Room for Love (39 page)

Bluetooth Guy scissored the single bill between two fingers, then promptly stuffed it into the baristas’ tip jar. “Thank. You.”

Harper snatched the bag, then asked for three additional blueberry and two orange oatmeal scones to go. As her order was being filled, the sudden wail of
Sex Bomb
blasted from her front pocket.

Bluetooth Guy snickered.

Avoiding eye contact with anyone in the shop, she gritted her teeth and tersely answered her phone. “Yes, yes, I’m getting them right now.”

“Did you bind the presentation with the jet black or the sky blue cover?” Marty questioned.

“They’ve all been done in black like I showed you yesterday.”

“I changed my mind. We should go with the blue,” he said. “Redo them ay-sap?”

She recoiled. “First thing. Give me twelve minutes to get there.”

“And, hey, while you’re at the coffee shop, see if they have any of those thingies.”

“Thingies?”

“Thingies. You know, the kind with the stuff in them that I like.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, grappling to interpret her boss’ cryptic command. “Do you mean a Danish?”

“No, not a Danish. One of those twisty French thingies. Come on, you know.”

Figuring out Marty was like shooting darts in the dark. “A croissant?”

“Yeah, yeah. A croissant. Get me the one with the almond stuff inside.”

On the brink of losing her mind, she hung up, calmly asked the barista for a “thingy,” paid for the order in full and scooped up the paper bags, scone and all.

An amused Bluetooth Guy raised his cup of coffee in a parting salute. “I hope your boss appreciates what you went through to get that.”

“He won’t,” she said stiffly, pocketing the change. As she marched away from the counter, she stole a last glimpse of the little boy, grinning ear-to-ear chocolate. Despite the gooey mess, neither he nor his caregiver appeared to have a single worry in the world.
Enjoy it while it lasts, kid.

Still a step behind, Bluetooth Guy caught up to her before she reached the front door, reaching out to prop it open. “Look, I apologize for making you think I was insulting you back there.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, earlier.”

“Forget it.” She brushed past his unavoidably wide chest, picking up the fragrant notes of whatever manly scent he wore. God, why had she even noticed?

He followed her out to the sidewalk. “I don’t want you to leave here believing I would make disparaging remarks about your, well, you know. Because I wouldn’t. I mean, with all due respect, everything in that area looks perfectly fine as far as I can see.”

Startled, she couldn’t fight back the reflex of a flattered smile.
Obviously the scones aren’t the only things fresh this morning.
Before she formulated a witty response, the sudden strains of
Sex Bomb
demanded her attention.

“Excuse me,” she said, embarrassed to have to answer her frenetic phone yet again. “I’m leaving the coffee shop right now. Eleven minutes, okay?”

“On second thought, maybe we should stick with jet black.” Marty mused aloud.

“Black? Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yeah, it’s more professional and polished. The sky blue’s just too
gitchy
, don’t you think?”

She squeezed her frustration into the bags she clutched tight in her fist. “No, I don’t think it’s too kitschy. But tell you what, I’ll do one in black and one in blue, then get consensus around the office on which cover looks better.”

“By nine?” Marty questioned.

“I promise, they’ll be printed, collated, coil-bound and on the boardroom table in plenty of time. Just leave it to me.” She snapped her phone shut again.

Bluetooth Guy smirked. “Boss?”

“He’s not usually this bad but today’s meeting means the difference between keeping our heads above water and going under. Understandably, he’s on edge.”

“You seem kinda frazzled yourself.”

She shrugged. “Oh well, you know, just another day in paradise.”

He casually took a sip of his latte. “Sorry to hear your company’s in trouble. Seems to be going around these days.”

“We’ll be fine, we always are. Although it definitely helps that the client we’re meeting with has really deep pockets and absolutely no bullshit detector.”

They shared a short chuckle before Harper remembered the clock continued ticking toward zero hour. “I’ve got to run,” she said, taking a sizable step backward.

“Wait. Which direction are you headed in? I’ll give you a lift.”

She flinched. “Thanks, but, uh, no thanks.”

His hand shot up like a wholesome Boy Scout. “Geez, I swear, I’m not a creep or anything. I’m only offering to get you where to need to go.”

“You just made me fork over ten dollars for a stupid cinnamon chip scone and now you expect me to believe you’re not a creep? I don’t think so.”

“Suit yourself.” Bluetooth Guy didn’t offer again, making her question whether he was a no-nonsense businessman or just had really crappy negotiation skills. “Out of curiosity, what would happen if you didn’t get the cinnamon chip?”

“Didn’t get it?” She shuddered at such a preposterous notion. “But I did, remember? Thanks to you, I just paid four times its worth.”

“Judging by how frantic you were, I’d say ten bucks was a bargain. But you didn’t answer my question. What if you showed up to the office empty-handed?”

She shook her head. “Failure is never an option. When my boss counts on me to come through, I come through.”

“Ah.” He nodded.

“That doesn’t make me a puppet, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not thinking anything.” He took another sip of coffee to conceal his smirk.

Harper did not like the smug overtone one bit. “I’m an extremely competent person, that’s all.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

She planted her free hand on her hip. “You’re making fun of me.”

“No, I’m not. But it’s ridiculous to get all worked up over a stupid cinnamon chip scone like it’s the end of the world, don’t you think?”

Ridiculous?
She bristled at his off-the-cuff remark. How unfair for anyone to mock her devoted work ethic. Diligence and dedication were admirable traits. After all, they were what made her Double D’s most valuable asset.

“In other words,” she said, “I should quit being so anal retentive?”

“No. I just think you need to take a deep breath, get a grip and relax.”

“Well, I think you need to take off that insipid Bluetooth and shove it up your–”

“Hey,” he cut her off. “You know, for an extremely competent person who claims to be in such a hurry, you certainly are exceptional at procrastinating.”

Procrastin–

“Oh, shit!” She panicked, accelerating from standing still to full speed in two harried strides. Even with the surprising amount of momentum she managed to gain in click-clacking heels, she could not outrun the sound of Bluetooth Guy laughing.

Despite the unplanned scavenger hunt and the bothersome–albeit well dressed and good smelling–interference she ran into, Harper still managed to be first in the office. She unlocked the front door and entered the five-digit security code into the keypad to disarm the system. 6-2-7-8-9. After punching in the same alphanumeric sequence each morning for the past four years, the well-worn pattern was rote. It certainly wouldn’t have taken a cryptologist to decipher that the code spelled M-A-R-T-Y, and had to stay that way lest Double D’s fearless leader forget the password and lock himself out.

The fluorescent lights flickered sleepily until they were finally awake. She hung up her coat, then veered to the office she knew more intimately than some corners of her own townhouse. Apart from the high ceilings, exposed brick walls and duct work that were part of the charm of having multi-level offices inside a converted warehouse, she’d put a lot of effort into transforming what used to be a cold, dank corner into a dynamic creative space.

She dropped her purse and the bag of scones on her desk next to a stack of magazines.
Target
magazine, to be precise. The bible of the marketing industry,
Target
’s latest issue featured the visionaries anointed by the editors to lead masses of consumers to the Promised Land. On the cover, four enterprising men and women strategically posed in variations of folded arms, square jaws and designer eyewear. Sticking out among them like a painful fashion thorn amidst Armani roses, was a middle aged, pumpkin-headed misfit sporting a vintage leather jacket and a beret tipped drowsily to one side.

Marty.

The article pegged him a
maverick
and he certainly was the epitome of a nonconformist square peg. Marty Duncan was an arrogant, boorish son of a bitch with a golden horseshoe up his backside. Having never earned a university degree, he’d been valedictorian of the school of hard knocks. Sure, he paid his dues, but he’d fallen back-asswards into the world of marketing, thanks to an amazing ability to create moneymaking ideas out of thin air.

His prominence in
Target
meant Marty still got some decent mileage out of his breakthrough success story. Eight years earlier, he had taken a regional coffee and concessions business and spearheaded a major brand makeover. Whether his efforts were actually effective or just the gleaming luck of that inserted horseshoe, Marty put the newly-crowned Java King on the map and into nearly every metro convenience store and interstate gas station from coast to coast. That triumph had come and gone almost a decade ago, but the infamy it brought Double D helped reel in business from heavy hitters like Garton Community College, Tuffy’s Super Foods and now, Sematek.

Harper lifted the sticky note from the top of the stack and read the familiar scrawl:

Monster idea. Let’s get on it first thing.

After four years under Marty’s tutelage, she was used to interpreting the random, unedited bits of genius her boss regularly dispensed to his protege. Admittedly, she did it in the name of advancing her own career status, but she appreciated them as reminders that she had been taken under wing by a creative mastermind. Especially when his shenanigans made it easy to forget.

She heard the front door open, followed by the heavy boot steps belonging to Double D’s office manager and Marty’s sister, Annie. She clomped to a sudden stop in front of Harper’s door and presented one of her trademark sunshiny smiles. “Morning, Harp. Did you get the scones?”

She waved the paper bag in the air. “Victory.”

“Well, good on you. I’m going to start the coffee, so I’ll bring you a plate.”

“Wait up, I’ll come too.” Harper left her desk and followed Annie downstairs to the staff lounge. The postage-stamp sized space had been outfitted with a Formica kitchen table and chairs, a stained orange couch, a teeny bar fridge and a big, old microwave that a former employee had donated years ago. The only item of any real value was the industrial-strength Java King coffee dispenser, a lasting perk of having had a client in beverage services.

Harper piled the scones onto a plate while Annie tapped a few buttons on the machine to brew a full pot of French Roast blend.

“What time is the Sematek meeting again?” Annie asked, pulling back her salt and pepper hair into a snappy ponytail and fastening it with one of the rubber bands she kept handy at her wrist.

“Nine sharp,” she said.

“Great. That means there’s still plenty of time for it to arrive,” Annie said.

“It?”

“Yeah. There’s a delivery coming for Marty this morning. He left instructions for me to sign for it and then have it ready in the reception area before Sematek gets here.”

The women made their way back upstairs as Marty’s third wife, Natalie Davis, the second D in Double D, burst through the door howling with laughter. Bent over shrieking behind her was Jules St. James, their fun-loving account exec. Harper pegged her pal Jules as a cross between Marilyn Monroe and Violet from Peanuts.

“What’s up with you two?” Annie shouted above the peals of hilarity.

“P-ppp-pp-penis!” Natalie guffawed, falling into Jules, whose own laughing jag had elevated near the crying stage.

Harper spluttered. “What did you just say?”

“Penis! We saw, we saw–” Natalie tried unsuccessfully to string words together.

Red-faced Jules finally inhaled, trying to pull herself together. Another long giggle escaped her before she stopped to inhale. “What Nat is trying to say is that we, we saw ppp-puppets.”

“You saw puppets?” Annie questioned.

“No, no. We saw
Puppetry of the Penis
last night.”

“Third row, center,” Natalie blurted, holding up three fingers. Looking at her digits sent her into another fit of near-hyperventilation.

“I take it you two had a good time?” Harper snickered.

“You have no idea.” Jules hung up her coat at the rack. “It was nasty and yet so–”

“Entertaining?”

“I was going to say artistic, but entertaining, yes, most certainly.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Not what you’d expect to see.”

“I’d expect to see two naked guys playing with their willies,” Annie said.