The Do It List (The Do It List #1) (7 page)

“Okay, who?”

No one in this office can know what happened—about you and me. My own words came back to haunt me. But I had to tell someone, and Sarah was the closest thing I had to a best friend in New York City.

I exhaled. “The new hire from London, Bradley Craig.”

“Just the two of you…alone?”

I nodded.

Her eyes stayed glued to me. “And?”

“And…it was frightening at times, but he was…jeezus. I shouldn’t be telling you or anyone this.” Before I could stop myself, I blurted out the truth. “He was amazing.” Heat swept over my cheeks.

Her mouth dropped open. “Oh…my…God. Please tell me you did it.”

“Next!” The young Asian man took our order.

“Four green teas—two iced, two hot. Three chai’s—one hot decaf, two iced.” I turned to Sarah. “He’s like, half British, so I’m guessing he probably drinks black tea.” I ordered something called Earl Greyer. No joke.

 
Sarah added, “Four two-percent milks and one nonfat—three sugars, two Equals, and two Splendas on the side.”

 
Our server tossed sweetener packets and foil-covered plastic cups into a cardboard carryall. “Next!”

While we waited, Sarah rocked her body to a bit of imaginary hip-hop music. “Tell me, Gracie girl—did you do it? I hope you did it.” Sarah angled hard to one side and circled her fists—the Beyoncé move I’d taught her.

I shook my head. “We didn’t do it, exactly.” I plunked a cardboard tray of hot drinks into her open palms, and I handled the tall frosty versions.

“But you would have.” Sarah trotted to catch up with me.

“We were rudely interrupted by auxiliary generators,” I whispered, enduring yet another anxious elevator ride.
 

Outside Axel’s office, I turned to Sarah and squinted.

“My lips are sealed.” She held fingers to her lips and twisted.
 

“Sorry to interrupt,” I murmured and ducked into the room.
 

I was aware of Bradley even before I set eyes on him. He sat comfortably at one end of a long leather sofa, one leg crossed over the other, looking GQ-ish.
 

Axel made introductions. “Sarah Springer, Bradley Craig.”

Sarah nodded, handing him his tea. “We thought you might like Lo’s version of Earl Grey.”

He leaned forward and politely took the cup from her. “Thank you.”

“You-you’re welcome.” Sarah stammered, falling under the spell of Bradley’s blue-eyed gaze. “Sweetener?”

“Sugar and a spot of milk, if you have it.” The half-Brit, half-American bearing gave him an air of rugged sophistication.
 

Seeing him in this business setting seemed almost alien. Think about it—I had held the man’s cock in my hands and stroked, heard his groan of arousal, trembled from his touch, inhaled his scent. And now here we were in the CSO’s spacious office waiting to be introduced to each other.

Ever since last night, before we entered the elevator together, I’d been aware of his gaze. This morning was no different. I could feel him track my every movement. Jeezus, if he kept this up, this visual stake out of his territory, the gossip would start right after the meeting. I concentrated on passing out the iced versions of chai tea.

So far, I’d managed to steer clear of office liaisons with the exception of Derek, who was more of a close colleague happy to be of service and vice versa. The fact that my attraction to Bradley felt so different put me on edge.

I handed Derek his iced tea.

“Thanks, Taylor-Scotty.” Naturally, Derek had his own name for me. New York’s hottest art director angled his lanky frame into a corner chair and resumed texting.
 

A self-professed despiser of advertising, Derek struggled with the idea of being sucked into the thirty-second TV spot vortex. All that artistic angst turned out to be the ultimate in bohemian chic, and so damned sexy in a coworker!
 

He often protested his moniker, Mobius, but the name had taken on a life of its own and this ad man appeared to be going places. Sooner rather than later, we would lose him to some enticing faction of the New York art world, but for now, the money and praise kept him coming into work late every morning.
 

Derek’s copywriter, Mark Hurley, slouched on a nearby couch. Derek and Mark were polar opposites. While Derek could be aloof and hard to know, Mark won you over with his Midwestern charm, lots of facial hair and a wild, upbeat sense of humor. As odd pairings often do, they played well off each other. Derek elevated Mark’s Hangover movie humor while Mark humanized Derek’s cutting-edge visuals.

I handed Axel his decaf chai tea.

“Gracie, I’d like you to meet Brad—”

“We’ve already met, briefly.” My gaze locked with the new man who, at the moment, stirred milk into his tea. “Hello, Bradley.”

He appeared pleasantly amused. “Good morning, Gracie.”
 

Axel tilted his head. The man missed nothing and seemed mysteriously pleased with our brief flirtatious moment.

“All right people, listen up. This may well be the most important pitch we’ll be in all year. Besides the launch of Héros, we’re now looking at all—I repeat—all the personal care products. Hair, skin care, body washes, and a new physics garden line. Tea tree, aloe vera, arnica—already huge in Europe.”

He made a point of eyeballing me. “Gracie and Sarah are perfect for this. Derek and Mark—we’re going to need humor as well.”

I held onto the last iced chai latte and settled on the couch between Mark and Sarah. The meeting appeared to be limited to Barking Mad creatives, two account supervisors, Audrey Lacoste and Frank Manning, along with the new head of research.

“Winner takes all, including—here’s the kicker—”Axel held up both index fingers. “Two Super Bowl spots.”

 
That sparked everyone’s interest, even the antisocial art director in the corner looked up from texting.

 
“Thirties or sixties?” Derek asked.

“One of each. Think set-up and payoff. They’ve hired Jordan McQueen as their review consultant. We know he admires our work and he asked specifically for Barking Mad.” Axel scanned the creatives in the room. “I’d like to see something synergistic—Super Bowl spots with a line that goes viral.”
 

I stole a glance at Bradley, whose attention had moved to the art director in the corner. He appeared to be sizing up Derek.
 

Axel nodded to the account team. “Frank and Audrey have been working on some ideas. Anything you’d like to share?”

“We’ve got several strategies in development, but we’re waiting on research.” The stunning redhead gazed across the room. “We’re looking forward to working with the new director of Insight.”

 
Bradley returned Audrey’s gaze with polite, business-friendly interest.

A queasy unease clenched my solar plexus. I needed to catch my breath. Sarah had once called Audrey a poll dancer trapped in a power suit. And already the feline account executive had my hackles up. I tucked my lower lip under my teeth and bit down hard. Several months ago Audrey had hit on Derek. The fact that he’d slept with her had moved him to part-time fuck buddy.

In truth, Audrey had saved me some heartache. I should be grateful, but I wasn’t. Not after that once-over ogle she had just given Bradley. Some women you could never trust. And this seductress, with hair color that matched Hannah’s red-headed Barbie, topped the list.

Axel leaned back on the edge of his desk. “The tough part is always the same with packaged goods clients. They want to test concepts and copy platform.”

When every creative in the room groaned, Axel nodded. God bless him. “They agreed to let us design the method and mode of the tests. And this time we’ve got the big guns on our side.”
 

Axel’s gaze moved to Bradley. “One of the departments I was most impressed with at Scacchi was their research division, especially the way they tested creative. And since Bradley is here—direct from London—why don’t you explain how you do it?” Axel evaluated the cool looks around the room, including my own. “Just hear him out, you’re going to like this.”

Bradley cleared his throat and leaned forward. “The idea is to have the client and creative design the emotional message first, then we add in the sell. As long as the creative meets both criteria with high marks, the client agrees to sign off on the work.”

“So, we’re going to uncover the emotional aspects of a purchase decision.” My tone edged on sarcasm. I’d heard this story before from research gurus—uncovering core values, laddering interviews—each with its own annoying set of new buzz words.

Bradley stared at me for several seconds longer than necessary. “We go out on the street and ask.” The tilt at the edge of his mouth turned smirky and he wore it well. “We’re the canvassers. And by we, I mean the client as well as research and creative.”

Axel jumped in. “We all do eight hours out on the street. Jordan has agreed to be there for at least part of the day, along with the Advertising Director and VP of Marketing for Personal Care Products. This is huge people. The client is going to participate in the interview process.”
 

“We give the client a shared experience, one-on-one with the consumer.” Bradley set down his Earl Grey. “There’s an in-depth briefing this afternoon, three to five in the creative conference room.”
 

 
When we all stared, Bradley looked to Axel.
 

“I put it on the calendar last week,” Axel growled. “I expect perfect attendance. Priority one. Anyone who has to beg off clears it with me.”

Several of us rose to leave.
 

Axel’s assistant Yolanda poked her head around the door wearing her raised-brow reminder face.

“Oh yeah. Listen. Building security called early this morning. Expect a visit from Homeland Security this afternoon.” Axel shook his head. “Something to do with the blackout last night.”

My mouth dropped open.

Facing a number of curious looks, our fearless leader elaborated. “As you know, the owner and largest occupier of this building is Google, along with a serious bundle of communications trunk lines that just happen to serve the entire eastern seaboard. I’m told this will be nothing too intrusive. They’re going to take a look at building security tapes. Ask a few questions.” Axel scrutinized Derek and Mark, who were the first ones out the door. “Be nice.”

Lordy, Lordy—you are so screwed, Gracie.
 

Clear as a bell, Grandma Nona’s voice was in my head spewing a litany of curse words followed by, “Forgive me for swearing, sweet Jesus.”

All I could think about was the stand-up, against-the-rails fuckery going on in that elevator last night. I gazed across the room at Bradley, whose stare bored into me. My tawny-colored skin must have turned lily-white, because he shifted his eyes, slightly. One of those eye to eye, meet you outside communications.

Security tapes. Why hadn’t I thought about those last night? Especially after the emergency lights came back on. The answer to that question trailed several coworkers behind me. I inhaled a deep breath and made my way back to the creative department.
 

Sarah followed me into my office, with Bradley a few steps behind her.

When he arched a brow at Sarah, I sighed. “She knows.”

His brow lowered, but the quietly reproving glare, remained.

“She’s a friend, we can trust her.”

Sarah raised her pledge hand. “What happens inside Otis stays inside Otis.”
 

Bradley leaned back against the closed door. “Obviously, we forgot about the security cameras—maybe because of the black out, I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Gracie.”

“It’s not your fault.” I exhaled a loud sigh. “I can face down the men in black, it’s those building security guys I have to meet and greet every day.”

Sarah nodded. “They gossip.”

I bit my lower lip. “We’re probably too late. The boys downstairs have already had an eye full.”

“Maybe not.” Bradley’s stoicism eased my fears. “I’m going down there—see if I can get my hands on the lift tape. I trust we have some sort of video facilities?” He searched both our faces.

“We have a fully equipped post-production facility, and Sarah is an awesome editor.”

 
He nodded to her. “I’ll meet you both, where—?”

“Jeezus, I have an Armani Exchange meeting in...” I checked my watch. “Five minutes. I’d ditch, but the client is going to be there, and I’m presenting the copy platform.”

“Go to your meeting.” Bradley insisted.
 

Sarah bounded out of the office. “I’ll be in one of the edit bays.”

“Give me ten minutes,” he called after her, pausing before he left the room. “What are you doing?”

I opened an orange, regulation high school gym locker. “I need to change—do you mind leaving?”

He shut the door softly. “I’ll stand watch.”

The look I fired at him would have intimidated the average male coworker. But not Bradley. “Fine.” I stepped out of my Da-Nang fatigues. “You’ve already seen most of this.”

He tilted his head. “Not exactly from this angle.” He pointed to the lace cheekies that partially covered my ass. “Love pink.”

The moment I slipped into a swingy skirt and fastened the button, he was out the door. He dipped his head back in the entry. “Gracie, try not to fret too much. I’ve got this.”

I nodded my head numbly.

The A/X meeting went on forever, and I did my best to appear interested. My thoughts continually returned to Bradley and his clandestine exploits. I wondered if he might actually be able to accomplish such a task and worried that tampering with evidence could land him in Guantanamo.

As lunch time approached, I received a text from Sarah.
Mission accomplished! Share spinach pie and Greek salad?

I eyeballed the account executive across the conference table, who promptly checked his watch and brought up lunch reservations at Morimoto. Great. Creatives were always welcome, but we could also easily beg off.