by Claire Adams
She paused for effect, to let everything she'd just said sink in—and it did. After a few moments, she continued.
“Now that I've told you everything that's wrong with the current campaign, let me tell you what I think we can do to change it, and to make it actually work. First of all, we have to completely drop this Marlboro Muppet, Raiders of the Lost Dork shtick. It's lame, it's dated, and it's overdone.
“We need something new, something fresh, something crisp. Something that's going to sell this image, this lifestyle—because, remember, that is what we're ultimately selling the public on: not simply a watch. I've been thinking a lot about this, and I have an idea that will totally kick start the heart of this campaign. Not only revive it, but turn it into a full-on monster.”
I chuckled, I couldn’t help it. This unconventional woman had just proven that her appearance wasn’t all that was unpredictable about her. After all, she’d just thrown a Mötley Crüe reference in and I wondered if anyone else had picked it up. It seemed there was more to this woman than the serious, go-getter image she was currently projecting.
Still, as attractive as I found her, I wasn't there to think about that sort of thing. I needed to concentrate on her ideas. And over the next 20 minutes, she presented some excellent ideas on how to turn the campaign around. When she was done, I was more impressed than I had been by an idea in quite some time.
After the meeting was over, I waited at the back of the room for her to pack up her briefcase before I approached her.
“Hi,” I said, extending a hand. “I really enjoyed your presentation. You have some rather interesting ideas.”
“Thanks,” she said glancing up at me with a smile—immediately sending ripples of electricity coursing across my skin.
“I'm sorry, I don't think we've met,” she said. “I'm Lilah Maxwell, and you are?”
“Andrew,” I replied. “Tell me, do you really think Asher Sinclair's campaign for these Harry Winston watches is that, er, lame? I mean, he put it together himself and word is he’s pretty good at what he does.”
She shrugged. “Maybe he did, but I call things like I see them and I don't pull punches for anyone. Even if he is the CEO of Sinclair. And even if he is the genius everyone says he is, on this particular occasion, he dropped the ball a bit. It happens to the best of us.
“However, while it's not my company, my job is my priority and I want to see whatever company I work for do the absolute best it can. I want to do my job to the best of my ability. If that steps on Mr. Sinclair’s ego a little, so be it. After all, my career is on the line as much as the firm's reputation.
“I've taken a personal interest in this campaign, and I intend to work my fingers to the bone to turn it around. We need to rectify the damage that’s been done with the Marlboro Man wannabe persona. And you saw my presentation—there’s a lot of damage.”
“Maybe he was under a lot of stress when he came up with this campaign.”
“Well, if he can't handle the pressure, he should make way for someone who can,” she replied. “That would be what’s best for the agency.”
“Oh, I don't think he has any problems handling the pressure,” I replied. “It's just that he sometimes has a little too much on his plate. He takes a very personal interest in everything the firm does.”
“Maybe he shouldn't,” she retorted. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a lot of work to do on this campaign.”
She picked up her briefcase and turned around to leave the now empty boardroom. Before she could, I stepped between her and the doorway.
“Before you go,” I said, my heartrate starting to increase with a sudden and unexpected nervousness. “I’d like to speak with you about something.”
She looked up at me with something mysterious sparkling in her gorgeous eyes. “Oh yeah? And what might that be?”
“My name's not really Andrew. It’s Asher. Asher Sinclair. And I must admit, Ms. Maxwell, you've impressed me. I want to hire you as an aide to work in my office on high profile campaigns.”
Chapter Two
Lilah
As soon as he approached me, I knew something was up. I'd noticed how intently he'd been watching me during my presentation from the back of the room. He certainly hadn’t been present in any of the meetings I'd been to before.
Granted, I'd only been working at the Sinclair Agency for a couple of months and it was a sizeable agency. There were a lot of people I hadn't yet met. There are some people you can’t miss, even in a crowd, and this man was one of them. There’s no way I would have forgotten him had I seen him before. I sure as hell wouldn’t have forgotten the charge of electricity coursing through me from one simple moment of eye contact.
I felt like the presentation had gone really well. My supervisor had been taking notes and nodding the entire time, shooting me impressed glances and giving me the sense that I was on the right track. I'd also noticed a lot of other people doing the same.
So when the handsome stranger approached, I was expecting the questions about my presentation, which I duly answered. What I wasn’t expecting was for the conversation to move to the subject of Asher Sinclair. I'd heard and read a lot about the man, even did my homework on him and his company before I submitted my application for a position with Sinclair.
From what I could gather, it sounded like he was a proper old-school type mogul—a child prodigy, workaholic genius, someone along the lines of a Steve Jobs who had taken what was already a great firm and, at the green age of just 20, had begun the transformation that had turned it into one of the greatest PR powerhouses on the planet.
Naturally, I'd been more than a little intrigued by the idea of Asher Sinclair, as most women would be. Rumors were that, even though he was secretive, kept an extremely low profile, and went to great lengths to stay out of the spotlight, he was drop-dead gorgeous, suave, and quite a hit with the ladies. Of course, rumors aren’t known for being accurate—especially in New York social circles.
But rumors aside, the impeccable, deliciously classy business suit he wore should have given me at least a semblance of a hint that he wasn't just another mid-level manager wanting to pick up a few tips. And it would have, had I not been so caught up in the post-presentation euphoria and been a little off balance.
It was that charge that left me off balance and a little off my game. Normally, my mind would be quick to analyze and be calculating about such details, but those piercing eyes had distracted me and I hadn't put two and two together.
Instead, I'd gone off on a rant to “Andrew” about how poorly I thought Asher Sinclair had handled the Harry Winston watch campaign. I really laid things out, no holds barred.
So when I found out that “Andrew” was in fact Asher Sinclair himself, mortified wasn't even close to how I felt. When he revealed that little secret, inside I wanted nothing more than to find a rock and climb under it. When you find yourself basically insulting your CEO's intelligence and talent to his face, well, a little sensation pops into your mind and pretty much screams:
Your life is over. Your career is over. You may as well pack up and move to the other side of the country.
I won’t lie, it's close to the worst feeling you can imagine. But it was mixed with another emotion: anger.
That's right—in addition to feeling horrified—I was also absolutely furious. I mean, who does that? It's the epitome of dishonesty to not only pretend to be someone else, but to use that disguise to get people to reveal things they'd never reveal otherwise.
So, when he offered me a promotion after the tirade I had just unleashed, I wasn’t quite sure I’d heard him right. I was still trying to decide if I wanted to sink into the Earth itself and be buried alive or knock his handsome head off his shoulders.
I kept my cool as best I could. I was in the right, and the opinions I'd expressed about the failure of the watch campaign were completely valid. I had no intention of backing down or apologizing for my comments.
After introducing who
he really was, he had told me how impressed he’d been by my presentation and offered me a promotion, but all I'd heard was, “My name's not really Andrew. It’s Asher, Asher Sinclair.” Everything after that had been an auditory blur as the world had come crashing down around me.
I did my best to maintain my composure. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sinclair, but what did you just ask me?”
He smiled, and I would have sworn there was something more than mere professional courtesy in that smile. Still, Asher Sinclair’s ulterior motives were the last thing I was thinking about. Instead, I tried to simply focus on his words.
“I'd like to offer you a position on my personal staff,” he repeated. “What you said and your vision for moving forward really impressed me and—”
“I'm so sorry I insulted your campaign so bluntly,” I heard myself sputter out. It was almost as if the words had a mind of their own. I didn't remember my brain issuing any such command to say anything by way of an insincere apology.
He chuckled. “Your honesty and candor are exactly why I want to offer you this position,” he countered. “You're absolutely right. I did drop the ball on this one. Even the best of us make mistakes sometimes. I have no issues owning up to my mistakes. I admit I made an error in judgment.
“Don't get too used to it, though. It doesn’t happen too often. I didn't get where I am by sheer luck, Ms. Maxwell.
“But, something tells me you’re the type to do her homework before taking a position with a company. I'm sure you're familiar enough with my former campaigns, and that I don't need to point out my success rate. Which means you also know that I'm not satisfied with what I've achieved thus far. I have higher ambitions. I don't just want the Sinclair Agency to be the biggest PR firm in North America, I want it to be the biggest PR firm on the planet. And, I feel like I can achieve this, but only if I've got the right people behind me.
“That’s where you come in, Ms. Maxwell—I need people who aren't afraid to tell me when I've dropped the ball, people who have revolutionary visions, people who have, as you seem to, an innate ability to understand what it is that sells a product. So, what do you say?”
I breathed in deeply, trying to maintain control over the mad tornado of conflicting emotions whirling around the inside of my head and the swarm of butterflies wreaking havoc in my stomach.
“Well, Mr. Sinclair, I’d like to know more about what the position entails. Could you give me a more detailed job description and allow me some time to think about it?”
“Call me Asher, please.”
“All right, Asher. But my questions still stand. Do I have to make a decision right now, or would you permit me a little time to consider your offer? With all due respect, it's a bit overwhelming, and I do enjoy the job I have now. While I do thrive under pressure, I’d still like to know what I’d be getting into.”
He nodded. “That’s a fair enough request. I'm sure you have a number of things you'll need to factor into your decision. I can tell you now, it's not going to be easy. I'm a stickler for discipline and hard work. But I'm also extremely generous when my people show me their worth. Extremely generous.”
I nodded. “I can appreciate that. I'm not afraid of hard work, not in the least. In fact, the tougher the task, the more enthusiastically I approach it.”
“I get the sense that you're a woman who enjoys taking on a challenge—that you're not easily intimidated.”
“Your would be right about that.”
“Excellent. That means you're just the sort of person I'm looking for on my team. I think you and I could go a long way together, Ms. Maxwell. There could be a very bright future ahead of you—if you make the right decision, of course. So, how about I give you a week to think about it. Does that sound reasonable?”
“Absolutely. Can I give you my card?”
“Please do. Would you prefer a call or an email?”
“An email would be great. I'm all over the place with meetings and I can't guarantee I'll be able to answer a call.”
“I know exactly what you mean. All right, I'll email you later with a detailed job description and you can let me know in a week what your decision is going to be—or sooner if the answer hits you in the middle of the might, as many good ideas often do.” The crooked smile he beamed at me caused a bit of warmth in places I didn’t want to acknowledge.
I returned the smile, though I doubted it had the same effect on him. “Thank you, Mr. Sinc—Asher,” I responded. “I'll definitely have an answer for you soon.”
“Great. I look forward to hearing from you. And now, I must get going. I have a conference to fly to in Hong Kong. My limo is waiting downstairs. You need a ride anywhere?”
“I don't, but thanks for the offer.”
“Anytime.” He turned to leave, but quickly spun back around. “One more thing. If you’ve done your homework, you know I like my privacy. Maybe anonymity is a better word for it. So, I’d appreciate you acting as if you have no idea who I am outside of the top floor. That won’t be a problem, will it?”
“Your secret is safe with me,” I chuckled with a smile.
“Wonderful. We shall chat soon! Have a lovely day, Ms. Maxwell.”
“Lilah,” I insisted.
He flashed that hotter-than-sin crooked smile again. “Lilah,” he repeated and nodded. With that, he turned and walked out of the room.
Once he left, I almost collapsed. I flopped down in the nearest chair, pulled my phone out, and dialed Eddie, my oldest brother and one of my closest friends.
“Hey, sis,” the familiar voice on the other end of the line answered. “What's up?”
“That would be the question of the hour,” I replied. “The craziest thing just happened and I have to talk to someone about it. You got time for a drink after work?”
“Absolutely. Are you all right?”
“I'm fine, I'm fine. Nothing to worry about. Just a little bit of insanity at work.”
“Cool. Meet you at McGinty's at 8:00?”
“Sounds perfect. I'll see you then.”
I ended the call, put my phone down, and let out a long protracted sigh. The day had certainly turned out to be quite a good deal more interesting than I’d expected.
***
“Hey, Peanut! Great to see you,” Eddie beamed as he stood up from the bar table and gave me a hug.
“Hey, Eddie, thanks for coming out tonight,” I said as we disengaged from the hug and sat down.
Even at ten years older than me, people still asked if Eddie and I were twins. Apparently, we favored enough for it, but we were also very close. Besides, even with the streaks of gray running through his full head of hair and a few fine wrinkles around his eyes, which were appearing now that he was almost 40, he didn’t remotely look his age.
Eddie had always looked out for me when I was growing up. He’d done his best to keep my other three brothers off my back—when he had been around, anyway. Eddie’s childhood was a little tougher than the rest of us had to deal with.
Our mom had died soon after I was born and it seemed like Dad worked all the time just to try to keep things together. My twin brothers David and Robert had been 3 years old when Mom died, and my other brother James had only been 4 and a half. The trauma hadn't affected the rest of us as much as it had Eddie, who had been 10 years old. He used to tell me about her. I think it helped him to remember as much as it helped me feel like I knew her.
After he graduated from high school, he put off college to play in a punk band and had sometimes disappeared for weeks or even months at a time. But he always called me when he hadn’t been around. He'd always been good to me, and there was an undeniably powerful bond between us. I often felt like he was the only person I could really trust in this world.
“So, how's life in the corporate world?” he asked with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“Never a dull day,” I replied. “How's the music business?”
He'd actually done pretty well with his band. Over the years, they
'd gone from sleeping on people's living room floors after gigs or all crammed in a ratty van in a parking lot, to being signed to a respectable label and touring internationally. It was a good thing, too, since he’d never be happy in the “real” world.
“Oh, not bad, not bad at all. Still trying to recoup from jet lag after the Japan tour, but we're right back in the studio tomorrow working on tracks for the new album. No rest for the wicked, as they say,” he said with a chuckle.
I laughed. “I’m so happy things are going well for you guys.”
“Thanks. Me, too. I'm glad I stuck with it. But enough about me, what's going on with you, Peanut? You sounded a little frazzled when you called me earlier.”
“Oh, man, it was a crazy day, just off the charts.”
Eddie nodded as he swigged on the beer he had already drained halfway, while I'd only managed to have a few tentative sips of mine. I told him everything that had happened that day, while he listened attentively.
“So, this Asher guy—he's a real big shot, huh?”
“You could say that. He's the CEO and he owns the company, so, yeah. Oh, and he's been mentioned in Forbes more times than I can count and—”
“Yeah, all right. I get it. He's a big deal in the corporate world, but how does he strike you as a person? Leaving out all the power and prestige and all that corporate impressive stuff—is he, personally, someone you'd be comfortable spending a lot of time around and interacting with on a daily basis?
“I've been all over the place, and met all kinds of people, from millionaires to bums and everything in between, and while I can't say I have much experience in the world of suits, boardrooms, and briefcases, I can tell you that a person's character is absolutely the most important part of who they are.
“So, try to forget about what this guy has achieved and think about who he is. Is he someone you're gonna be able to spend a lot of time with and someone your gut says you can trust? Is he gonna inspire you, or is he gonna be putting you down? Is he genuinely interested in who you are and what you have to offer, or does he just want a pretty face to brighten his day? What do your instincts tell you?”