One Night Standards (7 page)

“We'd better not do this again,” she said softly. “This…or, you know. The other.”

“You're probably right.” And the regret was obvious in his voice. “Good night, Sophie Jones.”

“Good night, Mark McMann,” she said, then clicked off her phone.

It was the smart idea, she knew that for a fact.

So why do I feel like crying?

M
ARK HADN
'
T SPOKEN TO
S
OPHIE
since her late-night phone call, two weeks prior. He'd agreed to keep things professional. She was right: they both did have a lot at stake. But this was professional—this was business. Mrs. Marion had called both rival companies and invited them to a dinner meeting in San Francisco.

“I realize this is unorthodox, but I wanted to meet with all of you and lay down some of the parameters of the competition, as it were,” Mrs. Marion said, sitting at the head of the table with all the confidence and authority of a Mafia don. Or donna, Mark thought.

Mark sat there with his boss, Simone, and Carol, who had not been won over by his persistence and charm despite his concerted efforts. In fact, she openly resented the fact that Mark was there at all.

Too bad,
he thought, sending her a polite, sweet-tea-and-Southern-charm smile that she returned weakly.
In the end, this account's mine, sweetie.

Then he looked across the table, and his smile faltered.

The only person representing Diva Nation was Sophie, putting her at a distinct disadvantage. She was flanked by competitors, and while she wasn't exactly buckling under the strain, it was obvious that she was uncomfortable. She was assiduously avoiding looking at him, for one thing…. Something Mark was afraid the rest of the table would pick up on.

Not that he and Sophie had done anything, he assured himself. Not that they were
going
to do anything. That thought brought a bit more regret than comfort. But if she kept acting weird, he was afraid they'd assume that something had already happened. Especially after Simone's parting comment to him after the last trade show.

“The competition will have two phases, one at the National Cosmetics Trade Show in Las Vegas, and the second here in Marion & Co.'s home city of San Francisco,” Mrs. Marion said smoothly. “While presentation is going to be important, I want emphasis on knowledge of the target market. And I want to be wowed, ladies and gentleman. If I'm not…” She shrugged, her demure smile hiding what Mark knew were barracuda-sharp instincts. “No one
has
to win this competition, necessarily. Your two companies are the best of the best, as far as I'm concerned, for what we're trying to accomplish. But if I don't get something that will knock my socks off, then I won't award the contract to either of you. Those are the ground rules.”

Mark watched as that sank in with his colleagues. Sophie nodded somberly, causing one of the tendrils of hair held back by a barrette to fall forward, curling slightly around her jawline.

He felt his mouth go dry, and quickly took a sip of water.
Stay focused, McMann. She's a wonderful woman, no question—but business is business.

It wasn't fair, though. It simply wasn't fair.

“Trimera has been doing business with companies like yours for the past thirty years,” Carol chimed in, her tone just this side of smug. “I'm sure we'll be able to present you with something satisfactory.”

Sophie's gaze darted to Carol, the slightest hint of a frown crossing her face before she smoothed her expression out.

Mrs. Marion caught that, as well. “And what about you, Sophie? This is a big step for your company. Think you're up to the challenge?”

Sophie didn't answer immediately, studying the broiled chicken on her plate instead of speaking. When she did, her voice was calm and clear. “I think that sometimes, big companies can be out of touch with what people really want,” she answered carefully. “I know that we're small…but I also know that we're much closer to the target. Being small gives us a distinct advantage.”

Mark thought he heard Carol scoff quietly on his right. Simone simply smiled, even though her eyes were twinkling shrewdly. “Of course, that depends on the target. If you're targeting a more youthful market—I'm guessing you're in your twenties, if you don't mind my speculating on your age?” She didn't even pause for Sophie's response to that gibe. “You'll understand that younger generation. You'll be able to make the wild and crazy marketing that they seem to plug into.”

“Although,” Carol added, “Marion & Co. has a slightly older and more affluent demographic.”

Bam.
Like a one-two punch, Simone and Carol had managed to imply that Sophie was too young and inexperienced to handle this sort of account, and that she could only market to teenagers who shopped in supermarkets. It was like watching a contract hit.

Sophie didn't even bother concealing her frown this time. “That's not what I meant—”

“And you do have a lot of novelty products,” Carol added sweetly. “Those really are adorable. What's that one…your Caliente lip gloss? Very trendy.”

Now, Mark was getting annoyed on Sophie's behalf. They weren't letting her get a word in edgewise, and he knew, personally, that she probably wasn't working on a lot of sleep. Her eyes flared, and he had the feeling this was about to get ugly in a hurry—which was probably what Mrs. Marion had in mind to begin with. He could see Mrs. Marion presiding over the proceedings with a Cheshire-cat grin. She obviously liked seeing how people could react under pressure.

He suddenly hated seeing the pressure being exerted on Sophie. Not that he owed Sophie anything, he thought quickly. But his mama hadn't raised him to watch a girl get bullied, in any circumstances.

“Caliente. That's the lip gloss that has red pepper and chocolate, right?” he asked, his voice a shade too loud, effectively cutting across the polite verbal knife-fighting happening at the table.

Now all the women at the table turned to look at him—even Sophie. She nodded, her expression slightly puzzled.

“That's selling really well right now, I understand,” he said, ignoring Carol's glare. “The lipsticks and glosses that have an ingredient that causes lip swelling—mint, pepper, that sort of thing—is right on target, for any age group. Especially for women who don't want to shell out money for collagen injections.”

Now all the women except Mrs. Marion were frowning at him, including Sophie. Which made no sense, since he was trying to help
her
out.

“I haven't had the chance to actually study Diva Nation's product line,” he said, addressing Mrs. Marion, since she was the only one at the table who didn't seem put out with him. “But obviously, you can bet that I will. Really closely.”

Mrs. Marion laughed, delighted. “Well, Sophie, it looks like you're in for a fight. Are you up for it?”

Mark looked over at Sophie, whose heated glare could probably melt an iceberg. “I never back down from a fight,” she said in a tone appropriate for a blood vendetta.

What the hell did I do?
He frowned. Apparently, no good deed went unpunished.

“Neither does Trimera,” Carol put in, her tone equally fierce.

Mark shot Carol an annoyed look. Yes, they were competitors, but did she have to be so stupidly blunt about things? She was simply throwing gas on the fire.

“I'm well aware of Trimera's business practices,” Sophie replied smoothly, and her tone made sure that everyone knew the comment was derogatory.

Mrs. Marion sat up straighter at that remark, still smiling.

“Our head chemist and product designer used to work for Trimera,” Sophie added, taking a sip of water to punctuate her sentence.

“Really?” Simone's tone was surprised. Mark was surprised, himself. However, they were in marketing—and marketing never met the chemists. They dealt with the products afterward. “What made him decide to leave?”

“
She
decided to leave,” Sophie said, “because she was asked to.”

“You mean she was fired?” Carol interjected.

Now Simone and Mark both glared at Carol, who was oblivious, too intent on trying to insult Sophie to realize she'd screwed up.
Smooth,
Mark thought. He hoped Simone would report Carol's obtuse behavior back to Roger.

“She was downsized,” Sophie said without emotion, as the waiter took their plates away. “Apparently, she didn't really fit in with Trimera's vision anymore for product development. While it wasn't stated overtly, they thought perhaps her products were geared toward too
mature
an audience.”

Mark blinked a moment, floored that Sophie had so neatly turned the tables on them. She'd gone from being a young, inexperienced kid representing the teen market to a champion of the underdog, who obviously was fired because Trimera thought she was too old to develop cutting-edge cosmetics. If Marion & Co. wanted somebody trendsetting, they had Diva Nation…. And if they wanted someone who was mature, they
still
had Diva Nation. It also cast some doubt on Trimera's business practices—especially if they were willing to fire people who were too old. Hints at age discrimination, which he knew would not sit well with Mrs. Marion.

Beautiful,
Mark thought absently, as Sophie smiled serenely. Just beautiful. Sophie was playing them like a concert pianist.

He supposed he ought to be more upset about the whole thing. After all, Sophie
was
the competition here. But at the same time, he wasn't a fan of crushing people who never stood a chance in the first place. And she'd made damned sure that Trimera would not write her off.

Carol, he noticed, was seething. Simone was only frowning, the slightest pucker in her otherwise inscrutable facade. Which he knew, from experience, meant that she was pretty angry as well, but knew enough not to show it.

Yup. It was going to be an interesting competition.

Mrs. Marion obviously felt the same way he did, because she looked practically gleeful. “I think we all understand each other, here,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “Nothing like some healthy competition to bring out the best products, I always say. I can't wait to see what you come up with. Shall we order dessert?”

“I'll just have coffee,” Carol said sourly.

“A latte,” Simone countered. “Decaf.”

Mrs. Marion looked at Sophie. “Tell me I don't have to indulge on my own,” she said.

Sophie smiled, the edge of anger that had frosted her expression finally melted. “I never say no to dessert,” she replied. “And the Double Chocolate Suicide
did
look tempting. But I couldn't possibly eat the whole thing on my own. It was huge.”

“I'll split it with you,” Mark said. “I love chocolate.”

Sophie grinned. “I know.”

They smiled for a split second, then Mark quickly realized their gaffe. All the women stared at him—then at Sophie. Sophie, he noticed, looked aghast.

He shook his head. “My love of chocolate is legendary on the trade-show circuit,” he said lamely. Carol looked shocked. Simone looked smug. Mrs. Marion—well, her expression was one of amused inscrutability.

Oh, hell.

“Would you excuse me?” he said. “I have to make a quick phone call.”

He left, cradling his phone in his hand until he was safely in the hallway. Then he cursed himself under his breath. He didn't need to make a phone call. He only needed a moment to think the situation through.

It was a tiny comment. Practically innocent.

Simone was going to have a field day with that one innocent remark, he just knew it.

Of course—if they assume you're sleeping with her already, you might as well go ahead and do the crime you're being punished for.

For the first time that night, he felt an anticipatory smile cross his face.

“H
OW COULD YOU BE SO STUPID
?” Sophie muttered to herself for the fiftieth time.

She was sitting in her hotel room, mentally reviewing the dinner meeting. It had all been going so well. She'd been professional, but she hadn't backed down. She'd shown them that she meant business. Then, with two little words, she'd managed to portray herself as a floozy—somebody who was obviously too close to the competition.

“How else was I supposed to know that Mark liked chocolate?” she said, covering her face with a pillow and groaning.

For somebody who prided herself on her professionalism, she was doing a damned poor job of maintaining it when it came to Mark McMann.

The worst part was it was all her fault. If only she hadn't called him…If only she'd stuck to her instincts, kept it strictly business…