered them carefully for several minutes and then glanced up. "I think they would be great. But we need to have a trial run. You know, give them a taste test before we try them on Cyrus."

  "Trust me. They're good. I use them all the time. The French one is a marvelous summertime supper with some crusty French bread. The German, Him
mel und Erte, means Heaven and Earth. The apple and potato are a great combo for winter fare, and can be served with a variety of wursts. The Irish potato cakes are a good mid-morning snack or a tea time treat."

  "I have a feeling they'll want you to work out standard measurements for the recipes in their test kitchens with their staff. Do you think you could work it out?"

  "Piece of cake," retorted Suzanna.

  "Sure of yourself, aren't you?" he asked as he got to his feet and started toward her with a look of determination.