One Night Standards (6 page)

Roger smiled indulgently. “Not well enough, obviously, to—”

“If you'd read the last report I sent, you'd know exactly why we're stuck in this mess.”

Now the rest of the team was more than gaping—they looked horrified. Being assertive, or aggressive, was one thing. Committing career suicide in public by challenging one's extremely temperamental vice president…well, now, that was something else.

Smooth move, McMann.

“I see,” Roger said, in a flat tone of voice that said he was purely pissed off. He glared at Simone, as if it were her fault things had gotten out of hand.

Simone hastily shuffled some papers on the desk, keeping her voice brisk. “You know, I think that a compromise might work. If Carol took the lead, and Mark worked with her, he could bring his competitive knowledge and his familiarity with the account to the table, while she could hone the message and get the product side in line. What do you say?”

Mark sent a silent prayer of thanks that Simone was firmly on his side. She was far more diplomatic, for one thing—and she'd been playing internal politics for years.

“We'll talk later,” Roger said sharply, “but since you seem so intent…fine. McMann, you're working with Carol. I'll expect to see preliminary notes by next week. Pull the meeting together. And don't screw this up,” he said, with obvious menace in his voice. “I want this one locked down.”

With that, he stalked off. The team let out a sigh of relief as Simone instructed them to go back to their desks. That is, everyone except Carol, who was looking both exceptionally arrogant and irritated.

Gonna have a problem with you,
Mark noted.

“Mark,” she said, “I'll have my assistant pull together the meeting, and I'll get the notes done, as well. Why don't you send me any information you have on Diva Nation and Marion & Co. in an e-mail? Or give me any copies of paperwork you have.” She smiled, an echo of Roger's humoring grin. “I'll start working on the actual presentation.”

“I'll work with you, Carol,” he said, keeping his voice smooth.
Charm,
as Roger had said. “A lot of my knowledge isn't on paper. I'd rather we just work together.”

She set her face in a frown. She was a slender woman, with red hair cut in a straight bob, and eyebrows so sculpted they looked chiseled onto her face. She'd had a problem with Mark since the day he'd joined the team. “Mark, can I talk to you for a minute?” she said in a low voice.

He nodded, allowing himself to be pulled aside, knowing that Simone was studying them intently. “Yes?”

She took a deep breath. “Look, it's obvious that Roger doesn't really want you on this project. So why don't you let me do the bulk of the work?” Her eyes were like laser beams in their intensity. “No offense, but I know that this stuff—reports, this kind of leg work—isn't really your strong suit.”

He winced.
Remind me again how that's not supposed to offend me.
“I'm curious—what makes you say that?”

“Well, you've never done something like this before,” she said, as if it were patently obvious.

“But I've worked on lots of projects,” he countered. “Hell, lots of people on the team have asked me for advice. And Simone knows nobody knows competitive info like I do.”

She frowned, as if amazed he was still putting up a fight. “Well, you're a sales guy. You don't have the background…”

“I got my MBA two years ago,” he said shortly. “In marketing.”

She sighed. “You don't know how we work.”

It was like battering up against a concrete slab. He sighed. He wasn't going to win if he fought her way—supposed rational arguments, business talk. He only had one choice left.

He leaned forward, smiling…his most winning smile. He made sure he focused his gaze on her as if she were the only woman on earth. It was something they'd always talked about on the catwalk, back when he'd modeled.

She swallowed hard, obviously taken off guard.

“I won't get in your way, Carol,” he said, his voice pitched low, almost intimate. “I know that this is a big deal, and you've probably done tons of marketing launches and competitive proposals. I'm only asking for a chance.”

She blinked at him. He'd never turned the full force of his charm on her before—he hadn't wanted to waste the energy, and frankly, he always felt a little dirty when he used it this deliberately. Still, he knew the minute she started to waver.

He deliberately pulled his drawl out to a ribbon. “Please,” he murmured. “It would mean a lot to me.”

She flushed slightly, and looked away, taking a deep breath before looking back at him. “I…I'll need to do most of the work, though,” she said, and then cleared her throat so her voice didn't sound so ragged. “And we'll need to make sure that I'm the one that does most of the talking.”

“Of course,” he said easily. He didn't agree, but he'd tackle that later—he had a
yes
and he wasn't going to mess with it, just as he'd always learned in sales. “We'll set up something tomorrow to touch base, would that be all right? Then get all the details ironed out.”

“All right,” she said, although she finally sounded a lot less sure of herself. Then she walked away.

Mark gathered his papers together, and Simone walked up beside him. “You are amazing.”

He paused, picking up his pen. “How's that?”

“I didn't think anybody could chill out Warrior Princess Carol,” she responded, with a light chuckle in her voice. “But if anybody could, it would be you, huh?”

He chose to ignore that. Simone was his boss, and sort of a friend, but her sense of business ethics could get somewhat hazy. “Thanks for standing up for me with Roger,” he said instead, focusing on her kindness.

“It's time. I know you're smart, Mark,” she said. “You just need a chance, that's all. So—what else do you know about Diva Nation?”

“Not as much as I'd like,” he admitted. “They're not very big, but their products are amazing—really outside the box.” He smiled slightly, remembering. “I know that they've got a perfumed body lotion that is practically hallucinogenic.”

“Really,” she said, her voice ripe with speculation. “I probably don't want to know how you know that.”

He realized he was letting something slip, and quickly clammed up. “I'll buy their entire product line before I meet with Carol. And I'll know a ton more by tomorrow.”

“You know,” Simone said carefully, “I couldn't help but notice you had a bit of a connection with that Diva Nation woman—Sophie, her name was. Right?”

“She's a nice woman,” Mark said carefully. “And just because we're competitors doesn't mean I need to hate her on sight, does it?”

“I'm merely saying,” Simone continued. “She seemed to like you, too. Maybe you could see what you could find out. I'm sure she'd be happy to talk to you on some kind of neutral ground.”

Mark felt it again—that dirty, unethical, icky feeling. “Trust me, she's not the type.”

“Already tried, huh?” Simone laughed, and in that moment, Mark wished he were anywhere but here. “I might've guessed. You're going to be a great marketing guy, and you're going to knock this one out of the park. You'll be one of the best.”

He smiled weakly, then fled. If being one of the best meant using a sweet person like Sophie…

He shook his head. It wasn't as if he had anything with Sophie, and even if he did…well, he wouldn't do anything to jeopardize that, he promised himself. He just wouldn't.

S
OPHIE GLANCED AT THE CLOCK
by her bed. Ten o'clock. Early, by a lot of people's standards. Unfortunately, she knew that sleep would evade her for another three hours, at least. She felt wired, even though she'd deliberately only drunk decaf all day. She'd gotten a good chunk of work done: she had most of the slides ready for the Marion & Co. presentation. She was a little nervous, but more excited—the sign that it was going to go very, very well.

But right now, she wasn't thinking of the presentation. She was thinking, as usual, about Mark McMann.

She pushed her face down into her foam pillow. They'd agreed not to have any contact other than professional—after all, they were in competition, their paths would cross. But they had to be very, very careful, so no one would suspect how close they'd come to…well, getting very, very close. No friendly chats in elevators, no random “bump-into” exchanges in the lobby. Certainly no drinks in the hotel bar.

It also meant she sure as hell shouldn't call him.

She sighed heavily. Even without the competition, she knew they shouldn't get involved in any way, shape or form. Men who looked like him did not under normal circumstances go for women who looked like her, for one thing. And while Sophie knew she wasn't ugly, she wasn't about to pass for a model any time soon. She also knew that he had plenty of women going after him. He probably had no shortage of willing applicants for the position of bed warmer, and no doubt had spent plenty of time with a variety of them. And that type of man wasn't her type at all.

She thought about Troy, her last and longest-lasting relationship. He had been tall, geeky, with blond hair and glasses. He was a finance analyst, and a good one. They'd met in the MBA program at the University of California, San Diego. In her case, it had been love at first sight. They'd been friends first, but she'd always known they'd shift over to lovers.

What she had not known was they should've stayed friends. She'd nearly smothered in all that comfort and compatibility. And she had to admit, she'd been shocked when he'd said the same thing, just before he'd broken up with her. She'd been the best study-buddy he'd ever had, but he just couldn't see himself marrying her.

Not that you want to marry Mark.

She flipped over. She ought to get up and do something. Clean something. Maybe do some more work, even though she doubted it would be usable, what with her mind highballing as it was at a million miles an hour. She really ought to start that meditation that Lydia had raved about. She ought to do
something.

Flashback to Mark, pressing her into the bed at the hotel…his weight, his strength, the gentleness of him covering her. How there had only been thin layers of cotton between the two of them and one night of what she felt sure would be unforgettable bliss.

She shivered uncontrollably.

You are insane!

She only barely realized she'd picked up her cell phone and dialed his number.

“Mark McMann,” he said, sounding tired.

She stared at her phone, aghast.
What are you doing?

“I'm so sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn't mean…”

“Sophie?”

“Is it too late for me to call?” She winced. “Certainly, it's too late for me to call. You're on the East Coast. It's, what, one o'clock in the morning? Listen, I'll—”

“Don't hang up.” He chuckled, and she reveled in the sound, wrapping around her like mink. “I'm glad you called. And don't worry, you didn't wake me. Strangely enough, I couldn't sleep.”

She closed her eyes, picturing him next to her. “Funny. Neither could I.”

“You know, I can hear the smile in your voice,” he pointed out. “It's nice.”

She felt like a teenager, talking to a boy for the first time. Her hormones were probably off the Richter scale. “You know, of course, that this is utterly crazy.”

“It's one o'clock in the morning. Nobody knows how crazy this is more than I do.”

She laughed. “Did you want to talk about anything in particular?”

“No.” Now she heard the smile in his voice, and she trembled lightly in response.

“Well…how was your day?”

“It sucked,” he said, surprising another laugh out of her. “But it's gotten exponentially better in the past five minutes. Yours?”

“Marginally better. I got a lot of work done today.” She winced. “Which, of course, I shouldn't talk to you about at all.”

“I wasn't going to ask.”

“Yes, but it's stuff like this that makes it even more necessary for us
not
to talk to each other.”

“We managed to avoid talking about work for six hours. In a car, no less,” he pointed out.

“So, what, we manage to do that for the rest of our lives?” she asked, then winced again. “Not that I'm implying…Oh, hell.”

“I'm not reading into that,” he said, even though she could tell from the tone of his voice that he wasn't scared off by her innocuous comment. He knew what she meant, she thought, relieved. Sort of. “My point is, we can talk
tonight
without touching on any taboo subjects.”

She felt a mischievous grin cover her face. “Is sex a taboo subject?”

There was a pause, and she felt the grin replaced by a blush. What was
wrong
with her? She'd never acted like this with any of her boyfriends, for pity's sakes! Much less a complete stranger!

Not
that
much of a stranger,
she reminded herself…and her pulse raced.

“Nope. Sorry,” he said, and she felt herself take in a breath, even though she hadn't realized that she'd been frozen. “All the blood left my brain for a second. I had to lie down.”

She let out an explosive burst of nervous laughter, a stress relief. “I'm already in bed,” she said.

“Really.” His voice was rich with speculation. “Well, that's another coincidence. So am I.”

“So, here we both are. In bed,” she said, wondering even as she said it where she was going with it. This was ridiculous, she knew it.

Yet she couldn't bring herself to hang up. To tell him to hang up.

“Thinking of each other,” he said.

“Three thousand miles apart,” she added.

“Hmm. Well, that's a good thing, right?” His voice was soothing, comfortable. “That shows it's not just physical.”

“Although, we are both in bed. And probably both thinking about sex with each other.”

Did she just say that?

He snorted. “That only shows we're not
dead,
honey girl.”

“I know this is dumb, but I do miss you,” she admitted, closing her eyes. “But I don't know how that's possible. I don't even know you. How could I miss you?”

“You know me better than you think,” he said. “But I've got an idea. If we're going to miss each other, we might as well get to know each other better.”

“What'd you have in mind?”

“Twenty questions,” he said, and she laughed in delight. “First off—what are you most scared of in the world?”

She thought about it, winced. “Snakes. You?”

“Have to say, I'm not too fond of heights. What is your favorite flavor of ice cream?”

“Ben & Jerry's Karamel Sutra,” she said promptly. “Man, I could go for a pint of that right about now.”

“Me, I'm a huge chocolate fan,” he said, and unbidden, she got the mental picture of herself, painted with chocolate…and him licking it off. “Double dark chocolate, with hot fudge.”

She shook her head. “My turn. Desert island question—name three famous people you want to be stranded with, and why?”

She could hear a rustling over the cell-phone line and imagined him rolling over in his bed as he answered her questions. She kicked off her own covers, even though it was fall, and her house still held a slight chill, despite being in Southern California.

They ran the gamut for the next hour—books and concerts, college, childhoods. She finally yawned, glancing at the clock. “Oh, man, it's eleven-thirty. You're going to be exhausted tomorrow,” she said, feeling the creeping edges of guilt hit her.

“Don't worry. It was worth it,” he said with a slight yawn. “I like talking to you, Ms. Sophie Jones.”

She smiled, cradling the phone to her ear. “I like talking to you, too. We don't want to do this again, of course, but it was nice.”

“One last question?”

“I suppose…but then you've got to get some sleep, mister.” She made her voice mock-stern, then giggled.

There was a long pause. “Could you describe your bed to me?”

Her breath caught. “My bed?”

“'Cause I've been picturing you in it for the past hour and a half. I've got you down…but I'm wondering if the bed is going to match my mental picture of it.”

She felt a flush cover her body, culminating in heat between her legs. She cursed herself for it. “It's a queen-size bed,” she said. “The sheets are jersey…T-shirt material. Very soft and smooth.” She ran her free hand over them, feeling the texture beneath her fingertips. “Very…inviting.”

She could almost hear his body tense. “Really,” he drawled.

“I've also got a pretty thick comforter. Lilac colored. And about a million pillows.” She let that sink in. “I'm lying on top of the covers, incidentally.”

He groaned, and she couldn't help it…she grinned. “Thanks,” he said, and his tone sounded a bit strangled. “That completes the picture nicely.”

“Just curious, but what do you picture I'm wearing?”

“Well, I don't know what kind of clothes you own,” he said, “so I have to admit, I'm picturing you naked.”

Her nipples tightened. “Right back atcha,” she said.

“Easy enough,” he said. “I sleep au naturel, anyway.”

She felt her heart start to hammer. “I remember how hot you get when you sleep,” she whispered, then tried to laugh, to lighten the mood. “I could've toasted marshmallows.”

“I remember how you feel when you sleep,” he said, his voice low and warming. “Smelling your hair. Tucking you up against me.”

“I remember how you touched me,” she said, and absently smoothed her own hand over the silky material of her nightgown. “I can practically still feel your hands on me.”

She heard him take a deep breath, and she could almost whimper with wanting him.

“I have to see you again,” he said, his voice ragged.

She closed her eyes. Just like that, reality crashed in on her.

“Mark, we can't,” she reminded him. “You know why we can't.”

“But I've been thinking about that,” he said slowly. “We're two fully grown, conscious, conscientious adults. I don't see why the one thing has to influence the other.”

She felt the delicious heat that had been crawling through her dissipate, like a cloud of steam. “You mean, you don't see why our having sex should be at all related to our being business competitors?” she said, her voice laced with irony. “You're absolutely right. It's not like we'll be going at it on the conference table at Marion & Co., after all.”

“You can make fun of me all you like,” he drawled, “but it's true. What business is it of theirs, if we're involved?”

“Involved,” she said slowly, wondering at the word. Was that what they were?

“All I'm saying is, I can't stop thinking about you. I'm starting to realize I don't want to.”

Sophie sighed.

He had a history of charming people, she remembered. She also remembered the way he'd offered her a ride—and then had tried to pump her for information.

She wanted to trust him, wasn't sure she should.

“I think about you, too,” she admitted.

“Well, then…”

“And then I think about how important all this is. To my company. And my business.”

She heard him sigh over the line. “There's more to life than business, Sophie.”

“I know that,” she said, in a little snappish voice, then she sighed. “So—are you going to ask to be reassigned?”

“What?” The shocked tone of voice would've made her laugh if it weren't so painful. “Why would I do that?”

“To make sure there's nothing in our way,” she said, then as gently as possible, she repeated, “there's more to life than business, after all.”

A slow pause, then another sigh. “Point taken.”

She felt a little dip in her stomach. Belatedly, she knew it was disappointment.