‘Women can do that for themselves, given half a chance.’
‘And I don’t let them—is that what you’re saying?’
‘Maybe men feel threatened—’
‘Not this man.’ Quinn cut across her.
She took her courage in both hands and went for it. ‘Then prove it by allowing women to play a part in your campaign.’
His lips curved; he took it well. ‘How do I know that there’s anyone working for me, other than you, that has this flair?’
‘You’ll never know until you give everyone an equal chance to prove themselves.’
‘If there’s so much latent talent here, why has no one put themselves forward before now?’
‘Because women want to keep their jobs, so they keep their mouths shut. Is there any reason good enough to make you ignore a possible seam of in-house talent? I think we must consider our female audience when we design a campaign.’
‘What do women want?’ Quinn didn’t even pretend to think about it. ‘Who cares when men pay the bills? This is business, Magenta, not some feel-good society for you to float around in. Men earn the money women spend—remember that. So men are our target audience.’
She hated herself for trembling with awareness of Quinn when he was preaching this heresy. But Quinn was a product of his time, Magenta remembered, which made what she had to do while she was a visitor in this dream world all the more important. ‘But you’ve just admitted women do the shopping, so they have control of the finances.’
‘Nonsense. Are you the most argumentative woman I’ve ever met?’ he demanded. ‘Who tells a woman what to buy, Magenta? Her man.’
‘Not this woman.’
Quinn looked at her and almost laughed. He controlled it well, but at least he’d lightened up. That was a small victory of sorts, Magenta supposed, wondering if her heart would reach some critical point where it would have to slow down.
‘All I’m asking you to do is to tune in to your audience, Magenta, but sometimes, I think your head’s elsewhere—like another century, maybe.’
Close. But she couldn’t stop now. ‘If you go on with this belief that we only have to sell to one sector of the community, then this company will sink like a stone, taking your investment with it.’
There was silence, and then to Magenta’s relief Quinn’s face relaxed as another idea occurred to him. ‘Why don’t you illuminate me on the correct way to reach every member of our target audience?’ Challenge turned his steely gaze to fire.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘I’D BE pleased to explain,’ Magenta said, facing up to Quinn. She had to look up at him; he towered over her. ‘There are plenty of women in the workplace trying to keep a family afloat.’
‘You think I don’t know that?’
How attractive was that crease in his cheek? And how determined was she not to be distracted by it? ‘Women have always been fighters, Quinn—they’ve had to be—and if you want to know what appeals to them you capture the whole of the market—their men and the next generation, too.’
‘And if I want to know how to appeal to women I should ask you?’
Like Quinn didn’t appeal to every woman he met. But he didn’t face up their ads. ‘You could ask any of the women who work here for their opinion. Use the resources you have, don’t ignore them. Ask them what they like to buy, to use, to experience.
‘You’re suggesting we run a series of trials?’
‘Why not?’
‘Involve women in our brainstorming sessions?’
‘Of course.’
‘Persuade me.’
Quinn’s eyes were dark and smoky; how she longed to. But this was her chance; she couldn’t blow it. ‘Okay. So, women want to buy your products because they’re dependable, exciting and they can trust them—but women want to command attention too. They want to look sharp—they want to be in control.’
‘And they want to do all this while they’re sitting behind a typewriter knocking three bells out of their expensive manicure?’
‘And so the ad has to say to them,’ Magenta drove on determinedly, ‘You’re in charge!’
‘That’s a dangerous line to take.’
‘Are you telling me men are so fragile they can’t survive a challenge from a strong woman?’ She held Quinn’s gaze. Feeling strong whilst pulsating with lust was confusing, to say the least.
‘You’re a strong woman, Magenta.’
‘Yes, I am.’ She knew Quinn was testing her, looking for cracks in her defences. He knew she wanted him to yank her close and devour her with kisses. ‘But I’m only one example of a strong woman,’ she told him coolly. ‘I’m sure there are many others right here in this office.’
‘Some men don’t find strong women attractive.’
And you, Quinn? Magenta longed to ask him, but she already knew the answer. Quinn was highly sexed—hot, feral, dangerous. Her body was ringing proof of that. Of course he liked strong women. Quinn would like the challenge of subduing them.
‘I never discount a woman’s needs.’
‘If you do, it’s your loss.’ She had thought he was talking about business, but as Quinn’s lips curved she realised he was teasing her and that his mind was on anything but business. It was time to sharpen up that sleep-deprived brain of hers and take this battle to the next level.
‘Why don’t you get two glasses and we’ll have a drink?’ Quinn suggested. A sexy grin played around his lips. ‘You should take some down-time occasionally.’
Yes, she could go with that—she could let drink fuzz her mind and make that her excuse for giving the green light to Quinn’s white-hot charm offensive—but she wanted more out of life than fleeting satisfaction. ‘I’m good. I’d like to finish this work so it’s ready for you to see in the morning.’ That was the right thing to do. She should remain strong.
She should do a lot of things, Magenta reflected as her body melted like butter when Quinn closed his hands on her arms. Business was one thing, but this was something very different, and she was tired of keeping up a front. She was tired full-stop, and felt dreamy and reckless… And Quinn was…Quinn.
‘Better?’ he murmured, curving a smile as he dropped a kiss on her mouth.
She sucked in a ragged breath, exclaiming softly somewhere deep in her throat as Quinn deepened the kiss. This was some dream. His hands were lazily coasting down her back while her responses were quickly changing from tentative to hungry and on to greed.
She almost staggered when he stepped back.
He steadied her and then gave her a mocking look.
‘Why?’ she said, feeling hurt and confusion overwhelm her. She never lost control, except for this one time.
‘Because you’re tense.’
She got what she deserved. Magenta passed her hand across her lust-swollen lips and then kept it there as if she could hide her arousal. They both liked to be in control, but Quinn was far better at this than she was. She was hardly a practised siren, and even in a dream her skills hadn’t improved in that direction.
Quinn moved behind her and she tensed as his warm hands found the tender spot on the nape of her neck where all the stress had collected.
‘I told you there was tension,’ he said, proving how skilled he was at clearing her mind of anything but sensation.
She didn’t argue as he began to massage the stiffness away. She doubted anyone could move away from that touch. Quinn’s breath was warm on the back of her neck and his body was only a breath away. She exhaled unsteadily. Quinn was making it impossible to think. Did he know how powerfully he affected her, how her body yearned for him? She wanted him. She hadn’t even thought about her curves before, let alone that they would fit Quinn’s hands so well—if only he would touch her.
‘Why don’t you talk me through your work plan for the rest of the week, Magenta?’
He could switch tracks in an instant, leaving her reeling in his wake. She’d been right to be wary, and now it took several valuable seconds to get
her brain in gear. ‘I’ve typed up a work plan which I’ve left in your office. Shall I get it for you?’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
Quinn liked this game. He liked playing with her. And from what she’d seen of him so far Quinn only ever played to win. ‘I’d like you to see it,’ she said, breaking away. ‘I want you to know I won’t let you down.’
‘You won’t get the chance. There can be no special favours because you’re new to the job, Magenta. I expect the same productivity from you that I expect from the other girls. More, in fact, because I made the decision to put you in charge.’
Which was why she had made sure to be prepared. Going into the office, she retrieved her list and passed it to Quinn, who scanned it briefly before handing it back to her.
‘You’re going?’ She watched Quinn shrug on his overcoat.
‘Did you expect me to stay?’
Anger consumed her. Quinn knew just how to work her. She would have to move a lot faster if she were to avoid becoming his puppet—the woman who could not only knock up an excellent coffee on demand, or a spreadsheet or two, but who could also oblige Quinn in more personal areas of his life. What he needed was a strong woman to take him in hand, Magenta concluded. She had always believed she was strong—but was she strong enough?
Quinn’s laughing eyes put that challenge directly to her. ‘We’ll have a lot on tomorrow, Magenta. I’ll expect you in the office first thing, and I will make no allowances for the fact that you’re working late on your own project.’
‘Of course not.’ You unrepentant barbarian, she thought, smiling pleasantly. ‘Sleep well.’
‘I will.’ And I wouldn’t go to bed with you if you were the last man on earth, she thought, holding the smile. Unless you asked me nicely.
She refused to notice how attractively Quinn’s lips pressed down. ‘I almost forgot this,’ he said.
‘What is it?’ she said, gazing at the plain-brown paper bag.
‘A sandwich. In case you get hungry while you’re working.’ One last amused glance, and Quinn stepped inside the lift doors.
He knew she wanted him, Magenta realised. He no doubt also knew she was a complete novice where men were concerned. This was shaping up to be one hell of a fight. Whichever world they inhabited, she always liked a challenge.
Fortunately you could still flag down a cab in the sixties. If anything, the streets were calmer and the traffic far less frantic. Even the pavements were in better repair. And for a sixties buff like Magenta even the smallest detail, like a billboard featuring a youthful Elvis Presley in his latest film, was a source of the utmost fascination. But there were some things she couldn’t get used to: the lack of central heating in her house, the ice on the inside of the bathroom window, a bed that made her feel like the filling in a particularly well-chilled sandwich.
Tucking herself in beneath a cumbersome sheet, and several thin blankets with a ridiculously small eiderdown perched precariously on top, she realised that her passion for the sixties had made her overlook the privations that had existed then. She had taken the best parts—the comfortable and exciting parts—and had romanticised them to fit in with how she thought the sixties should be. But the truth was somewhat different, as she was rapidly finding out. And now she only had a couple of hours in this frigid room to rest her head before getting up for work again.
The phone rang, annoyingly. Without opening her eyes, she risked one warm arm to reach into the chilly air and pick it up. The voice on the other end of the line was deeply male and instantly recognisable. ‘Magenta? Are you awake?’
‘Wh…wh…?’ How long had she been asleep? Five minutes? Less? ‘Yes?’ Magenta realised she was sitting bolt-upright and practically saluting.
‘Aren’t you out of bed yet?’
Quinn’s deep, sexy voice lacked all vestige of charm. ‘Of course I am,’ she huffed, getting tangled up in the phone cord as she rolled out of bed.
‘Good, because I’m at the office, and you should be too.’
She stumbled over the cord.
‘Magenta, what’s happening there?’
‘Nothing. Why?’ she demanded, untangling herself.
‘I can hear a lot of banging about.’
‘That would be the front door closing,’ she covered for herself, stretching the curly phone-cord to its limit as she peered through the open bathroom door. ‘Just getting the milk in.’
Quinn hummed. ‘Forget breakfast and get in here, will you? A national newspaper has announced that its first colour supplement will be launched in the New Year, and—’
‘And we’re going to be in it!’ she exclaimed excitedly.
‘That’s the plan.’
‘Fantastic!’ It was fantastic. And would be even more so if Quinn could only bring himself to trust her with the smallest detail, rather than expecting her to type up the minutes of his latest meeting. But first things first; the sooner she got herself back to the office, the sooner she was back in the game. ‘I’m just putting the phone down for a second,’ she said, knowing the phone cord wouldn’t stretch far enough. ‘Hang on.’
Rushing into the bathroom, Magenta looked in vain for the shower. She would have to take a quick bath—a cold bath, as it turned out. Too late now to notice the switch on the wall and realise she’d have had to turn it on some hours earlier if she wanted the luxury of hot water.
‘Fantastic?’ Quinn bellowed as she picked up the phone again. ‘Is that all you have to say about it? I can’t believe you’re awake yet, Magenta. This is a national first and I want a big, visual splash for Style Design in that first supplement— Magenta? Are you still there?’
Barely. She had stepped into the frigid water and made a big splash of her own. Down, up and that would have to do it. Teeth chattering, she reached for a small, scratchy towel.
No fluffy bath-sheet warming gently on a heated towel-rail.
No bath sheet, full-stop.
Lodging the phone between her shoulder and chin, she jumped about to keep warm as she flung open the single wardrobe door. Now here was a thing—a disposable paper dress in a black-and-white op-art pattern. Paper clothes would be put to good use in clinics in the future, though not in this flamboyant design. She smiled wryly. Goodness knew how, but dresses like these were making it to the fashion pages of the sixties, judging by the magazines she’d seen in the office. This particular company’s bold claim was that they were not only at the cutting edge of fashion, but were ready to supply disposable clothes for space flight and settlements on future moon-colonies.
How high would Quinn take her?
Thoughts like that definitely belonged in the realms of fantasy, Magenta decided as Quinn uttered a phrase that was bang up-to-date in whichever era he lived.
She settled for a safe wool dress, deciding to keep the outrageous paper mini-dress for the Christmas party. Why shouldn’t she break out that one time and surprise Quinn? Tradition demanded everyone let rip during the holiday celebrations, and surely that had been no different in the sixties? And wasn’t she incredibly comfortable around paper these days? She would just have to hope Quinn would see the irony in her choice of outfit. But that was for later. The sleek wool dress she chose for now was in an attractive shade of coral and had a wide, form-enhancing belt, which Magenta buckled securely. She looked the part and was determined to work the role fate had given her to the very best of her ability.
What else could she do? she reasoned as she soared upwards in the office lift. At least she’d get to see Quinn again—and, in spite of his manner towards her last night, she felt the customary buzz of anticipation as she walked into the office. She was already looking for him, practically scenting the air like a doe on heat searching for the buck. Yes, Quinn was a bad-boy, but would she seriously want to change her dream lover into a weed?
CHAPTER EIGHT
THIS sixties version of the office where she worked was more like a stark, bare stage than the technology-crammed work setting Magenta was
accustomed to, with its anonymous banks of twenty-first century computers and purposefully androgynous personnel. Here in the sixties everyone dressed to impress and showed off their assets to best advantage. Fortunately, she had adapted quickly to her new role as office manager, and found that her natural air of authority even had most of the men begrudgingly following her orders. Not Quinn, of course. The only orders Quinn followed were his own.
‘Always liked a strong woman,’ one of the men who had teased her earlier declared as she took the cigarette from his hand and stubbed it out.
‘No more of that,’ Magenta said firmly, realising that, the firmer she was with these men, the more they seemed to like it.
All except for Quinn, who when she did see him chose to ignore the fact that they had spent a large part of the last evening flirting—or verbal jousting, as Magenta preferred to think of it. He repeated his warning—with his lips very close to her ear—that she would pay the consequence if outside interests detracted from her work for him. Quinn had otherwise left her alone with a pile of work she was sure he had added to in order to punish her for oversleeping that morning. Not that her lips cared about that. They were too busy tingling from the memory of his kisses.
The day passed quickly, the only down side being the lack of Quinn. Magenta let Nancy and the rest of the girls leave early again, feeling they had spent another day under the heel of unreasonable men; she was equally determined that all that would change soon. If there was one thing she was determined to do before she woke up again, it was to make a difference for those girls.
Would she wake up if she fell asleep at the office? Magenta wondered, resting her chin on the heel of her hand. After all, she had woken up here at the office. Who knew what might happen in such an upside-down world? She glanced across at the group of men hanging around in the hope of being able to say goodnight to Quinn—and possibly kiss his backside too, Magenta reflected waspishly. It was nothing short of a miracle that women had found the energy to prove themselves in the sixties, in her opinion. And on top of that they were expected to run a home.
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