That New York Minute (3 page)

No way a man could smell this good without help. “Rach
el,
” she corrected. “Strange, I don’t remember that sissies line from your award-winning Calvin Klein Fragrance campaign.”

“That was last year. I believed in cologne last year.”

Typical of his
here today, gone tomorrow
style. “Whereas I prefer to take a long-term, truth-based approach,” she said. Which did
not
mean she was tame.

Garrett gave her a pained look through half-closed eyes. “Integrity in advertising,” he said. “Interesting concept. But not, I fear, a partnership-winning one.”

Floor fifty-one. Nearly there, thank goodness.

“Who else do you think will be here this morning?” Garrett asked abruptly.

No thinking required. “Just Clive.”

“That’s what I figured.”

Clive Barnes was the only other executive creative director, the same level as Rachel and Garrett. His seniority meant he had to be on the partnership shortlist. But…

“Clive’s a nice guy,” Rachel said.

“You know what they say about nice guys.” Garrett’s white teeth flashed.

Out of loyalty to Clive, who’d been at KBC almost as long as she had, she sent him a disapproving look. But she didn’t consider Clive a threat, either.

The elevator dinged to indicate they’d reached their destination. Finally. She couldn’t wait to get out of here and spend a few minutes alone, restoring the calm confidence she would need during breakfast. She stepped toward the doors, but they didn’t open.

Garrett pressed the open button. Nothing happened.

“Come on,” Rachel muttered.

Garrett was already stabbing at the intercom. It rang three times—prompting more wincing from the hungover Shark—before an operator answered.

“We’ll have you out of there in a jiffy, sir,” the woman chirped, once she ascertained how many people were in the elevator and that no one needed medical treatment. “Well, when I say a jiffy…hmmm…okay, we have a software glitch, but don’t you folks worry about a thing!” She hung up.

Rachel groaned.

“Just go with the flow,” Garrett advised her. “Live in the moment.”

She turned her nerves on him. “I don’t know why you bothered to come in when you’re so,
ahem
—” sarcastic, fake throat-clearing “—unwell. Get real, Garrett, and get out of here. You don’t have a serious shot at this partnership.”

He eyed her for a long, silent moment. “You remind me of someone,” he said. “Someone I don’t like.”

Ow.
That definitely qualified as a shark-nip. One she deserved, if she was honest—she shouldn’t have let him rile her.

But you should never show weakness to a shark.

“Your opinion won’t matter when I get the partnership,” she said. “I’ll be your boss.”

His hands slid into his pockets and he leaned back against the wall. Instead of being scared off by her splashing about, she had the distinct impression The Shark was beginning to circle.

“Protesting too much, methinks,” he said.

He couldn’t really believe he would beat her, could he?

The intercom buzzed. Rachel lunged for the answer button. Garrett reached it first; her fingers, clammy with sudden anxiety, pressed against his. She whipped her hand away.

“How’re you folks doing?” the operator trilled. “Just wanted to let you know we’re almost done fixing you up. We’ll have you out in that beautiful New York summer day in just a—”

“Jiffy,” Rachel muttered. She pressed the off button. “Thanks a lot, Doris freakin’ Day.”

Garrett said, “My mother used to love Doris Day movies.” Something flashed across his face, maybe shock that he’d told her that much about himself.

“So your mom has bad taste,” Rachel said. “She probably likes
you,
too…though if she’s ever seen you hungover and surly she might think twice about—”

She stopped. His face had shut down so completely, it was as if he was no longer in the elevator.

Uh-oh.
“Um, Garrett, when you said your mother
used
to love Doris Day, was that past tense because Doris Day retired, or—” she cringed “—because your mom died?”

He stared at the stuck doors as if he could see right through them.
Now
he rode the elevator like a proper New Yorker. “Both.”

Damn.
“I’m sorry,” Rachel said. It felt inadequate, when she’d been sniping at him the last fifty-six floors. “How did she—how long ago…?”

His gaze cut to her. “Today’s my birthday.”

She grabbed the non sequitur gratefully. “Happy birthday! So, that champagne last night…”

“It’s also the anniversary of my mother’s death,” he said. “So, yeah, I’m hungover and surly, as you so delicately phrased it, but I have my reasons.”

His skin looked suddenly pale in the elevator lighting. Rachel opened her mouth, but couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“And, yeah,” he continued, “maybe Doris Day is too perky and not to your taste, but when my mom was dying of cancer, those movies were the only thing that kept her smiling through months of chemo. Doris Day was the difference between an unbearable day and an okay one.”

Man, she had totally screwed up. “Garrett, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Rachel stretched out a hand, half thinking he might bite her arm off. Half
wanting
him to because she felt like such a jerk.

Before she could get within prey distance, the elevator doors hissed open.

Garrett shot her one last disgusted look, and left.

CHAPTER
THREE

R
ACHEL
PULLED
THE
END
OFF
her
croissant and shredded it into tiny pieces.

She’d far from sparkled
throughout breakfast, which should have been an opportunity to impress those
partners she didn’t work with. She’d been distracted first by Garrett’s
presence, then by her guilt over dissing his mother. On the anniversary of
her death. Which happened to be Garrett’s birthday.

She groaned inwardly.

Her one weakness in her work was
that she wasn’t good in unexpected situations. Give her a creative briefing
and a week, and she could come up with a fabulous pitch. Ask her to spout
ideas off the cuff and she was hopeless. This morning’s breakfast…it wasn’t
a pitch, but she’d prepared for it in the same way, thinking hard about how
she could outshine Clive Barnes, anticipating questions.

She hadn’t imagined Garrett
would wreck her relationship last night, then show up like a hungover
nemesis this morning. Or that she would say something so tactless as to
leave him looking utterly bleak. No wonder she had zero spur-of-the-moment
techniques for outclassing him in the eyes of the other partners.

At the far end of the Key Bowen
Crane boardroom table, Tony Bowen, chief executive officer, pushed himself
out of his maroon leather chair. An immediate hush fell.

“I hope you all enjoyed your
breakfast,” he said.

Rachel murmured her appreciation
for the shredded croissant on the plate in front of her. Garrett hadn’t
eaten, either, probably more from nausea than nerves—he’d drained a couple
of cups of black coffee. Only Clive had tucked into his food with
gusto.

“It’s time to get down to
business,” Tony said. “We don’t call this the partnership shortlist
announcement breakfast for nothing.”

Rachel laughed
politely.

“So I’m delighted to announce
that our three candidates are Clive Barnes, Garrett Calder and Rachel
Frye.”

Why did he say my name last? Please, let
it be alphabetical.

A round of applause from the
existing partners. Only one of them was female. Definitely time for another
woman on the team.

“It’s been some years since our
last partnership vacancy, but the selection process hasn’t changed,” Tony
said. “All three candidates will be required to prepare a new client pitch,
with the help of their team. And I’m delighted to say that this year, we
have an opportunity that’s worthy of your best efforts.” He paused for
effect. “Brightwater Group.”

Wow. One of the largest private
education providers in the country was looking for a new ad agency? The
account would run into tens of millions of dollars.

Rachel took quick stock of her
rivals. Clive’s expression was neutral—he was strongest in sports
advertising, so this wasn’t his forte. Farther down the table, Garrett’s
eyes were closed. Was he asleep, or was his shark-brain already devising
some incredible campaign that would blow hers out of the water?

Not on my watch, buster.
When it came to expensive fragrance or luxury
cruises, Garrett might be hard to beat. But for campaigns aimed at the
family market—Aunt Betty’s pies were a prime example—Rachel was the go-to
gal. Brightwater was exactly the kind of account where she excelled. Its
facilities might be private, but it was targeted firmly at lower income
families.

The confidence Garrett had
managed to puncture with his stabs at her creative ability surged back.
I can do this.

“We want all of you to have
every chance to impress us.”

Tony was talking about the
partnership; Rachel steered her attention away from The Shark.

“That’s why we’re going to be
up-front about the reservations we have about each of you as partner
material,” Tony said.

Reservations?

“Ladies first.” Tony nodded at
Rachel.

Oh, yeah, the
not-good-at-thinking-on-my-feet thing.
She tried to simultaneously sit up straight and look flexible. Garrett
smirked.

“Rachel, you’ve been with us a
long time, and your loyalty means a lot to us,” Tony said.

She smiled loyally.

“But we wonder if that makes
your work a little…what’s the word…stale?”

Excuse me?

“No, that’s not it,” he said.
“
Safe.
Your
team’s work is solid, but safe.”

Was that the same as
tame,
as
Garrett had called it?

“Well, Tony—” Rachel cleared her
throat, her face hot “—my clients place a lot of trust in me, and I honor
that trust by not taking unnecessary risks.”

A faint snort from Garrett, who
no doubt thought that taking risks won CLIOs.

Possibly true.

“The results of my campaigns
speak for themselves,” she said.

“They do,” Tony agreed. “And
they’re saying
safe.
We’d like to see your work winning some awards out
there in the marketplace.”

“You’ve always said KBC is about
more than flashy awards,” she reminded him. “It’s about teamwork, and the
whole being greater than the sum of the parts.”

Garrett snorted again, louder
this time. Obviously a loner like him wouldn’t share that view.

Tony chuckled. “Seems our
clients are quite attached to those gold statues. Bottom line, Rachel, if
you want to make partner, we’ll need to see more risk-taking, more
brilliance.” Why didn’t he just come out and say it: more
Garrett.

Rachel forced a smile. “Then
that’s exactly what you’ll get, Tony.” Dammit, risky brilliance was so not
her thing. The partners would likely never have made such a demand, if
Garrett hadn’t come in and made her look
tame.

“Moving on to you, Garrett.”
Tony grinned at Mr. Brilliant Risk-Taker. “From the day you arrived at KBC,
you’ve shaken up our creative work and we’re all the better for
it.”

Garrett nodded an
acknowledgment.

“Obviously you’ve moved around
the industry somewhat,” Tony continued.

“I’ve had some excellent jobs,”
Garrett agreed. Which wasn’t what Tony had said. “I appreciate the chance to
make partner at KBC.”

Why now?
Rachel wondered.
Why
here?
She knew why
she
wanted—needed—this
partnership, but why couldn’t Garrett keep on flitting around the
industry?

“Good, good.” Tony nodded his
approval. “But the real issue for us is your team skills.”

Garrett stilled. Rachel half
expected to hear the
da dum…da dum…
theme from
Jaws.

Tony looked slightly nervous. “A
partner must be capable of motivating a team and forging strong
interpersonal connections.”

Based on something other than fear of
losing a limb,
Rachel could have added.
Just last week she’d spent half an hour in the women’s washroom comforting a
junior account exec Garrett had chewed out.

Exactly the kind of behavior
that made him unsuited to the one-and-only partnership up for
grabs.

“We’d like to see more evidence
of your ability to engage with your colleagues, in particular your team,”
Tony said. Several other partners nodded.

“I can do that.” Garrett’s voice
was arctic.

Ha! It was all very well to sit
there broodingly handsome,
but handsome is as
handsome does, buddy.
The old aphorism
of her mother’s made Rachel smile for the first time since he’d stepped into
her elevator.

Mom was right…which meant this
wasn’t so bad. Garrett might be a genius, but he had never made the
slightest effort to engage with others, and he was well-known for his
scathing put-downs. A shark didn’t change its spots—fins?—that
easily.

All I have to do is let Garrett harpoon
himself in the foot with his own inability to be part of the team. The
partnership’s still mine.

“Excellent.” Tony rubbed his
hands together. “That’s it, then. Good luck to all of you.” He raised his
coffee cup in a toast, then sat down.

“Uh, Tony?” Rachel said. “What
about Clive?”

A lip quirk from Garrett…but he
looked interested in Tony’s answer.

Clive, ever the nice guy, said,
“Thanks, Rachel,” as if he meant it.

“Sorry, Clive.” Tony didn’t
bother to get up. “What can I say? Your last couple of creatives have really
sung, your team’s working great together…we’re very impressed. Just keep
doing what you’re doing.”

Rachel’s gaze swung to
Garrett—she saw her own shock mirrored in his eyes.
Clive Barnes
could do
nothing to improve? Did that make him the front-runner? Now that she thought
about it, he’d won a CLIO a few years back.

Dammit, how had this meeting
gone so wrong? If she’d been more on the ball she wouldn’t have allowed Tony
to get away with saying she was too “safe,” wouldn’t have allowed the others
to agree. With her lack of a real denial, she’d effectively proved his
point.
Idiot.

“There’s something else you all
need to know,” Tony said.

He launched into a commentary on
the tough economic climate. Advertising budgets were down, in line with
household expenditure. Old news. Was he softening them up for an
announcement that the chief creative officer wouldn’t earn as much as they
might hope? Disappointing, but money wasn’t everything.

Rachel popped a flake of
croissant into her mouth.

“I want you to know that this is
as difficult for me to say as it is for you to hear,” Tony said.

She paused in her
chewing.

“HR has been assessing our
staffing needs in the current economic climate,” he continued. “They’ve
determined that KBC is top-heavy.”

“Too many partners?” Garrett
suggested.

Rachel fought an inappropriate
urge to laugh.
Go ahead, Garrett, that ought to
win you a few votes. Not.
She swallowed
her croissant.

“Not exactly,” Tony said. “Too
many executive creative directors.”

The croissant stuck in her
throat; Rachel coughed.

There were three executive
creative directors at KBC, and they were all in this room.

“You want to get rid of one of
us,” Garrett said. Way too calmly. Didn’t he realize this was a
disaster?

“
Two
of you.” Tony turned disaster into
cataclysm. Rachel felt as if her throat was closing up. Her eyes started to
water.

“Whoever isn’t named chief
executive officer will be deemed surplus to requirements and therefore
redundant.” He might have couched it in HR-speak, but they all knew what he
meant.
Fired.

Rachel gulped down her cold
coffee, clearing the stuck croissant. “Tony, you can’t mean that. We’re all
assets to the firm.
Loyal
assets.”

Okay, Garrett wasn’t loyal, but
she didn’t need to point that out.

“
Expensive
assets,” Tony said. “And I
have a hundred and eighty-five loyal staff on the two floors below. If we
don’t rationalize, the whole company suffers. This will give us a chance to
promote a couple of deserving people to creative director.”

The firm already had four
creative directors, a level lower than executive director and therefore less
well compensated.

“This approach seems
shortsighted,” Clive said. “The firm’s reputation is likely to
suffer.”

“We believe this will be a
wonderful opportunity for junior staff to rise to the occasion,” Tony said.
“Now, it goes without saying that all of this is confidential. It’s only
fair to give you guys a heads-up, but we don’t want staff to feel it’s not
worth giving every one of your pitches their absolute best.”

Rachel glanced at Garrett and
for one brief moment, she could read his thoughts, plain as day. Total
contempt for Tony’s maneuverings. An intention to quit in
disgust.

Do it,
she urged him silently.
Move on to your next firm now. Improve my odds.

To her disappointment, Garrett
said nothing. Maybe he would quit later.

Tony stood, signaling the
meeting was over. Dazed, Rachel pushed back her chair, headed for the
elevator with Garrett and Clive.

Her stomach churned. Fired.
I could be fired.
Eight years, up in smoke, just like that.

We can start over.
Another of her mother’s sayings.

But I can’t. I can’t start over again. I
won’t.

The elevator spat them out onto
the floor where the real work was done. It was barely eight o’clock, but
most people were at their desks.