Insatiable (13 page)

“That depends. Are they steamy emails, like with naughty pictures and that sort of thing?”

“Definitely not!” I said, heat rushing to my face. “They’re just about the account. Progress reports, samples, that sort of thing.”

Anne pouted, disappointed, “That’s such a shame.”

I’d come down intending on speaking with her about the color choices in an ad scheduled to run in next month’s issue of
Wired
, but now I had to know what she was going on about.

“What do you mean?” I said. I kept thinking,
Be professional
, but it didn’t have its usual effect on me. I glanced back at the other members of the art department, but their work preoccupied them.

I wished I could lose myself in something like that so easily.

“I mean that you guys have something!”

That heat started in my cheeks again. “Yes, we have a business relationship. He’s my client. That’s it.”

“That’s not what I saw when he came by.”

I snorted, “I’m surprised you saw anything but Ward. You were like one of those cartoon characters whose eyes turn into throbbing hearts and your tongue unrolls down to your feet.”

It was Anne’s turn to blush. She was pretty. “Can you blame me?”

With no effort at all, I remembered the heat of Ward’s mouth against mine, the pulse of hot desire through my body, how close I came to giving in to him. “No,” I admitted, “I suppose that I can’t.”

She stuck her tongue out at me and we both laughed before continuing. “No, I definitely sensed something. He definitely has a thing for you. Guys don’t just drop in like that to check up on business stuff.”

“They do if they’re mega-wealthy CEOs with a lot riding on their next product release,” I said. The excuse sounded hollow even to me.

“Please,” Anne said, screwing up her face. “I’m right and you’re wrong. And you know what else? I think you have a thing for him, too.”

I snorted. “In his dreams, maybe. I can’t help the way he might feel, but I’m a
professional
. I don’t get into that sort of thing. It would violate our business relationship.”

Anne gave me a look that asked me if I really believed the words coming out of my mouth. I had to admit that I wasn’t certain I could use the business relationship argument anymore. Not when we’d kissed twice and I could recall the exact pressure of his hand on my ass.

“You’re different since you got that account,” Anne said.

“What? No way. Okay, maybe I haven’t been sleeping as much, but can you blame me! My whole career’s on the line here...”

“No, no. That’s not what I’m talking about. And I don’t mean it in a bad way. Not at all. You’ve changed.”

“Name one way,” I said, crossing my arms tight enough that my shoulder blades hurt.

“You’re wearing your hair down, for one,” Anne said, nodding at me.

I reached up and touched the locks of hair lying against my shoulder. I glanced away from her. “Yeah, well, it’s just getting a little long for the bun and like I said I’m kind of pressed for time to go to the salon.”

“Yes, it couldn’t possibly be because you know he likes it when you have it down. Not at all. Anyway, it’s not just that. You’re happier, too.”

I raised my eyebrow at that. “Ridiculous. I don’t think I’ve met a more infuriating man in my life. Besides, if this goes well it means I’ll make
junior partner
, Anne. The thought of a promotion makes me happy. Not him.”

She gave me her
Please
look again.
You know, she has a point
, I started thinking. I stopped that train of thought in its tracks. I’d given her perfectly reasonable explanations and she could take them or leave them.

“Shall I continue?” Anne said, an evil grin accompanying the question.

“No,” I said, “Can we talk about something at work actually related to our jobs now?”

“Sure, right after Trish leaves.”

“Nice to see you, too, hipster. I have a bone to pick with you about some concept pieces,” Trish said.

My stomach sank. I turned around to face her.

“Quinn? I almost didn’t recognize you from the back. You actually look a little bit like a girl today. How are things going with Vaughn Ward? Ready to move over and put him into the hands of someone who knows how to take care of his needs?”

I knew she was trying to get a rise out of me. I knew inside she was jealous of me and resented that I was better at this job than she was.

No rational thought could keep me from boiling over, though. “Phoenix Software is already being taken care of the way it deserves,” I said, surprised at my own ability to refrain from telling her that she
actually looked a little bit
like she’d just walked in off whatever corner she normally worked.

But hey, go me. Go willpower.

The corner of Trish’s mouth twitched and she looked me up and down. “You know, you’re definitely not his type anyway. I don’t see why you’re even bothering with the hair. Ever heard of a straightener, by the way? Because every other woman in Boston has. But hey, keep going like that and I’m sure Ward will be requesting a replacement any time now. So disregard my straightener advice, please.”

I wanted to reach up and touch my hair in indignation. My gorge started rising, the hurt and anger threatening to burn right through my cheeks.

Trish basked in the warmth of that and I knew I’d let her win again. I swallowed against the lump in my throat and turned back to Anne. “I’ll come back later.”

Anne winked at me and said so that only I could hear, “Don’t worry, I’ll put her work at the bottom of the pile.”

“Can you hurry it up?” Trish said, “Some of us actually have work to do.”

“Yes,” I replied, “Some of us do.”

I left the art department with all my blood boiling.
She’ll get Vaughn over my dead body
.

That thought stopped me in my tracks right in the middle of the hall. The intern pushing the mail cart behind me had to jerk to a halt to avoid running me over.

“Sorry,” I said, stepping out of the way and leaning against the wall. I didn’t think I could still feel so jealous and protective of Ward, not after our little chat at the bar.

More than that, I’d called him Vaughn. I never called him Vaughn, not even to his face. Always
Ward
or
Mr. Ward
.

Vaughn Ward, who hadn’t tried to contact me except to reply to my emails telling me he approved of my changes and suggestions to the upcoming ad campaign.

I did touch my hair, then.
Maybe Anne’s right
. Ward seemed to be keeping his distance now. Just like I’d always told him I wanted.

But if that was what I wanted, then why did I let my hair down? Why did I nearly explode in an angry fireball at the mere suggestion that I might lose him to Trish?

Not lose him. Lose the account.
I corrected myself. It didn’t feel so correct, though.

Finally, after three days, I let myself express the thought that had been lurking in the back of my mind since I’d stormed out of the bar.

Why hasn’t he tried to see me again?
I also remembered thinking that if I kept pushing him away he’d stay away for good. Was I already passed that point?

I told him I wasn’t worth it. Does he believe it now?
My heart sank at that suggestion.

I don’t know why I did it, but I went back to my desk and started researching him. Not his company, not his success, but him.

I typed his name into the Google Image Search and started scrolling through the results, my chin resting against my knuckles.

Work, you should be doing work,
I thought, making some token attempt to pull myself away from the search.
This is a kind of work. Understanding your client helps you meet their needs better
.

It was a weak excuse. How could an image of Ward at a red carpet event, or this one here of him in the stands at a baseball game, help me with ad material for Phoenix Software?

Still, I had to admit that I liked looking through the pictures. He was a good looking man. I wasn’t even certain what I was hoping to find, or what I was looking for. Just something.

And not seeing him in three days did get to me, a little. Maybe I wasn’t as googly-eyed about it Anne, but I still found him attractive.

On a whim, I set the date filter back several years.

There weren’t very many pictures. This would have been from around the time he was finishing college and I was just starting, I realized.

“What is this?” I said, perking up. One picture in particular caught my attention. I clicked on it, making it bigger.

It was a somewhat typical college picture. Three guys, clearly friends, their arms across each other’s shoulders. The young man in the middle bore a striking resemblance to a certain cocky, full-of-himself CEO I knew.

“It can’t be...” I muttered, squinting and leaning forward.

I remembered characterizing who I thought Ward had been in college to him at that pub. Handsome, cocky, a stick in one hand to beat away all the co-eds throwing themselves at him.

Then again, Ward had also scoffed at that notion. And now I saw why.

The man I saw in the picture was good looking. Or he would be, if he’d known how to dress, how to do his hair, that sort of thing. In the picture was a young man who was handsome and didn’t know it.

His smile was full and too innocent. His hair was too long, the scruff on his cheeks and chin too scruffy. And it looked like sometime between then and now he’d decided to pack some muscle on. His shirt was too baggy and clashed with his skin tone.

If I’d seen him at school I would have thought he was a member of the A/V or computer club.

I probably would have found him cute, too. The kind of cute guy who, when he got invited to parties, spent the whole time glued to the wall, trying to screw up the courage to talk to that girl he had a crush on from his English 101 lectures.

Not for the first time, I thought that I didn’t know who Vaughn Ward was. Maybe no one did. The picture in question was hosted on what looked like a long-forgotten college forum, so it wasn’t like people saw it every day or something.

What happened to him?
I wondered. Whoever he was then, he seemed happier than who he’d become now.

I leaned back in my chair, trying to process the image. I had to smile, too; he still surprised me at every turn.

“Who are you, Vaughn Ward?” I said.

My phone rang, the sudden noise making me jerk in my chair. I answered it, my heart thumping against my ribs. My eyes kept straying to the screen.

“Quinn, please come up to my office as soon as you can.” It was Ms. Spencer. Something in her tone made a pit open in my stomach.

“Of course, I’ll be right up. Can I ask what this is about?” I said.

“It’s better we talk in person. I’ll expect you shortly,” she replied. Then she hung up.

I pulled the phone from my ear and frowned at it.
What’s going on?
Ms. Spencer usually only met with me to discuss the results of my projects. She tried not to micromanage her employees, preferring to give them leeway.

People needed freedom to be their most creative, she told me.

I started closing the internet browser on my computer, getting ready to go. Then I clicked the picture and saved it to my hard drive. It was an old forum it was hosted on, who knew when someone might decide to take everything down?

When I got up to Ms. Spencer’s office I found her sitting behind her desk, as usual. She looked up at me over the rims of her glasses and I couldn’t decipher her expression.

For a panicked moment, I thought that maybe Trish’s threat had been prophetic. That maybe Ward had decided that he didn’t want me on his account anymore and that Ms. Spencer wanted to break the news to me in person.

Please don’t let that be it
, I thought. Then I knew it wasn’t the thought of losing the account and the potential promotion that made the pit in my stomach widen, it was the idea of not getting to see Ward again.

“You’ve changed your hair,” she said.

Unconsciously, I reached up with one hand and touched my hair, “Yes. I... haven’t had time to go to the salon,” I replied, giving her the same excuse that I’d given Anne.

I suppose if I said it enough times I might actually start to believe it myself. “Is there something wrong?” I asked, wanting to get to the point. I couldn’t help feeling nervous. I liked Ms. Spencer, thought of her as my mentor, even, but she intimidated me.

“I’m not sure,” she replied, sitting back in her chair and pushing her glasses back up her nose, “Is there one?”

I shook my head. “No, everything’s going great, actually. We’re on target for all the ads. Mr. Ward has approved the press release we’ll be sending out shortly. If anything, I think we’re actually ahead of schedule.”

Ms. Spencer smiled. The expression took ten years off her face, and I saw how pretty she was. With her hands on her desk like they were, I also saw no rings on any of her fingers.
Makes sense, I mean she is
Ms.
Spencer, not
Mrs.

I don’t know why that little detail chose that moment to surface in my thoughts. Then again, many unexpected things had happened to me over the past couple of weeks.

“I’ve kept my eye on you since you started here. You probably realize that,” Ms. Spencer said. “And I have to say, you remind me a lot of myself.”

I couldn’t tell if she meant that as a compliment or not, and therefore couldn’t decide whether I should thank her for the comparison. I stayed quiet, instead.

Ms. Spencer regarded me for a little before continuing. “And since it’s so unprecedented to have such a junior employee handle such an important account, I agreed with Mr. Callaghan and the other partners when they said we should keep a closer eye on you than usual.”

Something about that made my mouth and throat go dry. “What does that mean?” I kept thinking that I must have screwed up somewhere. Forgotten some important step. Spent too much money buying airtime or ad space. Something.

Ms. Spencer kept looking at me, and I could tell she was trying to decide on what to do. I felt so in the dark.