Ship of Dreams (Dreams Come True Series Book 2) (3 page)

“No. Okay, yes. But they have this pair of hot pink satin pumps. And I swear they’re calling my name.”

“You and your shoes. Focus, Imelda.”

“Right. I have enough shoes anyway. Said no one. Ever.” If there was one thing that could distract her, it was shoes, of the über expensive variety. Well, that and a hot man—preferably one with an accent. “Okay. I’m back.” With one last glance at the delicious window display, she refocused her attention. “What else you got?”

“Two of their ships, the
Sogni D’oro
and the
Fantasia
, carry approximately fifteen hundred passengers, but their newest addition to the fleet is a thousand-passenger ultra-luxury liner they’ve christened
Nave dei Sogni
.”

“Right.
Ship of Dreams
,” Laura muttered to herself. “That’s the one I want.” Fitting. “Ask Sanjita to make the arrangements—the earliest date possible. And I want the penthouse.”

“But—”

“I’ll personally make up the difference in cost. No one will ever suspect an occupant of the penthouse is an account executive. Let me know if I need to pull a few strings with Jackson.”

“Damn, Laura. I repeat, I want to be you,” Katie huffed out.

“Not if I don’t get this account, so have Sanjita get me on that ship. ASAP.”

“How’s the honeymoon?” Laura set aside
the spreadsheets Katie had created on Imperial, and took a few minutes to prop up her feet, and catch up with the new Mrs. Darcy Butler Ryan, her newlywed best friend. A half-eaten salad sat on her desk, long abandoned in her analysis of the numbers.

“Oh, Laura, it’s so romantic. Long walks on the beach, candlelight dinners, breakfast in bed.” Darcy sighed. “It’s perfect.”

Laura rolled her eyes at Darcy’s effusive, dreamy description, but she couldn’t be happier for her. After years of searching for the perfect man, Darcy finally found him right under her nose—in the form of her best guy-friend, Josh Ryan.

Now they were spending two weeks at the Four Seasons in Nevis. “And how is the ambulance chaser? Missing the sound of sirens yet?” She couldn’t resist, even though she knew Josh didn’t practice personal injury law. She and Josh had a long-running battle over who could deliver the sharpest jab.

“Are you two going to poke at one another until we’re old and gray? Besides, he’s a mediator now, not a lawyer.”

“Just because he’s your husband doesn’t mean I can’t use him for target practice. And once a shyster, always a shyster. But on to more important things. How’s the sex?”

“Laura Danforth Armstrong, I am not going to discuss my
married
sex life with you. It’s too personal.”

Laura winced at the use of her middle name—her mother’s maiden name. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She accepted a note from Sanjita, glanced at it, and nodded in response. “Come on, throw me a bone. I’ve hit a dry spell.”

“What, no hot new guy with a sexy accent?”

Laura had an affinity for men with foreign accents. Darcy once accused her of hanging out at the U.N. to pick up guys. She thought about Jack Jeffries, but quickly moved on to her knight-in-tropical-weight-wool. Tall, good-looking Nathan.

He had a sexy accent—a Southern one. And a devilish grin. “No, and I won’t have time in the weeks ahead, anyway. Which reminds me, I won’t be home when you get back so you’ll have to save the vacation slide show for later.”

“Why, what’s up?”

“Remember that cruise line shopping for an ad agency? Well, I’m going after it, and I leave that week for a ten-day Mediterranean cruise.”

“You have such a tough life.”

Laura laughed. “Said the pot to the kettle. Let’s see, two weeks in Nevis this month, followed by two weeks in Napa and Sonoma after you return.” Laura and Josh had thrown aside their rivalry to surprise Darcy with a two-week trip for her thirtieth birthday. A best-selling romance author, Darcy’s next series was set in California Wine Country. They thought the trip would jumpstart the inspiration. And, at the time, give Darcy a much-needed break from her all-out pursuit of Mr. Right.

“Lots of men with accents on that trip.”

“Yes, but most will be old enough to be my grandfather.”

“Well, don’t injure yourself playing shuffleboard in hooker heels.”

“I’ll try not to. Gotta run. I’ve got some work to finish up, and my personal shopper from Neiman’s called. I see a new bikini and maybe a slinky new dress or two in my future.”

“I repeat, you have such a tough life.”

Drawing the tie from his neck, Nathan walked through the door of Hawk
Media’s corporate Upper East Side apartment and dropped his briefcase on the floor beside the foyer table.

Boxes still stood, waiting to be unpacked. He’d had no time to settle in, so far unpacking only the essentials. Since the apartment was furnished, his own furnishings were in storage until he could find a place to buy.

Something with a view, he thought, or maybe something with a tidy yard. Of course, he’d pay twice as much in New York for a place half the size of his home in Atlanta. But the farm came first.

The boxes would have to wait a little longer. His days would be long until he left for the cruise in two weeks. And after he returned, who knew when he’d get around to them. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, he opened the bottle of scotch he’d managed to unearth last night and poured two fingers. Toasting himself, he let the honeyed warmth glide down his throat.

And, leaning against the counter, thought again of Laura.

For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he didn’t ask for her number. Or at least her last name. Oh yeah, because he wasn’t after women. He was after a certain cruise line account. Not, he thought, that she would have given him her information even if he’d asked for it.

Funny, as a leg man, he’d have thought those long sexy legs of hers would have been the main feature he’d remember about her. Especially since he’d had his hand wrapped around one of those legs.

But it wasn’t the first thing that came to mind when he thought of Laura. It was her eyes. Cool and deep like a mountain lake. Then there was that mouth. Full lips, a half smile that formed a hint of a dimple at the very corner. A very kissable mouth, that.

Scrubbing his hand through his hair, he reminded himself he had no time to fantasize about what else that enticing mouth could do. Odds were, in a city this big, he’d never see her again anyway.

Swallowing the rest of the scotch, he retrieved his briefcase for the spreadsheets he’d be up half the night poring over.

Fishing the last shrimp from her Pad Thai, Laura popped it in her mouth before resumi
ng her draft of the creative brief for a clothing line by a hot new designer. The BoHo clothes didn’t suit Laura’s taste level, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t work up a kick-ass creative brief.

In the hush of the office—everyone else having left a couple of hours earlier—Adele sang softly from the computer about turning tables. Another hour, two at the most, and she’d have it finished. Then she could head home for her hot date . . . with a Brad Pitt movie on Netflix.

She jumped at the knock on her door and coughed as she almost swallowed the lump of partially-chewed crustacean. “Jesus, Curt, you scared me. I thought I was the only one left.”

He smothered a chuckle. “Sorry about that. I saw a light on and came to investigate.” He approached her desk and slumped into a chair. “Why are you still here?”

“I’m finalizing the creative brief for the Kim Sun Lee account.”

“I didn’t think the team needed that for another two weeks yet.”

Laura shrugged. “No sense in waiting when I can get it done now.”

He looked around her office, then out the window at the dimming summer light. “No, why are you still here?” He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost eight-thirty on a Friday night.” He eyed the spreadsheets, sketches, and notes piled on her desk alongside the takeout boxes. The half-finished bottle of water. The diet soda can. “Don’t you have a home?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she pointed out as her fingers continued to fly over the keys, glancing up in time to see his soft, sad smile that said
touché
.

“Shelby’s visiting her sister in Maine, and the kids are at a sleepover. I thought I’d catch up on a few things.”

“Same here. Since I’m leaving in a couple of weeks, I want everything in order before then.” That, and her parents were in Manhattan and had asked her to join them for dinner. Well, her
mother
had asked her to join them, anyway. So she’d needed an excuse. To hide.

Hiding.
That’s
what she was actually doing. Hiding from her parents. Just like she’d done when she was a teenager. Only then she’d done her hiding at Darcy’s.

“Come on.” He picked up a container and, looking in it to find it empty, tossed it into the trash. “Let’s go. I’ll buy you a drink, then see you home.”

“Curt, you don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t. Let’s go. That’s an order. Besides, I have something to talk to you about.”

Laura hesitated a moment, wondering what he needed to speak with her about. “All right.” Saving her work, she clicked off her computer and grabbed her purse and tote bag.

“So what is it you need to talk with me about?” Laura asked, as she took a seat at a table in a trendy little
bar on East Seventy-Sixth Street, not far from Giddings-Rose.

“Let’s order first,” Curt said, as the waitress approached their table.

“Come on, Curt, you’re killing me here.” Getting nothing else from him, she relented and ordered a Sonoma Cab. She wanted something stronger, but decided against it, in case the topic turned serious.

Curt ordered a scotch, neat, and the waitress left to get their drinks.

Laura leaned across the table. “Are you going to keep me in suspense all night?”

“I don’t know. I might. It’s not often I see the unflappable Laura Armstrong squirm. It’s kinda fun.” His face bore a mischievous expression.

“Fine.” She folded her arms and gazed out the window at the pedestrians. The only telltale sign of her anxiety the bouncing of her leg beneath the table.

Curt chuckled.

The waitress delivered their drinks, and after taking a sip of his scotch, he spoke. “You asked me to talk to Duncan about a vice president position for you.”

She paused a moment, with the wineglass halfway between the table and her mouth, before regaining her composure long enough to take a sip of her wine. She nonchalantly reached under the table and placed her other hand on her still-bouncing leg. Duncan Giddings was the agency’s CEO, and the third generation Giddings to run the agency.

“As you know, Dave is retiring in August, and we’ll need to fill the opening. Also as you know, Giddings-Rose likes to promote from within.”

Laura held back a groan. Curt could be rather longwinded and often circled his point like a plane circling LaGuardia Airport. There was one other candidate whom she thought had a shot at the position, Rusty Maltby.

He’d been with the firm two years longer than she and he’d recently scored an international cosmetics line. But he’d also gotten drunk at the last holiday office party and made a pass at Duncan’s trophy wife.
Woops.
The only reason he didn’t get canned was because he didn’t know the woman was the latest in a long line of Mrs. Giddings.

“I met with Duncan this morning. It was a good meeting . . .”

As Curt waxed on about the various topics of discussion, Laura’s frustration grew. Just when she’d begun to think there was no point to the story even remotely connected to her, if any such point existed at all, he said, “So, if you bring in the Imperial account, the job is yours for the taking.”

“Wait. What?”

“The job. It’s yours if you bring us Imperial.”

Her leg started bouncing again. Her poker face firmly in place, she nodded, while inside she was doing a fist-pump. “Thank you, Curt. I appreciate you going to bat for me. I won’t let you down.”

With the pitch set for the end of July, she could be a vice president—the next step in Laura’s Life Plan (a.k.a. The LLP) of becoming one of the most powerful women in advertising—by her sixth anniversary with Giddings-Rose. And not long after her thirtieth birthday, which would make her the youngest VP at the agency.

Not bad for, in her father’s words, a monumental failure. Not bad at all.

Take that, Daddy Dearest.

Chapter 3

The past two weeks had flown by, and Laura’s last day in the office was packed with meetings. First, a meeting with the research team to finalize the research plan for the cruise, followed by a briefing with the creative team for another client, an up-and-coming beverage company targeting the young and health-conscious, then a meeting to review the preliminary art and copy for a high-end jewelry store chain.

First up, Imperial. With some key members of the research, social media, and brand planning and development teams gathered around the table, Laura opened the Imperial account meeting. “What have we got?”

Havi, the social media guru, tossed out, “Lack of social media presence. What’s there is dying on the vine without a communications plan and a staff dedicated to monitoring its content. They need to take control of the message to communicate with clients and potential clients, use it to distribute information, connect with customers with real-time updates and responses to questions. As we all know”—Havi indicated all the thirty-somethings sitting around the conference table—“Millenials, their target demographic, tweet. A lot.”

“This is the primary reason Imperial can’t reach their target demographic,” Celeste added. “But also because Imperial’s brand is dated. When the target audience looks at Imperial, they see their grandparents’ cruise line. It’s going to take more than adding a new ship and more adventurous itineraries. Odds are their typical passenger is confused by the line’s latest offerings.”

“So brand confusion is an issue,” Laura muttered as she entered notes into her iPad. “Since they don’t want to throw the Baby Boomers out with the bathwater, a new line with fresh branding could work.”