The Love Game

by Regina Hart

  His features were silver-screen perfect. His high forehead and bright ebony eyes indicated a keen intelligence that one shouldn’t underestimate. His squared jaw signaled a stubbornness that would be a challenge. His full, well-shaped lips implied a subtle sensuality she shouldn’t even think about.

  Iris stood, taking his large, outstretched hand. His warm skin sent a shock up her arm. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Anderson. I’m Iris Beharie.”

  “Ty. This way, please.” He stepped aside, releasing her hand to gesture in the direction from which he’d come. “Sherry, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Ty.” The Doris Day double gave him a fond look.

  Iris settled the strap of her black briefcase onto her left shoulder and hoisted the mammoth coffee mug with her right hand. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Sherry lifted her hands, crossing her fingers. “Good luck.”

  Iris tossed Sherry a grateful smile before following Tyler down the hall. His broad shoulders were wrapped in a white jersey. His long legs were covered in chocolate suit pants. She jerked her gaze from his butt and looked around the office suite. Tyler stopped beside a frosted glass door and waved her inside. She glimpsed his name and title on the silver frame beside the threshold.

  “Have a seat.” He closed his door, then waited for Iris to claim a chair at the small glass conversation table.

  “Thank you.” Her palms were sweating again.

  His office was big, bright and painfully neat. Project folders were staggered in a metal filing system on his silver-and-glass L-shaped desk. His black leather chair was tucked under his table. One of the twenty-ounce silver-and-black coffee mugs stood beside his computer mouse.

  Her office would drive him nuts.

  Tyler also seemed obsessed with time. His large desk calendar was covered with notes. Dates were crossed off the wall calendar opposite his desk. Project timelines were pinned to a board behind his chair.

  Frightening.

  Iris noted his minifridge, microwave and radio. Was he preparing for a lockdown?

  Tyler came around to join her at the conversation table. Rather than watch him fold his long, lean body onto the smoke-gray padded seat opposite her, Iris distracted herself by pulling a writing tablet and pen from her briefcase.

  “Your proposal is impressive.” Tyler tapped the electronic tablet in front of him.

  “Thank you.” So far, so good.

  “I’ve also reviewed your firm’s website. The two seem to be in contradiction.”

  “How so?” Iris gripped her ballpoint pen as she forced herself to hold Tyler’s penetrating gaze. She really wanted this account.

  “You’re a one-person show. How can one person accomplish all the things you’ve promised in your proposal?”

  “I understand your concern.” She’d heard it before from other executives. “However, I assure you I wouldn’t have made those commitments if I wasn’t confident I’d be able to meet them.”

  “How?”

  Iris glanced at the tablet trapped between the table and the long, elegant fingers of Tyler’s right hand. “As I explained in my proposal, this isn’t my first product launch. I know what’s involved. That experience will make me more efficient with your project.”

  “You also mentioned other consultants you plan to work with.” Tyler leaned back on his seat.

  “Their costs are included in the budget.”

  “You, a designer, a printer and a media buyer. That’s a lot of people to depend on to meet deadlines.”

  Iris put down her pen, then rested one hand on top of the other. “That’s a legitimate concern. But, Mr. Anderson—”

  “Ty. Mr. Anderson is my father.”

  “Ty.” Iris inclined her head with a smile. “Even if you worked with a larger company, you’d still need those various roles. The only difference between my firm and a larger company is that those responsibilities would be assigned to their staff. But you’d still have to depend on a lot of people meeting their deadlines.”

  Tyler’s mind wandered as he watched Iris’s full, bow-shaped lips. It was only when her lips stopped moving that he realized he should have been listening.

  He tamped down his embarrassment—and his urge to trace a finger over her lips. “That’s a lot of people to keep track of during the project. We don’t have a lot of time.”

  “This launch does have an ambitious schedule. This is the second week of March and your release date is July tenth.”

  “That’s just over four months.” Tyler scowled. Why haven’t I heard from Peter Kimball about his company’s proposal?

  “Seventeen weeks and three days. It’s a tight schedule, but not impossible.” Iris spread her small, delicate hands. The movement briefly distracted Tyler.

  “You’ve worked with tough deadlines before?”

  Iris sat back and crossed her legs. “Many times and always successfully.”

  Her voice was matter-of-fact, her manner confident. Her proposal was impressive in its detail and vision. Still, Tyler hesitated.

  This was a big job. Iris Beharie had more than eight years of marketing and public relations experience. However, the results of his internet research indicated The Beharie Agency was only three months old. How could he entrust his launch of his company’s new computer game to what amounted to an untried agency?

  How could he trust her with his future?

  Tyler hardened his heart to her honey-brown skin although it looked as soft as silk. He pulled his gaze from warm, coffee eyes that threatened to brainwash him. Her subtle citrus fragrance would haunt his dreams tonight.

  He picked up his tablet and stared blankly at her proposal. Just say no, thank her for coming and call Peter Kimball—for the fifth time. “Your proposal is good.”

  “You read my website.” Her voice was strained. “You saw the list of other projects I’ve completed.”

  “You were with another company when you did that work.” Tyler was snared by her gaze again.

  “I don’t have a large company behind me, but I do have an experienced and talented network of professional associates with whom I’ve worked before.”

  Tyler dragged his finger across the tablet’s screen to flip through Iris’s proposal again. He’d practically committed it to memory: pricing, tasks, goals, detailed launch schedule. Could she pull it off? There was too much at stake to take the risk.

  He lowered the tablet. “I’ll consider what we’ve discussed, then call you with my decision.”

  Iris gave him a rueful smile. “Let’s be honest, Ty. You’re not going to hire me, are you?”

  Tyler hesitated but he couldn’t bring himself to lie. “No, I’m afraid not. I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.” Iris sighed. She repacked her pen and notepad before standing.

  Tyler stood with her. “Your proposal was really very good. In fact, it was great.”

  “But you don’t have confidence in my execution.” Her words were blunt but her tone wasn’t accusatory.

  “There’s a lot riding on this product launch.” Now that their meeting was over, Tyler didn’t want her to leave.

  “Every launch is important.” She adjusted her briefcase strap on her slender shoulder, then offered him her hand. “Good luck with your launch.”

  “Thanks.” Tyler took her hand, surprised by her gesture. Why wasn’t she being snide or sarcastic like other companies usually were when he turned down their proposal? “Good luck with your company.”

  “Thank you.” Iris led him to his office door.

  Their conversation was scarce as they walked down the hallway: the weather, traffic and the hard winter they’d just had.

  They stopped beside Sherry’s desk. Tyler offered Iris his hand again, one last time to feel her soft, warm skin a
gainst his. “Thanks again for meeting with me.”

  “Thank you for the opportunity.” Her smile wasn’t as bright as it had been when they’d first met but it was sincere. She slipped her hand from Tyler’s, then turned to Sherry. “It was nice to meet you, Sherry.”

  The receptionist smiled up at her. “Same here, dear. Have a good day.”

  “You do the same.” Iris pushed through the glass doors of the office suite, then disappeared down the hall to the elevator.

  Tyler sensed Sherry’s eyes on him as he returned to his office. He was certain he’d made the right decision regarding The Beharie Agency. Then why was he having second thoughts? Was it because of the undeniable strength of Iris’s proposal?

  Or her full bow-shaped lips?

  He tried to push thoughts of Iris from his mind as he settled behind his desk to call Kimball & Associates—again. He needed to partner with an established consultant, one they’d worked with before and on whom he could depend to produce a winning launch.

  Even if it meant saying no to the opportunity to spend more time in the company of Iris Beharie.

  Chapter 2

  “I need a big account to land a big account or for someone to give me a chance.”

  Iris trailed her friend Cathy Yee through the buffet line during the monthly Marketing Professionals Association luncheon Tuesday afternoon. The group had taken over a banquet room in one of the downtown restaurants. Well-dressed marketing professionals on an extended lunch break packed the dim walnut-wood room. Circular tables covered in white cloths faced the speaker’s podium. Serving stations lined the far walls of the cramped space.

  Iris considered the menu items: potato or chicken-noodle soup, green or pasta salad, turkey or veggie wrap, coffee or water, chocolate chip cookie or fudge brownie. She skipped the salads, and stuck to the meat selections, coffee and both dessert choices.

  “I know. I was there once.” Cathy, a freelance designer who’d been flying solo for almost ten years, passed on the soups, but chose both salads, both wraps, coffee, two fudge brownies and a cookie.

  Iris considered her friend’s waiflike, five-foot-two-inch frame clothed in a black pantsuit with onyx accessories. Where would all that food go?

  “I was so disappointed not to get that contract with Anderson Adventures.” Iris balanced her lunch plate and bowl in one hand, and her coffee cup in another. “It’s as though the three months I’ve spent in my own business has completely wiped out my eight years of experience.”

  Iris frowned as her friend led her to a table toward the back of the banquet room. Cathy usually preferred to sit front and center. Maybe she wasn’t as interested in this afternoon’s social media topic.

  “They make you prove yourself all over again.” Cathy’s voice held more than a touch of irritation.

  “Exactly.” Iris laid her plate, soup bowl and coffee cup on the empty table Cathy had claimed. The benefits of arriving early.

  She and Cathy had met during one of these lunches years ago. They’d become fast friends. Then when Iris had confided in Cathy about the problems she was dealing with at work, Cathy had encouraged her to strike out on her own. The two partnered on many of their projects. Iris’s writing skills allowed Cathy to expand her client services and Cathy provided design work for Iris’s contracts.

  “It’s a good thing you didn’t tell your sisters about the interview.” Cathy’s jaw-length curtain of raven hair swung forward as she pulled her chair under the table.

  That would’ve been bad. “I wanted to land the account before I said anything to them.” Iris added cream to her coffee. “Now I don’t have to explain that my potential client thinks all of my experience leaked out of my brain when I opened my own firm.”

  “It would’ve just given them more ammunition to push you back into working for someone else.”

  Iris hummed her agreement as she sipped her coffee. “So what’s on your mind?”

  “What do you mean?” Cathy sounded distracted. Another sign something was bothering her friend.

  Iris pointed her fork toward Cathy’s plate. “You’ve piled enough carbs and processed sugar on your plate to put you in a coma. Are you still thinking of returning to the wonderful world of corporate dysfunction?”

  Cathy blew a frustrated breath. “The economic recovery is slow and my bills are high. Everything’s gone up.”

  “I understand but just give it a while longer, Cat. Don’t give up on your business yet,” Iris encouraged her friend, thinking she should take her own advice.

  “It’s not just the economy.” Cathy’s words sped up as her annoyance kicked in. “Clients don’t want to pay what we’re worth. They think since their son has a Mac, why should they pay you to design a brochure when he can do it for free? Or their daughter can spell so why should they pay a professional copywriter?”

  “The insane asylum where I used to work had started squeezing vendors that way.”

  “And what’s worse is that these kids, fresh out of college and in many cases untrained, accept this pocket change as their wages instead of researching the industry pay standard.” Cathy’s voice tightened. “It’s insulting.”

  Iris frowned at her turkey wrap. “Yes, it is. Have you considered your sister’s suggestion that you apply to be an adjunct graphic arts professor with her university? It could supplement your business income.”

  “I’m considering it.” Cathy huffed another breath. “I’m not getting any younger, Iris. I’ve got to—”

  “Afternoon, ladies. Mind if we join you?” The male voice interrupted their conversation.

  Iris’s heart sank at Peter Kimball’s request that he and his associate sit at their table. She gritted a smile and lied through her teeth. “Not at all.”

  The seasoned marketing professional and owner of Kimball & Associates sat beside her. His young sidekick, a man Iris didn’t recognize, took the chair to Peter’s left.

  Iris sucked in her breath as Peter extended his hand across her chest to Cathy.

  “Pete Kimball.” The marketing executive gave the designer a toothy smile that didn’t reach his pale blue eyes.

  “We’ve met. Cathy Yee.” Her friend barely acknowledged him before returning to her veggie wrap.

  Peter withdrew his hand, smoothing it over his salt-and-pepper, salon-styled hair. “Oh, yes. You look different. So, Iris, how have you been?”

  “Fine, thank you.” The waves of irritation Cathy generated distracted Iris.

  “I heard you left RGB.” Peter dug into his pasta salad.

  “Yes, four months ago.” She toyed with her chicken-noodle soup.

  “I’ve always admired your talent. I’m sure I can find a place for you on my team.”

  “Thank you but I’m not looking.” Iris suppressed a shudder as she took in his smarmy smile. She considered his deep, golden skin. Was he using a tanning bed? Perhaps that tint came from a can.

  Iris glanced at Peter’s associate. The young man was methodically making his way across his plate.

  “What are you doing, then?” Peter’s smile faded as his gaze sharpened.

  “I’ve opened my own marketing and public relations consulting firm, The Beharie Agency.”

  “Really?” Laughter burst from Peter’s throat. “Starting your own business is a lot of hard work. You don’t have the exp—”

  “I’m ready for more coffee.” Cathy nudged her. “Want some?”

  Iris looked at her still full cup. “Yes.”

  She joined Cathy, leaving the table without excusing herself.

  “What a jackass,” Cathy hissed. “He introduces himself to me every time he comes to this thing. How many Chinese women does he know in Columbus, Ohio, that he can’t remember me?”

  “Consider the source.” Iris was offended on her friend’s
behalf. Peter’s laughing in her face when she announced she’d started her own firm didn’t seem so bad in comparison. “I can’t go back to that table with him.”

  “We’ll find another table.”

  “But I left my lunch at that one.” And she was starting to get hungry.

  “Fix yourself another plate.” Cathy led them back to the buffet line. “Now we have even more incentive to succeed. You know what they say.”

  “Living well is the best revenge.”

  Iris looked forward to proving to Kimball & Associates, as well as Anderson Adventures, that they’d underestimated her. She just needed a chance.

  * * *

  Wednesday was a long day that included participating in a client conference call and drafting another project proposal, which Iris hoped to submit by the end of the week. But tonight she set those thoughts aside as she pulled her canary-yellow Camry into the driveway of her family home. She parked beside her sister Rose’s cobalt-blue BMW. Iris was a few minutes early for their weekly family dinner. But as usual, her older sister was already here.

  Their dinner was a family tradition Iris and her sisters had continued even after their parents had died. Lily, the middle sister, had moved back into the large suburban home.

  Iris grabbed the cake box from the passenger seat. Juggling the box and her purse, she slammed the driver’s-side door shut with a hip and pressed the automatic lock button on her key chain. She hurried up the walkway and stairs, then let herself in through the front door.

  “Something smells wonderful.” Iris followed the scent of seasoned chicken and vegetables down the hallway and into the kitchen.

  Rose and Lily stopped talking when she appeared in the doorway. Paranoid much?

  “You brought dessert.” Lily broke the short silence.

  “Chocolate cake.” Iris sauntered into the kitchen and put the box on the counter beside the stove. She turned to her sisters with her hands on the hips of her powder-blue jeans. “Okay. Let’s have it.”