Players

by Rachel Cross

  Sparring with Tiana was not a game to play before this meeting. He needed to leave in case she called him Nathaniel or her heated stares turned him on. Yeah, he was going to call Shelly. Today.

  • • •

  Tiana looked around the room, smiling. Mr. Goldberg had just given a quick recap to the team about the presentations and how excited he was to see their work.

  The older man turned around to Tiana and Nathaniel, sitting across from each other at the shiny black table. “Who wants to go first?”

  “Ladies first,” Nathaniel’s sexy voice offered.

  Did he think she cared that she went first? She preferred to, actually. Giving Nathaniel a fake smile, she swung her head to face Mr. Goldberg. “I’d be happy to.”

  Connecting her laptop to the projector, she pressed the remote to the screen. The words sleek, sexy, speedy, sporty, and safety appeared.

  The next slide showed a chart with Jake’s name on the left-hand side and the T-8 on the right.

  “Sleek and sexy.” She looked around the room. “The prominent contours . . . the perfect physique . . . you can imagine yourself taking a ride you’ll never forget.” She paused, smiling. “I’m talking about the T-8, of course.”

  The group laughed at her joke.

  “Speedy and sporty. For the adrenaline junkie. For the guy or gal who needs to blow off steam. Doesn’t hurt that Jake Ross can toss a heater upward of a hundred miles per hour. He has the speed, and he needs it on and off the field. And now the T-8 allows the everyday person to do this, too.” She clicked to another slide. “Finally, safety. Some of you may be thinking, ‘Eh, it’s great that they’re safe, but who cares?’” She nodded, as if agreeing with the sentiment. “But guess who cares? The wife or husband of the spouse who buys the car, especially one with kids.” She paused again, moving away from the screen and pacing the floor in a practiced, unhurried move.

  “Did you know that Jake Ross is actually a family guy?” Someone chuckled from his seat. No doubt a reader and believer of the trashy magazines that focused on the pitcher’s playboy tendencies.

  Tiana stopped moving, showing a huge picture of Jake with his mother, father, brothers, and nieces and nephews. Two of them sat on his lap, pure joy and love in their eyes.

  “Jake’s family visits often, or he goes to his hometown in Alabama. He’s been quoted no less than thirty times stating that family is important to him. Safety is important to Jake Ross, when ”—she clicked the screen again, showing a picture of him swinging his nephew at Coney Island—“he takes the little ones to amusement parks.”

  Clasping her hands behind her back, she surveyed the room, silently commanding their attention. “Jake Ross and the T-8 aren’t just one trick ponies, they’re more. Let’s do a campaign that shows more.” She went over her ideas for print, commercial, and online advertisements. She occasionally looked at her bosses, who nudged and smiled at each other.

  “And finally, to give you a taste of my vision, I’ve created a rough video that shows the many sides of Jake and will give you an idea of how we can marry him and the T-8 beautifully.”

  The video started with a clip of Jake pitching, eyes filled with determination at Yankee Stadium. The crowd cheered, and pandemonium ensued at his ninety-five-mile-per-hour strikeout. The video transitioned to “sexy Jake” with a starlet on his arm at an awards ceremony. His gray eyes smoldered at the camera. His sexiness could not be denied.

  The next clip showed “Uncle Jake” with one of his nieces on his shoulder and the other two holding his hands. The video ended, and the room erupted with applause. She looked around the room smiling, and finally chanced a look at Nathaniel, whose eyes she’d purposely avoided until now. He looked begrudgingly impressed. But still, he wasn’t shaking in his boots. Damn. He must have something equally as compelling under his sleeve. Mr. Goldberg and Mr. Hart both stood, giving her firm handshakes.

  “Nathan, you have some steep competition here.” Mr. Hart pointed at Tiana, glowing under his praise.

  “Are you ready to show us what you have?”

  “I sure am, Richard.”

  She smiled and walked back to her seat. Winking at Nathaniel, she mouthed, “Good luck, slave.”

  Chapter Four

  Nathan smiled inwardly. His little spitfire thought she had the world in the palm of her hands. But he was a fighter. A survivor. He wouldn’t let little Miss Tight Skirt slap him around. No, he thrived on the thrill, the adrenaline. His coworkers and bosses were primed. He saw their eyes. Some of them thought they’d already made their decision.

  “My lovely coworker, Ms. Holliday, is absolutely correct. Jake Ross is more. The T-8 series is . . . more.” Nathan looked around; satisfied everyone seemed settled. “But what we’re missing is that our target audience is forty plus males, with a few younger, rich male outliers thrown in.”

  He paused, stroking his chin as if in deep thought. “Guys don’t think about emotions. We are highly visual. We need to see ourselves in the T-8, but Jake Ross isn’t the average guy.”

  Putting up three fingers, Nathan ticked them off with his points. “He’s a famous athlete, he’s young, and I’m a confident enough man to say he’s a good-looking guy.”

  He scored a few laughs on the last comment. “Our target audience, for the most part, is none of those things. Not to the level of Jake Ross. So how do we get them to see themselves in the T-8 and see themselves in Jake?”

  Nathan clicked his presentation and, with a practiced megawatt smile, continued. “We have to make Jake relatable. I say we make fun of the ‘Pretty Boy’ and ‘Ladies Man’ rep that surrounds him. Remove the veneer. Shoot commercials as if they were behind the scenes, but make them funny and humanize him through humor.”

  Looking around, he saw quite a few nods. “Did you know that Jake graduated as valedictorian in high school and Summa Cum Laude in college? He struggled with his weight as a preteen and stuttered as a kid.”

  He took a move from Tiana and purposefully paced the floor. “We don’t have to make anything up. He is a relatable guy. He’s nerdy, and he was the shy, chubby kid in school.” Walking away from the screen, Nathan pulled out storyboards from the office’s polished black wood cabinets.

  His sketches showed Jake in various scenarios. One board was titled “The Klutz.” When Tiana’s thin, arched eyebrows rose, Nathan winked. Oh, yeah. He’d pulled out all the stops for the presentation.

  “Off the field, he’s the guy who bumps into everything.” He pointed at a funny sketch of Jake’s assistant knocking him out of the way of danger. At one point in the storyboard, the assistant had the pitcher walking around in bubble wrap—that was, until he got into the T-8 and then suddenly the pitcher looked like James Bond.

  Nathan moved on to the next storyboard titled “The Nerd,” a series showing Jake with a headset playing a video game and using gamer lingo. The next showed Jake watching Star Trek on television and a dialogue bubble of him quoting lines. The final sketch series included images of the pitcher putting the final touches on a superhero costume and entering a Comic Con convention. In the final scene, Jake gets into the T-8 and is transformed into Mr. GQ.

  Putting the storyboards away, Nathan returned to the front of the room. “Like I said, guys are visual. We want to see ourselves in the person who’s speaking to us. Jake Ross is the klutz, the nerd, and the down-south gentleman. Let’s make this campaign funny and memorable and show guys that with the T-8, they can transform and be just as suave and sleek as Jake.”

  The team then clapped, equally as loudly as they had at the end of Tiana’s presentation.

  Richard stood and clapped Nathan on the back. Nathan then returned to his seat and stared at his nemesis. While no one was looking, he mouthed, “You’re mine.” From the gleam that lit her eyes, he could have sworn she liked the idea.

  Clearing his throat, Richard clapped his hands together. “I have to tell you that this is outstanding stuff, folks. I could honestly see the client liking
both directions.” He shook his salt-and-pepper hair. “You know, Isaac, I think we should present both ideas to Fiete. Show them that we have a dynamic team. What do you say?”

  Isaac was silent. Richard was silent. Everyone was silent. Isaac finally nodded. “I like it. Tiana . . . Nathan . . . ” He wiggled his bushy white brows at them. “We’ll send a recap on things you need to tweak, but otherwise get ready to present to Fiete next Tuesday. If we get this launched in time, we may be able to apply for the SAX Awards. May the best campaign win.”

  • • •

  Tiana gave the team a tight, gracious smile and flew from the conference room. Disappointment bloomed in her core. She’d wanted to blow Nathaniel away, have him sucking his thumb and crying for his mama. But no, the stupid jerk had to go all Picasso and sketch the “many faces of Jake Ross.”

  Shaking off her frustration, she sat at her desk. She could still win it all. This draw, which was a total cop-out, was only a minor setback. Suddenly, the door snapped open, and Nathaniel stepped in.

  Tiana cleared her throat. “I guess we’ll have to wait until next Tuesday to see who’s the winner.”

  “Yes, I—” Nathaniel’s cell phone rang with the ringtone “Every Breath You Take” by The Police. Taking brisk strides, he retrieved the phone from his desk and rolled his eyes skyward.

  “Hey, Shelly.”

  Tiana sucked her teeth at the name. Shelly often called, much to Nathaniel’s dismay. Heat crept up Tiana’s neck and blazed her cheeks. She blew a disgusted breath at herself, irritated at her own reaction to Nathaniel.

  He leaned against his desk. “Yeah, baby. Let’s start with dinner on Saturday. See where it goes.”

  Ugh. How unprofessional to set up booty calls at work!

  She shouldn’t be surprised. He might be an outstanding marketer, but he didn’t have an ounce of professionalism. She shouldn’t know his social calendar, but he felt the need to loudly plan dinners and outings and weekend getaways.

  Nathaniel’s deep, sensual laugh filled the room. She imagined he was laughing in her ear about something she’d said. Growling, she mentally smacked her head. What the hell is up with me?

  She needed to get laid. ASAP. The other day, Mel had offered to set Tiana up with one of her advertising clients. She’d brushed her friend off, giving the excuse of a new job and settling into a new city. But she was well past the ninety-day mark—make that 180-day mark. She was broken in. Now it was time to break something else in.

  Three years. Three long years of celibacy. Tiana hadn’t been able to let anyone in, emotionally or physically, after Greg’s betrayal. Oh, she’d tried being intimate with other men. She really had. But once it got to the point of seeing birthday suits, she always froze. In her mind, she was fast-forwarding one or two years and wondering when he would cheat.

  But her fingers and a Rabbit weren’t enough. She was past frustrated, and if her hoo-ha could speak . . . It actually wouldn’t speak, a silent protest for not having proper company in a very long time. She could see the protest signs.

  End the Drought.

  We want d—

  “Tiana! Where did you just go? You seemed deep in thought.” Nathaniel’s dark eyes were etched in concern.

  “No, I—I’m just thinking about . . . ending a protest.”

  “Really? What issues are you passionate about?”

  Getting some action so I’ll stop lusting after my dirty dog of a coworker.

  “I, uh, don’t actually like talking about political issues at the workplace.”

  Nathaniel didn’t seem convinced. Oh, well. Today wasn’t the day to argue. She had much better things to do. Grabbing her cell phone, she swiped the screen to text Mel about setting up a date with the guy she’d mentioned. She also needed to update her friend about the campaign face-off between her and Nathaniel.

  Within minutes, she returned to her emails, promising herself that she would get back in the game. If Mel were here, she would call it Operation: Insert Cheesy Name. Tiana smiled when she thought of the perfect one: Operation: Get Some Action.

  After work, she packed up for the day and made the trek back home. Her roommate was already at the apartment.

  “So Tim is down for the date on Saturday.” Mel munched on a carrot.

  Tiana froze as she was placing her purse on the rack near the kitchen. “Wait. What date on Saturday? I said nothing about going out this Saturday.”

  Mel raised a halting hand. “Woman, do not give me any grief. We both know that if I hadn’t gone ahead and set it up you would’ve punked out and then poor Tim would be roaming the city, crushed about the date that never was, wondering if you’d had one look at his face and bolted. Wondering if you thought he was too short or a poor dresser.”

  Tiana twisted her lips at Mel. “How in the heck do you come up with this stuff?” She shook her head. “But while we’re on the subject, I’m assuming he’s not short or unattractive?”

  “Do you really think I would suggest someone who wasn’t handsome? Actually, that’s putting it lightly. He’s F-I-N-E, fine.”

  Walking into their small living room, Tiana sat near her friend. “How fine are we talking?”

  “You know that first time you saw the video to the Janet Jackson song “Again” and you saw that guy with the dreads and you were like ‘daaayyyummm’?”

  Tiana nodded. Her teenaged heart had beaten like a rattlesnake at the video model.

  “Yeah, he’s that jaw-dropping fine. So you’re welcome. All I ask is that you name your firstborn after me.”

  “If he looks that fine and is intelligent to boot, then deal.”

  “Excellent. He will be calling to confirm the details, but I strongly suggested he take you to that restaurant you’ve been wanting to try.” Mel smiled. “Diago’s.”

  Tiana grinned. “Damn, you’re good. Our child’s first and middle names are Melanie. What’s his last name?”

  “Lytle.”

  “Then he or she shall be named Melanie Melanie Lytle.”

  Mel tipped her head to the side as if thinking through the name. “Has a nice ring to it.” She rubbed her hands together. “I can’t wait to get you together with Mr. Hunkalicious.”

  A door to one of the bedrooms shut, and Tiana turned her head. Damien, her roomie’s fiancé, stood in front of Mel’s room.

  “You’re not allowed to call anyone Hunkalicious but me.”

  “Hey, Damien,” Tiana greeted warmly.

  “Hey.” He smiled as he stalked toward his fiancée. Tipping back her chin, he dominated Mel’s lips.

  “Did you tell her the good news?” He looked back at Tiana.

  “Oh, duh! I was so excited about the blind date thing that I forgot to tell you we set a date for the wedding!”

  “What?” Tiana squealed, bouncing up and down. “That should have been the first thing you said to me when I got home.”

  “Sorry, sorry. It’s set for December fifteenth.”

  Tiana pulled a planner from her purse. After Damien had asked Melanie for her hand in marriage, Tiana had volunteered to plan their wedding. Tiana had served on several event-planning committees for fundraisers in Atlanta and had even coordinated a few of her friends’ and old coworkers’ weddings. “We have sixteen months to pull off a New York wedding. Just enough time. I’ll get started on researching venues, and then we’ll—”

  “Actually . . . ” Her friend cut in, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “Damien is pretty keen on getting married soon.”

  “Very keen,” he agreed in a smooth baritone voice that didn’t hide his laughter at Mel’s obvious discomfort.

  “Yes.” Tiana smiled. “I got that when he proposed to you in front of fifty thousand people at Yankee Stadium.”

  “Right.” Her roomie nodded. “So . . . we’re getting married this year.”

  This year! “Are you out of your mind, Mel? That’s four months from now. Four months! How am I planning a wedding in four months’ time in New York freaking City!
” Jumping from her seat, Tiana paced. “You’ll have to get married on the subway. That’s the only thing that’ll be open. We’ll have to get street performers for entertainment.”

  Mel tugged her curls and laughed. “Chill out, T. First off, I’m not getting married in New York. We are going to do a simple wedding in Atlanta.”

  “Atlanta? That sounds like your mama’s doing.” She shook her head. “You guys met and fell in love here. And anyway, I doubt even Atlanta has any venues available on this short notice.”

  Her friend sighed and patted the couch, signaling Tiana to sit. “I need you to calm down and take a deep breath. Now yes, it was my mom’s idea, and I did refuse at first. But Damien wants to get married like now, and my mother found out someone had a last-minute cancellation at the Laraby. It’s a win-win.”

  Tiana squeezed her hand. “And what about you? What do you want?”

  Her friend’s happy smile punched a hole in her cold heart. “I want to marry Damien. I don’t care if we get married on a cruise ship or a subway. We’ll make our home in New York, and that’s enough for me.”

  Tiana saw the truth in Melanie’s wide brown eyes and let it go.

  “If that’s what my bestie wants, that’s what she’ll get. I’m guessing your mom and aunt have already started the planning?”

  “Yes, and they will be calling you over the weekend.”

  “Well, haven’t you’ve just filled out my social calendar for the next several days?” Tiana stood and stretched, suddenly exhausted from the day’s events.

  “Oh, go open the freezer,” Melanie yelled from the couch. “I have something for you.”

  A blast of cold air whooshed when Tiana opened the pocket-sized freezer that could barely fit a family pack of chicken. A gallon of birthday cake ice cream! Tiana smiled. My favorite. The perfect combination of tasty birthday cake and cool vanilla finish. With sprinkles, of course.

  Inside, a giant ring pop was wedged into the ice cream with a little flag that asked, “Will you be my maid of honor?”