One Night Standards (10 page)

“Very interesting,” Mrs. Marion said, and there was nothing smug or baiting about it, unlike her interactions with Carol. “It's not too retro, is it? I mean, it wouldn't be old? You've got Greta Garbo, Betty Grable, Veronica Lake…”

“Marilyn Monroe, Catherine Deneuve, Audrey Hepburn,” Sophie continued. “I think it's just retro enough. If you consider the fact that you're partnering with Diva Nation—that is, if you decided to partner with us,” she said, smiling cheekily at Mark and Carol, “you'll already have a built-in element of urban cool. This way, you're not alienating your older client base, and you're also drawing in a younger demographic.”

“Fascinating,” Mrs. Marion said. “So we win, all the way around.”

It was brilliant, Mark thought. Sophie and Diva Nation had correctly read Marion & Co., developed a perfect, bite-sized presentation, and had subsequently blown Trimera out of the water.

“Well, you two have definitely given me a lot to think about,” Mrs. Marion said, although she barely looked at the Trimera side of the room. “Lily will send you the parameters for the next meeting. You've shown me concepts—now, I want you to show me products. Good luck.”

With that, they were dismissed. He saw Sophie high-five her sister before whispering, again, with her mother. They were all triumphant. But before they could leave entirely, Sophie shot him a look that he couldn't quite place. He kept thinking of it after she left, and as Carol picked up the pieces of her crumbled presentation.

Now, he suddenly got why he couldn't quite place Sophie's last gaze. Normally, it was one of either nervousness or pure desire.

This was one of apology…and possibly pity.

Grimly, he set his jaw. She'd been right. Sex between the two of them could be disastrous.

For him.

“W
E DID IT
! W
E DID IT
!”

Sophie smiled weakly. Her mother and sister were doing victory dances in their hotel room, which was definitely hampering their attempts at packing to leave.

“What's the matter, Sophie?” her mother finally said, frowning. “You're certainly not acting like we've aced one of the biggest meetings of our lives.”

“We haven't won anything yet,” Sophie said cautiously.

Lydia made a raspberry sound at her. “Buzzkill,” she accused. “We kicked ass and you know it.”

Sophie felt a reluctant grin creep across her face. “We did pretty good,” she acknowledged.

“Pretty good? Ha! We made those guys
squirm!
” Lydia trumpeted.

Sophie winced. She shouldn't feel badly. After all, it wasn't as if she had done anything unethical. They had beaten Trimera soundly, and on good solid principles.

Still, it hadn't felt good to watch Mark get trounced.

He would be the first to tell you that it was just business, Sophie.

She took a deep breath. Of course, he had told her that after they'd made long, languorous love, back in a hotel room in San Francisco…and he'd assured her that they could keep their emotions separate from their logical, professional lives. It had been almost a month since she'd seen him again, and she hadn't even spoken to him in the interim. She'd indulged in a few brief text messages, saying she was thinking about him. He'd sent back slightly more graphic texts, ones that had stirred her up even as she smiled, thinking about them.

And now, their first face-to-face had resulted in her whipping his company—beating him. She wondered if he still had the same stance.

“Honey, you really need to learn to loosen up,” her mother said in her singsong voice. “You'd think we lost, with that look on your face. What's bothering you?”

Sophie tried to school her expression to something less worried. “I was thinking about what we've got ahead of us.”

“Oh,” her mother said, her expression also reflecting concern. “Are we in trouble, then? I thought we'd done really well.” She wrung her hands, sending Lydia a quick look. “I thought—you know—the company was going to be fine.”

Lydia made a dismissive gesture, grimacing at Sophie. “You're always focusing on the negative, sis,” Lydia said. “I know this thing's a big vendetta for you, a way of sticking it to big companies like Trimera for what they've done to people like Mom. But you've got to learn to savor your victories. Smell the roses. Stuff like that.”

“Whatever.” Sophie tried not to roll her eyes.

“Don't do that,” Lydia warned. “I know you. You're thinking, Lydia went to art school, she's too granola-hippie-flower-child, but I know what I'm talking about here. You're going to burn out if you don't take a break.”

“This stuff is too important to the company,” Sophie said around a sigh. “I'll take a break when it's all over.”

“There are more important things in life than business,” Lydia intoned, and it reminded Sophie of her phone conversation with Mark, who had said something similar.

“I know,” Sophie said. “I just…It's hard for me to turn my back on it.”

“Nobody's telling you to abandon Diva Nation,” Lydia said, her voice more gentle. “But you're no good to any of us if you snap and flip out before the deal's done.”

Sophie took that silently. For all her “flower-child” ways, Lydia could be very pragmatic.

“You need to find some sort of stress relief,” her mother said. “You need a hobby.”

Sophie laughed. “What, like macaroni art?”

“No, wait, Mom's onto something,” Lydia agreed. “You definitely need to figure out a way to replenish. Mom's going to be doing the heavy lifting for the next round, anyway. I'll do packaging, Mom will do product. You should do something to take the edge off in the meantime.”

“We can talk about it when we get home,” Sophie said, feeling weary right down to her toes. On the flight back to L.A., she wanted to go over the numbers Carol had been spouting off about Trimera. Carol might have misread Marion & Co., but Sophie could use that information nonetheless….

To Sophie's surprise, her mother shook her head, taking her suitcase out of her hand. “Your sister and I have decided,” she said firmly, “that you need a vacation. You should stay here in Vegas for the weekend.”

“Here?” Sophie said, grimacing. “Why? I don't even gamble.”

“The hotel has a great spa,” Lydia said as she finished packing her own suitcase. “There's art galleries, there are shows, there's a ton of stuff to do. Mom and I will get to work, but you definitely need a break. So don't show up at the office until after this weekend.” Lydia scooped up Sophie's laptop.

“Hey!” Sophie made a grab for it, but her mother prevented her, shaking her head.

“Your sister's right. You're working too hard,” her mother said. “So take this weekend off. We love you.”

They both hugged her, then took their luggage and left.

Sophie sat in the hotel room, looking around, feeling restlessness jittering across her skin. Without her laptop, she had nothing to do. She still had the adrenaline from the presentation pumping through her system, but no outlet for it.

I wonder where Mark is?

She felt a flush of excitement start to curl through her, starting with her stomach and radiating out to her breasts and between her legs. Now that the excitement and stress of the presentation had passed, she felt almost dizzy with relief.

If he meant what he said,
she thought, stroking her fingertips over her cell phone,
then he's absolutely right. Being “involved” didn't affect our business one bit.

The more she thought about it, the more liberating the idea became. She had thought that sleeping with Mark would be one of the most disastrous acts in her life—personally damaging, as well as professionally, since her business and personal life were so inexorably intertwined. But she'd had an incredible night with him, and then she'd managed to pull off one of the biggest successes in Diva Nation's history.

She grinned broadly. She was worrying about nothing. And she really
did
need to relax, and get rid of some stress.

I know the perfect hobby.

She called up Mark's cell phone. It rang several times, then shifted over to his voice mail. “I can't answer the phone right now,” his voice said, the drawl eliciting another shiver through her. “Please leave a message.”

“Mark,” she said after the prompt, her own voice going husky. “I'm staying in Vegas through the weekend. I was wondering, do you think you'd be free? I don't know what your plans are, but I'd love to spend some time together.”

She left it at that, hanging up. She hadn't packed anything sexy, so she decided to go down to the hotel shop. It was Vegas, she reasoned. There had to be a lingerie shop somewhere in Sin City.

She smiled. Mark might make the perfect hobby, after all.

T
HAT NIGHT
, M
ARK STAYED UP
in his room at the hotel, refusing Carol's halfhearted dinner invitation. The two of them had already said all that needed to be said after the presentation itself.

“Well, that went swimmingly,” he'd said, as Carol had packed up her laptop disconsolately. He didn't want to tell Carol
I told you so.
No—he
did
want to tell her that, but knew it wasn't the productive thing to do. He'd watched as Sophie and her family had left, obviously ecstatic. He couldn't quite sort out his own feelings at that point. All he knew was Trimera had lost. Not just lost—they'd made fools of themselves.

If only I'd pushed Carol harder,
he thought frantically.
If only…

There were too many “if only” statements that could be made. None of them were productive either.

If only I had been able to get my mind off of Sophie Jones…

He sighed. That was the least productive of all.

“Mark, we need to talk.”

This, from Carol. Mark had grimaced, then had decided to put his best “we can work it out” face on. “Sure,” he'd said easily. “We didn't do as well as we'd hoped—” and if that wasn't an understatement, he didn't know what was “—but I still think we can pull it out for next time. In fact, I have a few ideas—”

“You know,” Carol had interrupted him, a pensive look on her face, “I've decided that you were right. About everything.”

Her abrupt about-face caused him to goggle with surprise. He got his composure back a moment later. “I'm right about what?”

“You should have been point person on this product proposal,” she said with a decisive nod. “In fact, I'm going to go back to my room and call Roger and Simone right now.”

“Uh…thanks,” he said finally. Carol was a pit bull—seeing her give this up was like watching a starving fight dog walk away from a sirloin steak. Although, she wasn't known for her altruism, either. “Why the sudden change of heart?” he added carefully.

She shrugged. “It's obvious that you know the client,” she said simply. “You even know the competition.”

He wasn't sure if there was a dig in that last remark, but for the most part, he gathered that the whole thing was a compliment. She was finally acknowledging he was more than a pretty face—someone to charm female distributors out of lots of sales. He was more than fancy packaging. His chest swelled with pride, but he kept his tone modest. “Thanks, again. I appreciate it.” He frowned. “I get the feeling Roger might not share your enthusiasm, though.” But now that he'd won Carol over, things might be starting to head his way.

“Not to worry, I'll handle that,” Carol assured him. “I'm sure you can handle the next meeting, the San Francisco one, by yourself. Besides, I've got a ton of other work that I should have focused my attention on, anyway.”

He felt the slightest chill of apprehension. This was more than making him point person. It sounded as if she was stepping out entirely. “Well, your work has been very valuable….”

“And I'll send out an e-mail to everyone,” she said, snapping her laptop shut and zipping it into its case with a loud flourish of finality, “letting them know that from now on, Marion & Co. is your baby. Everything will be in your hands from now on. This is your project—run with it.”

That was when it hit him, and he went cold.

She wasn't acknowledging his intelligence, his strategy or his skills. She had already determined that this account was a loser, which would piss off the powers-that-be something fierce—and she was distancing herself from it as fast as possible. What was more, she was putting
him
in front of it, so when it failed, all people would remember was “it was Mark McMann's baby, and he flubbed it.”