Gray Quinn's Baby (7 page)

T
HIS
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.

So what had changed? Magenta wondered wryly. Things were pretty much the same in the twenty-first century.

Quinn appeared and everyone straightened up. Even Magenta was guilty of trying to give a good impression. There was no harm in looking; Quinn was one good-looking man.

‘Still working, Magenta?'

She was surprised when he came over to her rather than heading for the men.

‘This is good,' he said, scanning her latest idea.

‘And when it's finished you can see it.' She covered her work protectively.

‘You should share your ideas,' Quinn told her.

‘And I will,' she said. Just as soon as she had organised a team. She was determined to recruit from the typing pool and the switchboard. She had to get those girls believing in themselves so they could leave the corral behind for good.

‘When can I see it?' Quinn's gaze sharpened.

‘As soon as we're ready.'

‘We?' he said suspiciously.

‘This type of work is usually undertaken by a team.' As his eyes narrowed she could tell she'd gone too far. ‘What I mean to say is, with your approval, I would like to canvas opinion in the typing corral.'

‘The typing corral?'

Why was she staring at his lips? ‘I mean the women who type,' she said carefully. It wouldn't do to put his back up. Not yet. ‘They're closed off from the rest of the office as if they're in a corral.'

‘And?' Quinn queried.

‘We're losing out on their opinions. I just thought that maybe their thoughts on the various products you're promoting could be useful to you.' She spoke mildly but felt like a tigress defending her cubs.

‘Perhaps…' Quinn thumbed his sharp black stubble.

‘And I have another idea for you.'

‘Why aren't I surprised?'

Was Quinn trying to overwhelm her with that incredible stare? ‘I realise I'm only the office manager, but I thought if you would allow me to build a team—in my own time, of course—perhaps we could test our ideas, one team against the other?'

‘Men against women?' Quinn looked immeasurably smug, as if the end result were a foregone conclusion. ‘You're serious about this?'

‘Never more so.' She held Quinn's stare, feeling her body's response to him like a flame of heat that brought her blood to boiling point. But she had to ignore those glorious eyes and focus on her goal. ‘I've heard that slots for advertising in the new colour supplement are so sought-after they are going to be decided by a team of style-setters.'

‘I've heard that too. We have to be at the top of our game.'

‘Which is why I thought if everyone was involved you could cherry-pick the best ideas to produce the final, winning scheme.'

‘You don't give up, do you?'

She knew better than to respond to that.

‘I hope you don't make me regret this.'

‘So you agree?' Holding Quinn's gaze was dangerous, but she was fast becoming an adrenalin junkie.

‘If this is a wind-up, Magenta…'

‘I promise you, it isn't. I just know that some of those girls are going to want to be involved, and that some of them are bound to be good.'

‘You like a challenge,' he said.

‘Doesn't everyone?'

‘No. Most people like to play it safe, but not you. You seem to thrive on living dangerously—which is good,' he added when she was about to say something, ‘because I have plans for you.'

Magenta's heart leapt for all sorts of reasons, any of which she'd settle for.

‘I'm going to give you the chance you've asked for. I've got nothing to lose,' Quinn pointed out with a shrug. ‘I'm going to give you the running of the year-end party too. That's coming up fast—do you think you can handle the pressure?'

‘I'll handle it.' Here in the sixties it was some way to Christmas, so she had plenty of time.

‘And don't bring me any old ideas. Think outside the box, Magenta.'

Which was exactly what Magenta and her twenty-first-century counterparts were renowned for. Now she just had to adapt that flair to a different era.

‘Well, don't just stand there—go work on your ideas. We'll have another chat in the morning.'

‘Yes, sir.'

Magenta was thrilled to think Quinn might let the girls have a chance. But had she taken on too much? She would have to get a credible team together as fast as she could and be ready to present to a judging panel of one.

‘Those trials you mentioned?' Quinn said, turning at the door.

‘Yes?'

‘Warn the girls I'll be looking for their opinion on a selection of new products.'

‘I will.' This wasn't a victory—not even close—but it was a great improvement on how she had felt when she'd first fallen down the rabbit hole.

 

The following morning Magenta put her plan to the girls. She'd fully expected them to look at her as if she were mad. What she couldn't have expected was that they would warm to her ideas quite so quickly. She guessed that had everything to do with her explanation that it would mean going head to head with the men.

‘But Quinn has the final word,' Nancy observed. ‘How does that work?'

Magenta slipped down from her perch on top of the table in the ladies' room, which was where they had assembled to be sure of being out of earshot of the unfair sex. ‘If there's one thing I know about Quinn it's that he's first and foremost a businessman.'

‘A warrior with the eyes of a lover,' one of the girls argued, shivering deliciously as the others murmured their agreement.

Why was she so jealous, suddenly? Magenta wondered, quickly smothering that thought. ‘He'll certainly fight for the company.' She had to believe that. ‘And he wants that contract. You're wrong to be concerned, Nancy. Quinn might be tough, but he's fair.'

She was sticking up for Genghis Khan now! But the girls were agreeing with her, so she'd stick with that line for now.

‘Is it going to be a fair fight, or is this just a ploy by Quinn to keep us quiet?' Nancy demanded.

‘It's a genuine competition—just as the competition for inclusion in the new journal is genuine. I wouldn't waste your time otherwise. Put a challenge in front of Quinn and he can't resist it—neither can I, neither can you. And I'm as sure as I can be he'll play fair.'

‘But would he ever go for our ideas over those of the men?'

‘Why not if they're better ideas, Nancy? And what do we have to lose? This is a fight to better our jobs.'

‘And smash the men!' Nancy's cheeks were already glowing at the thought.

‘Don't forget the pleasure it will give us,' Magenta reminded her.

‘When we bury those worker bees?' a girl with sweeping glasses suggested to agreement from her friends. ‘We're with you, Magenta.'

‘There's just one more thing.'

‘Which is?' Nancy said suspiciously.

‘We have to do something first to help Quinn, to demonstrate how cooperative we can be.'

‘I might have known it,' Nancy exclaimed to a background of groans.

‘You might enjoy it,' Magenta said hopefully.

‘If it includes typing, cleaning or extra coffee-making duties, I'm out,' Nancy assured her.

‘Are the men expected to pre-qualify too?' one of the other girls asked.

‘I think we all know the answer to that question,' Magenta admitted. ‘But let's concentrate on things we
can
change rather than worrying about those we can't.'

‘So, what do we have to do?' Nancy demanded, hands on hips.

‘Trial a few products?'

‘Oh, that sounds nice,' Nancy said sourly. ‘Let me guess—pan scrubs, sweeping brushes and limescale-removal cream?'

‘Make-up, beauty products and clothes, actually. And you get to keep the samples.'

‘Quinn's buying us,' Nancy observed sceptically as the other girls exclaimed with pleasure.

‘No. I believe Quinn genuinely wants our opinions,' Magenta argued. ‘It's as simple as that.'

‘Nothing is ever as simple as
that
,' Nancy commented, studying her nails.

‘Maybe not,' Magenta agreed. ‘But are we going to let a few tubes of lipstick stand in our way?'

‘No,' the girls shouted, while someone else chipped in. ‘This is bigger than lipstick. This is a fight for freedom.'

‘To the barricades!' Nancy exclaimed as everyone laughed. ‘But don't forget to put your make-up on first.'

‘So, are you with us, Nancy?' Magenta asked, turning serious.

‘You bet I am. After what I've taken from those men today, I'm itching for a fight.'

 

She might have known, Magenta thought as she entered the room where they were to trial the products at the head of her girls. Sweet little dressing-tables had been set out for each of them as if they were life-sized Barbie dolls. On top of these was spread an array of high-end beauty products guaranteed to make any woman's heart beat faster. Fortunately, both Magenta and her newly formed team knew how to play it cool—which was just as well, seeing as Quinn's team was standing ready with their clipboards waiting to take down their thoughts.

‘How nice,' Magenta murmured, as if trialling nail var
nishes and lipsticks was all her candy-floss heart had ever yearned for. She gestured that her team should choose a seat, and the girls smilingly obliged—but then they were in on the surprise Magenta had in store for the men.

Said men could hardly keep the smiles from their smug faces, though Quinn appeared quite relaxed about the trial he'd set up. And gorgeous, Magenta registered, with his crisp, white shirt rolled up to the elbows and beautifully tailored black trousers moulding the shape of his muscular thighs and hips with obscenely loving attention to detail. Undressing such a spectacular specimen would be a privilege…

‘Aren't you going to sit down, Magenta?'

‘If there were enough chairs.'

‘Here, take mine—I won't be needing it,' Quinn explained as he held out a chair for her.

There was a distinct rustle of expectation in the air as the men adopted serious expressions. Once again, they were ready to jeer and jibe at the slightest cue from Quinn, but he remained brooding and unmoved. And now all Magenta had to do was to discover if she was as bold as she had promised the girls she would be on their behalf. Picking up a lipstick, she pursed her lips. ‘Glittering Fool's Gold,' she murmured, straightening up again. ‘What do you think of it?'

‘What do I think of it?' Quinn said, frowning.

‘Yes. What do you think of it?' Magenta repeated, standing up. She had everyone's attention now. ‘According to men, women do everything for their benefit—so surely your opinion matters more than ours?' She tipped her chin to stare Quinn in the eyes, all the while smiling pleasantly. ‘Would you like to taste it?' An audible intake of breath rose around her, but before there could be any misunderstanding she handed the lipstick over to Quinn. ‘You don't have to put it on. You could lick it, or suck it.'

Taking her arm, Quinn drew her out of earshot of the others.

‘This is a serious trial and you're a disruptive influence. What the hell do you think you're playing at, Magenta?'

‘Conducting a serious trial,' Magenta insisted in a heated whisper. ‘This lipstick looks as good as the one I use, but it tastes like medicine mixed with pond swill. Would you kiss a girl wearing something like that twice?'

Quinn's eyes narrowed dangerously and it took all her strength to hold his gaze without flinching. The glint in his eye said she'd gone too far again, but he couldn't argue with her motives. ‘I'll give you the benefit of the doubt this time,' he said. ‘But keep it straight from here on in. No jokes. No
double entendre
. Don't try any more tricks. Understood?'