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All's Fair in Lust & War
Amber Page


What happens in Vegas… is even hotter in New York!After a fling in Vegas that was so wild even she can’t believe it happened, copywriter Becky has finally got her mojo back. Time to get back to New York and win that promotion!But things veer catastrophically off course when her new co-worker Mark saunters in… and he’s much too familiar. Worse… Mark and Becky will be competing for the promotion – and he’s just as good in the boardroom as he was in bed! So what’s a girl to do when Mr One-Night becomes Mr One-Desk-Away? Stand her ground, of course – if there’s going to be a war, she’s going to make sure she enjoys it!









“Let’s get one thing clear,” she said. “What happened was supposed to stay in Vegas. It will never happen again.”


“Never, huh? That’s a long time.”

“I’m serious. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am to let some man screw up my life.”

He pulled her into his arms and tilted her face up to his.

“I think you know I’m not just ‘some man,’” he said as he brushed his lips across hers. “I’m magic.”

With that, he deepened the kiss. Their tongues darted and danced and he pulled her closer, wanting more.

He was reaching for the buttons on her blouse when the sharp whistle that signalled the arrival of a text message on his phone blared.

Becky jumped back, staring at him with undisguised horror.

“I’m not sure if you’re magic,” she whispered. “But I am beginning to think you might be the devil.”

“I’ve been called worse by my competition,” he said. “But usually not until after I beat them.”


Dear Reader (#ulink_4d69a397-5c08-5eff-a1e0-6f3c07f4c513)

I’ve worked in the world of advertising for far longer than is healthy. It’s a wild and woolly world, filled with beautiful people, strong personalities, and lots and lots of drama.

It is, in other words, the perfect place to set a romance novel.

For a really long time I was too busy living in it to find time to write about it. When inspiration finally did strike it was National Novel-Writing Month (or NaNoWriMo, as those of us insane enough to participate like to call it), and I had thirty days to pound out a fifty-thousand-word novel.

For twenty of those days the words flew through my fingers and on to my computer screen faster than I could speak them. Unfortunately on day twenty-one I discovered I was telling the wrong story. The words stopped, the story stalled, and Mark and Becky took up residence in my head.

They stayed there for almost four years. And, let me tell you, they were obnoxious house guests—always whispering in my ear, trying to get me to write the right story and set them free.

I finally did it last fall, during the So You Think You Can Write contest. I didn’t win, but Mark and Becky caught the right editor’s attention. And now, less than five months later, I’m writing you this letter.

It’s been the adventure of a lifetime. A dream come true. And one heck of a relief—Mark and Becky have finally vacated my head.

If you enjoy this story one-tenth as much as I enjoyed writing it you’re in for a treat. They’re delightful people, living in a delightfully insane world.

Thanks for reading!

Amber




All’s Fair in Lust & War

Amber Page





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


AMBER PAGE has been writing stories since—well, since she could write, and still counts the pinning of her ‘Bubble People’ tale to the classroom bulletin board in the third grade as one of her happiest childhood memories.

She’s also an avid reader, and has been addicted to romances since she first discovered them on the dusty shelves of her favourite library as a young teen. The nerdy little bookworm she was is still pinching herself to make sure that this whole ‘getting published by Mills & Boon


’ thing is real.

When not penning Happily-Ever-Afters, Amber works as an advertising writer in the heart of Indiana, where she lives with the love of her life, their daughter, and a menagerie of furry animals. She also blogs, gardens, and sometimes even manages to sneak in a few hours of sleep.

Don’t ask her how she does it all. She’s too tired to remember.

ALL’S FAIR IN LUST & WAR is Amber Page’s debut book for Mills & Boon


Modern Tempted™ and is also available in ebook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


DEDICATION (#ulink_8bd4bc6d-cf71-59ba-adbe-08b1bda1edeb)

To my husband, my biggest cheerleader and occasional butt-kicker. Thank you for refusing to let me give up.

To Allison, Amanda, Christina, Meagan, Rhonda and Tanya, whose speed-reading skills and smart critiques helped make this book what it is.

And to everyone else who cheered me along the way (you know who you are).


Contents

Cover (#u9a80bd57-004c-5cce-b84a-73cb37a3f82b)

Introduction (#ufdd4637d-4f18-508a-9f61-032f59a3168a)

Dear Reader (#u30caea5b-37f2-5afc-b669-1bbe5a70cb3e)

Title Page (#u59343a97-39b6-5e0a-965e-c66175aae409)

About the Author (#u782eee04-8832-5325-8716-8f3191013502)

DEDICATION (#u675b3fd3-5110-5143-bec2-56cc6f089d74)

PROLOGUE (#ud0dcc2c0-f0d4-50ea-b37f-7d9c9f7d7c2d)

ONE (#u8e84f000-cbfe-50c8-b80a-1d94ea5edbf1)

TWO (#ufa0f8193-a05e-5c29-ae56-542589f5c8ad)

THREE (#u5449c2d0-e20f-57dc-b3ee-cdb024027094)

FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


PROLOGUE (#ulink_35df948a-a6a2-5e99-b837-1c30473e3d46)

Mark awoke slowly, his mouth fuzzy and his limbs strangely heavy. He rolled over, expecting to see...who? Certainly not the empty pillow that greeted him.

Head spinning slightly, he lifted himself up on his elbow to look around the room. He was in his hotel room, right? Seeing his laptop on the desk, he decided it was probably safe to assume he was still in Vegas and hadn’t hopped on a plane to Bangladesh or something.

He kept his gaze moving, noting two wine glasses, a knocked-over bottle of red wine—damn, he hoped they didn’t charge him for that stain on the carpet—and there, by the heavy hotel room door, a pair of cheetah-print stilettos.

Suddenly memory came rushing back.

Walking down to the AdWorld closing party. Seeing the pretty blonde in the tight red dress giggling into her phone. Feeling compelled to talk to her. And then—wham! Being hit in the gut by a lightning bolt of lust when she turned to grin up at him with her sparkling green eyes.

He would have done anything to get closer to her. To get to know her.

Which was probably why he’d found himself doing something totally out of character.

“I’m Mark,” he’d said, taking her hand in his and grazing her knuckles with his lips. “May I have the honor of escorting you this evening, my lady?”

She’d swallowed loudly, and he’d seen the desire sparking in her eyes.

Nonetheless, she’d been as cool as ice when she’d answered him. “I’d love that. Shall we?”

He’d held out his arm for her to take and together they stepped through the ballroom doors into the strobe-lit party beyond.

That had been followed by copious drinking, he was sure. His mind showed him an image of her gazing at him uncertainly before raising a tequila glass.

“Let’s toast,” she’d said. “To one wild night.”

“To one wild, scandalous night,” he’d answered.

And there’d been dancing. He remembered how she’d laughed as she spun away, then melted when he drew her close again. And how sweet her lips had tasted when he’d pulled her in for a kiss...

The first of many kisses.

Eventually she’d clung to him and said, “Mark, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I need you. Take me back to your room?”

What had followed had been one of the most...no, the hottest night of his life.

She’d been so hot, so willing to do anything... And when they’d finished she’d rolled over and said, “Wanna do it again?”

His answer had been, “Hell, yes.”

But what was her name again?

Just then the bathroom door opened and she stepped out, engulfed in the hotel-issue robe, her long blond hair dripping down her back. She looked at him and smiled, green eyes sparkling.

The lightning bolt hit home again.

“Becky,” he said. Her name was Becky.

“Hey, gorgeous,” she said.

“Hey, yourself. What are you doing up so early?”

“Oh,” she said, a momentary frown crossing her small face. “My flight leaves in a few hours, and I’ve got some work to do this morning. I figured I should probably get a move on.”

“Ah,” he said, overcome with an inexplicable sense of disappointment. “I thought maybe we could go get some breakfast. Or, you know, have breakfast in bed.” Which, honestly, had been the last thing on his mind until she’d emerged from the bathroom. But once he’d seen her he’d been able to think of nothing he’d rather do other than peel that giant robe off her tiny frame.

She gave him a pained smile and perched on the edge of the bed.

“I’d love to, but you know how it goes. Duty calls.”

Reading her tense body language, Mark realized it was no use. He also knew he wasn’t ready to let her go yet. “All right. I understand,” he said slowly, seeking a conversational gambit that would keep her talking. “You know, we never even talked about our jobs. What do you do?”

“I’m a copywriter. For an agency in New York—SBD,” she said slowly.

“Really? What a coincidence. I’m starting a new gig—”

Gently, she placed her hand over his mouth. “You know what? Don’t tell me about you. Last night was—well, it was magical, but I’m not looking to start a relationship. Even a casual one. If you don’t mind, I’d just like to think of you as Mark the Magic Man from Las Vegas...not a real person I might run into at the supermarket.”

Wow. That was a first. Usually it was him trying to duck out while a girl tried to pry information out of him. He wasn’t so sure he liked being on this end of things. But his pride wouldn’t allow him to admit that to her.

“Hmm,” he said. “I kind of like being a Magic Man. Maybe I should go into business.”

She threw her head back and laughed, and suddenly the tension eased. Then she leaned forward and kissed him. Hard.

“Thank you for last night. Believe me when I tell you it’s one I’ll never forget.”

He smiled. “Me neither,” he said. And he meant it.

Moments later Becky finished getting dressed and, holding her heels in one hand, she blew him a kiss.

“Bye, Magic Man.”

“Bye, Gorgeous Girl.”

And then she was gone.

“Until tomorrow, then,” he said to himself.

Reaching for his iPad, he loaded up the search engine. It was time to look up his gorgeous new coworker.


ONE (#ulink_6f15a1da-99ef-5d2d-94f2-fcb866294a73)

Becky was engrossed in the dreary task of sorting through her inbox, attempting to make sense of the three hundred and fifty-seven emails that had accumulated while she was in Vegas, when a cardboard coffee cup was slammed down on her desk.

“One venti dark roast with a splash of vanilla soy milk,” Jessie said. “Just the way you like it.”

Becky looked up and grinned at her redheaded friend.

“Aw, thanks, Jessie. You didn’t have to do that.”

Jessie shrugged her coat off, threw it on the visitor’s chair, then collapsed at her desk.

“It’s bribery. Now, spill.”

“Spill? You want me to spill this delicious coffee?”

Jessie threw her rainbow-colored scarf at her. “Don’t be an idiot. You know what I want to know. What happened after you texted me Saturday night? Were you able to prove to yourself that your libido isn’t dead?”

Becky blushed. “It’s alive and kicking,” she said. “And very insistent.”

“Woo-hoo! My girl scored! I knew you could do it!” Jessie said, grinning. “Now, tell me the juicy bits.”

Becky shook her head. “A lady never kisses and tells,” she said, laughing.

“Give me a break,” Jessie said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve known you for ten years, and in all that time you’ve never kept a secret from me. Give it up, sister.”

Becky shook her head again. While it was true that she and Jessie had always told each other everything, this felt different. Special.

“I’m sorry, Jessie. It just doesn’t feel appropriate to talk about it here. Besides, you know what they say. What happens in Vegas...”

Just then her boss’s voice rumbled from the vicinity of her open office door. “Is supposed to stay in Vegas, right?”

Becky whirled, readying a snappy comeback. But what she saw stopped her in her tracks.

Her boss, David, was standing there, smiling. And with him was...Mark.

Mark? How could Mark be standing in her office? Becky stared at him, mouth open. It was not possible. Completely impossible, in fact.

Mark belonged in Vegas, not in New York City.

Heat flared in her belly as she remembered the last time they’d met. She’d been texting Jessie, trying to find the courage to walk into the closing night party by herself.

Just picture them standing in their underwear...then stalk the guy that makes you drool, Jessie had texted.

“Right. Underwear,” she’d said to herself. “Must picture delicious-looking men in underwear.”

And that was when she’d heard Mark’s rumbling voice for the first time.

“Well, if you’re looking for volunteers, I happen to be available.”

“What?” she’d yelped, whirling to face the interloper. Then her heart had stopped. The man smiling at her was the living, breathing definition of delicious, from the tips of his artfully rumpled black hair to the toes of his polished leather shoes.

Brilliant white teeth flashed as he grinned down at her. “If you need help. Picturing what a man looks like in his underwear, I mean. I’m happy to serve as a model.”

Becky’s face flamed. “Oh, I...uh...no one was supposed to hear that. I just...I was having trouble walking into the party by myself. My friend suggested I picture everyone in their underwear. As, you know, a motivator.”

Mr. Gorgeous tilted his head back and laughed, and as he did Becky felt it. The zing. The tingle. If she’d been alone she would have done a happy dance. He’d just proved she wasn’t dead inside!

Now that he was standing in her office, she kind of wished she had been.

Becky shook her head to clear it. She needed to pay attention to the conversation that was happening now if she wanted to make sense of the situation.

“Yeah, you’re supposed to leave all the juicy details at the airport,” Jessie said. “But I was trying to convince Becky to give me some of the gory details anyway.”

“Any luck?” asked Mark, giving Becky a sidelong glance.

“None.” Jessie pouted.

“Well, I was there,” he said. “You didn’t miss much. Although the closing night party was unexpectedly awesome.”

Becky’s head snapped up. Was he teasing her? And, if he was, how dared he? Mark just looked at her with a half smile on his face, his dark eyes glinting mischievously.

“That’s what Becky said. Did you two meet?” Jessie asked.

“No!” Becky practically shouted.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Mark said at the same time.

Becky stared at him. He said nothing, just quirked one damnably expressive eyebrow at her and leaned back against the doorframe, letting her take the lead.

“Well, what I meant was we didn’t really spend much time together,” she said.

Just twelve mind-blowing hours and fifty-three bone-melting minutes. Not that she’d been counting or anything.

Her traitorous mind flashed back to their first kiss. The way he’d claimed every part of her mouth and set her whole body aflame. Within seconds she’d known she wanted more from him than a few kisses.

But it was only supposed to be for one night. If she’d known he’d turn up here she would have never...

“Mark, here, is an amazingly talented art director,” her boss said, reaching up to clap him on the back. “I’ve brought him in on a freelance basis to work on a special project. And I want you to work with him, Becky.”

“Me?” she squeaked. “But I’m busy with... I mean, I’ve got...”

“Whatever you currently have on your plate will be given to someone else,” her boss replied. “I need you on this. Be in my office at eleven. We’ll talk.”

Becky snapped her mouth shut, knowing further protest was useless and foolhardy. When David told you to do something, you did it. At least you did if you wanted to keep your job.

Which she did. Unfortunately.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll see you then.”

“Good,” he answered. “Then I won’t keep you any longer. Come on, Mark.”

After they were gone Becky put her head down on her desk, banging it lightly against the keyboard.

“Why, universe, why? Why would you do this to me?”

“Becky? What’s wrong?” Jessie asked.

Becky shook her head mutely.

“Oh, come on, you can tell me. You have to.”

Becky knew she was right. If she didn’t, her soon-to-be-bizarre behavior wouldn’t make much sense. And if there was one person she didn’t want to alienate it was Jessie.

Besides, Jessie was the only one who knew what had happened...before. And what she had been trying to prove to herself that night in Vegas.

Becky got up to close the door before turning to face her friend. Blowing her hair off her forehead, she said, “It was him.”

“Him? Who? I’m not following,” Jessie said.

“Mark. Mark was the man I met in Las Vegas. And things went a little bit further than I had planned.”

“What do you mean?”

“I spent the night with him...” Becky groaned.

“Are you kidding me?” Jessie asked, falling back into her chair.

Becky shook her head.

Jessie tilted her head back and howled with laughter.

“Oh, my God. Only you... This is...it’s unbelievable.”

Becky glared at her. “I really don’t think this is funny.”

“Of course you don’t. But, girl, you gotta believe me when I tell you it is.”

Easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one living in a nightmare.

Finally Jessie sobered.

“All right, so Mr. One-Night Stand has become Mr. Works Down the Hall. What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” Becky said flatly.

“Why? Was it...bad?”

Pictures from their night together flashed through Becky’s brain. His lips kissing her mouth. His tongue on her breast. His hands...everywhere.

“It was amazing.”

“Did you hit the big O?”

Becky blushed. “Oh, yeah. More than once.”

Jessie looked thoughtful. “Then why not see if this could go somewhere? You know—like, casual relationshippy. Fate seems to be telling you it should.”

Becky stood up, restless. “You know better than anyone why not. After everything that happened with Pence I’ll never have a relationship with someone I work with again.”

Jessie came up behind her and hugged her shoulders.

“I understand. But, Becky, that was a long time ago. You were a different person. And he was your boss, not a coworker. Besides, you can’t let him ruin your whole life. If you do, he wins.”

Sneaking a look at the clock on the wall, she groaned.

“We’ll have to talk about this more later, Jessie. I gotta go to the Hall of Doom.”

“All right, girl. Knock ’em dead.”

* * *

Mark wasn’t sure how much more of this small talk he could take.

He’d been sitting in David’s office for what felt like hours, talking about everything except the reason he was here. He now knew where the bald man’s favorite golf course was—South Carolina—what he preferred to drink—bourbon, straight up—and even how he had gotten his name—his mom had named him after Michelangelo’s David.

But he still didn’t know what his first assignment was going to be or why it had to be secret. When David had called him to see if he might be interested he’d said only that he needed help winning a giant piece of new business—one that had the potential to change the future of the agency.

That was interesting enough, but it was what David had said next that had sold him on the job.

“Mark, I’ve been searching everywhere for someone who can help me bring this home. When your name came up I knew you were the man for the job. I need you on this.”

“How did you get my name?” Mark had asked, afraid that it was another one of his stepfather’s pieces of charity.

“Mark, you’ve taken home gold from almost every major advertising competition there is. Your name is everywhere.”

Which meant this was a job he’d gotten on his own merits—not through his damned stepfather’s connections. Even better, David had all but promised him a permanent spot in the creative leadership team once they landed the account.

It was the opportunity he’d spent the past ten years working toward. He couldn’t wait to get started.

He just wished he knew what Becky had to do with it.

When he’d looked her up, he’d been amazed at how talented she seemed to be. In the five short years she’d been working as a copywriter she’d earned herself numerous awards. The whole reason she’d been in Vegas was because she was being honored with another award—this one for a social-media campaign she’d masterminded that had gone viral.

In short, she was as amazing in the boardroom as she was in the bedroom.

And what he wouldn’t give to experience that again!

He remembered how hot she’d looked, standing in his room clad only in her red lace bra and panties. And how much better she’d looked out of them...

Unfortunately the look on her face when she’d found him standing in her office had been completely and utterly horrified—and, if he wasn’t mistaken, more than a little bit furious. He didn’t think she was having the same kinds of thoughts he was having right now.

Just then there was a soft knock on the door.

“Come in,” David said.

The door opened and Becky quietly entered the room.

He wasn’t sure how it was possible, but she looked even sexier in her blazer and jeans than she had wearing a cocktail dress.

She flashed a quick look at him, and flushed when he caught her eye. Man, how he’d love to see how far down that flush went.

“Thank you for coming, Becky, my girl,” David boomed. Although he couldn’t have been much more than forty, the man mimicked the vocal mannerisms of a Mad Men–style ad man. “Sit, sit, sit. We have a lot to talk about.”

She glided across the thick red carpet and sat primly in the oversize club chair next to Mark.

“I trust you had a good time in Vegas, my dear?” David asked.

Becky seemed to force out a smile. “It was amazing, David. Thank you so much for letting me go.”

“Of course—you deserved it. Besides, I knew you were one woman I could trust not to get too carried away in Vegas. I would have never sent that partner of yours. She’s trouble with a capital T.”

Becky’s laugh sounded even more forced than her smile had been. “Yeah, you know me. Married to my job and all that.”

“Oh, not to worry, Becky. Sooner or later a fine-looking girl like you is bound to get snapped up. Then you’ll be too busy having babies to write brilliant campaigns for me anymore. That’s how it always goes. Right, Mark?”

Mark was floored. People still talked like that? In an office? It was a miracle this guy hadn’t been slapped with a multimillion-dollar lawsuit yet. Or, judging from the fury flashing in Becky’s eyes, murdered.

“I don’t know about that, David. I know plenty of working mothers who—”

David cut him off. “Right, right. I know. Girls can do anything men can—blah, blah, blah. None of that matters right now, because my brilliant little sparrow is as single as they come...and I’m going to be keeping you both too busy for her to change matters any.”

Becky sucked in a breath and seemed about to say something, but she never got the chance.

“All right. Enough of this chitchat. Let’s get down to business, shall we? You two are among the most talented creatives this business has to offer,” David said. “And I’m going to need every bit of juice you’ve got. We’ve been asked to take part in the agency search for Eden. You both know what that is?”

Becky nodded. “The yogurt company?”

“You got it,” David said. “They’re coming out with a new line of low-fat, all-natural Greek yogurt flavors designed to get all those pretty hipster ladies hot and bothered. Our job is to figure out how to do that. And, since their advertising budget is a quarter of a billion dollars, we damn well better nail it.”

Becky practically bounced up and down in her chair. “Oh, I’d love to get my hands on that one,” she said.

“Oh, those pretty little hands are going to be all over it. So are yours, Mark. Just...er...hopefully not on the same spot at the same time!” he said.

Mark laughed uncomfortably. “No chance of that happening, sir.” At least not that David needed to know about.

“Good. Now, the Eden people tell me they don’t want any ‘suits’ working on their account. They want something young and fresh...something none of our existing creative directors are. That means you two have the opportunity of a lifetime.”

David got up from his chair and started to pace.

“So here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to break the agency into two creative teams. Becky, you’re going to head up one. Mark, you’ll be in charge of the other. Whichever one of you comes up with the winning concept and sells it to the client will win a fifty-thousand-dollar bonus—and become the youngest creative director this agency has ever had.”

Mark blinked slowly, trying to wrap his head around this new twist. David had never said anything about a competition.

“You’re making me compete for the creative director position?” asked Becky, her eyes sparking angrily in an otherwise pale face. “But you told me that when I came back from AdWorld the job was as good as mine!”

“It is,” David said. “All you have to do is win the Eden account.”

Mark watched as Becky sprang up from her chair. There was no doubt that murder was on her mind.

“I will,” she said from between clenched teeth. Then she turned to glare at Mark. “And don’t you dare think for a second that you’ve got a shot!”

With that, she strode from the room, controlled fury in every movement. Good thing he had no problem with beating a sexy woman at her own game, because there was no way he was losing this job.

Turning to David, he said, “This competition’s going to be quite a challenge.”

“I’m counting on you to win,” David said. “Don’t let me down.”

“I won’t.”

* * *

Becky slammed her office door so hard the wall shook.

“Wow. What’s up your butt?” Jessie asked.

“David,” Becky said.

“Ewww, that sounds uncomfortable!” Jessie giggled.

Becky glared at her. “It’s not funny,” she said. “That stupid blowhard is trying to give away my promotion again.”

“The one he swore would be yours after you got back from Vegas?”

“The one and the same.” Becky sighed, her heels tapping a staccato tune across the cement floor as she paced.

Jessie grabbed Becky’s coat. “All right, you’re going to tell me what’s happened. But not here. A discussion like this calls for hot-fudge sundaes.”

* * *

“You don’t have to win this by yourself! You’ve got your whole team behind you,” Jessie said between bites of hot fudge.

“I don’t know who’s on my team yet,” Becky said, picking up her spoon, watching as the melting ice cream dripped back into her bowl. “I could get stuck with anyone.”

“Did David lay out any rules when he said the creative department was going to be split in half?”

Becky shook her head.

“Then I vote we make the rules for him,” Jessie said, grabbing a pen and paper out of her green velvet purse. “All right. No thinking allowed. Tell me who would be on your dream team.”

“You,” Becky said slowly.

“Yeah, well, obviously. Who else?”

Becky fell silent and looked out of the window at the busy street outside. Three girls walked arm in arm, laughing and talking as they went. Just then one lone man broke through their line, forcing their arms apart. They let him through, but shot up their middle fingers at him after he passed.

“I know what we need,” she said, excitement zinging through her pores. “Jessie, we need girl power. Let’s make this a battle of the sexes.”

“Wait—what?”

“David thinks women creatives don’t have it in them to be as good as men. Let’s prove him wrong. Let’s gather all the women in the department on our team and let Mark have the men.”

“But there are more guys than girls in our department. It won’t be an even match,” Jessie said.

“Numbers aren’t everything,” Becky said. “Especially since the product in question is aimed squarely at women our age.’”

Jessie put down her spoon. “You, my dear, are brilliant.”

“Well, yeah,” Becky said. “Haven’t you seen my awards shelf?”

“I have.” Jessie snorted. “You think it’s bigger than Mark’s?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Becky said, her mind showing her wicked images of Mark’s thick penis twitching in her palm as she kissed his muscled chest. “I honestly don’t know much about him at all. Other than the fact that he’s magic...”

“Magic?”

Becky started, reluctantly letting her daydream disappear.

“That’s what I told him he was. Magic Man from Vegas.”

Jessie stared at her, her blue eyes almost green with jealousy. “Man, that must have been one good night.”

“The best,” Becky said. Seeing the question in Jessie’s eyes, she put her hand up in a “stop” gesture. “But it was just one night. I don’t want or need a man in my life right now. What I need,” she said, grinning, “is a team of Magic Women. Let’s go put it together.”

“I knew my girl was in there somewhere. And—” Jessie grinned, handing Becky the check “—since you’re about to be fifty thousand dollars richer, I’ll let you get this.”

Becky rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said. “But only because you’re about to work your ass off for me.”

* * *

Mark was staring out through the window of his office at the crowds teeming past on Madison Avenue, wondering what on earth he had gotten himself into.

Usually he was brought in to save the day. Agencies never called him until they were facing a problem they couldn’t solve—a challenge they couldn’t meet. He got to play the part of vagabond hero. He came in, slayed the dragon, claimed a few hot nights with the delicious advertising damsels he had rescued, then left.

He didn’t get to know the other players in the story. Never bothered to worry about whose toes he was stomping on, or what effect his actions had on those left behind when he rode off into the sunset.

His life, both professional and personal, was very much a case study in the “Wham, Bam, Thank You, Ma’am,” approach to life. And that was the way he liked it.

After all, the one and only time he’d allowed himself to fall in love he’d found out the hard way that it had been his stepfather’s name—or, more aptly, his money—that had gotten him the girl. And when she’d found out that Mark would never inherit the family fortune Sandra had turned to someone who did have top billing on a rich man’s will.

The day he’d found Sandra in bed with his stepbrother hadn’t been the first time he’d cursed his stepfamily, but it had been the last time he’d admitted to being part of it.

These days he didn’t need anybody or anything. Well, nothing except for a killer job and a place among advertising’s greats—a place he’d earned on his own.

So why did a certain blonde keep interrupting his thoughts?

Just then Becky strode in, fire in her eyes.

“Wow, hey—thanks for knocking,” he said, trying to ignore the way his pulse quickened when she entered the room.

She stalked forward until she was standing directly in front of him. She took a long, slow look around the room and he knew she must be taking in the overly plush carpet, richly upholstered furnishings, the floor-to-ceiling windows and comparing it with her own small if brightly colored closet.

“Nice setup,” she said. “What’d you do? Sleep with David to get it?”

He snorted. “I think you know that’s not the way my tastes run, babe.”

Her face flushed, and he would have given anything to know what she was thinking. She looked up at him and he could see the heat veiled behind her professional fury.

“Let’s get one thing clear,” she said. “What happened was supposed to stay in Vegas, just like David said. It will never happen again.”

“Never, huh? That’s a long time.”

She looked away quickly, but not before he saw the desire flashing in her eyes.

“I’m serious,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “I’ve worked too hard to get where I am to let some man screw up my life again.”

The disdain in her voice struck deep. So she thought she could just dismiss the maddening attraction that raced between them, huh? It was time to prove her wrong.

He pulled her into his arms and tilted her face up to his, giving in to the urge he’d been fighting since she’d walked into the room.

“I think you know I’m not just ‘some man,’” he said, as he brushed his lips across hers. “I’m magic.”

With that, he deepened the kiss. For a second she stiffened, but then something in her seemed to give. With a soft moan, she relaxed against him and opened her mouth.

He lost himself in the chocolate-flavored cavern as hunger roared to life. Their tongues darted and danced and he pulled her closer, wanting more.

He was reaching for the buttons on her blouse when the sharp whistle that signaled the arrival of a text message on his phone blared.

Becky jumped back, staring at him with undisguised horror.

“I’m not sure if you’re magic,” she whispered. “But I am beginning to think you might be the devil.”

Mark took a breath, shaken by how fast he had lost control. Obviously the heat that had sparked between them in Vegas had been no fluke.

“I’ve been called worse by my competition,” he said. “But usually not until after I beat them.”

She briefly closed her eyes, and when she opened them again her stare was fiercely competitive.

“Right. The competition. I came to tell you that I’ve chosen my team. I’ll take the women—you take the men.”

“A battle of the sexes, huh? All right, if that’s the way you want to play it,” he said, still trying to get himself under control.

“No, that’s the way I plan to win it,” she said. “I never lose.”

“Neither do I, Gorgeous Girl,” Mark said, getting angry. “But guess what? One of us is going to. And it won’t be me.”

She took a deep breath and straightened her spine.

“Yes. It will. This job is mine and there’s no way I’m going to let you steal it,” she growled, then strode from the room.

“I’m not going to steal it. I’m going to earn it,” he said to her departing back.

And he would. He just hoped he didn’t have to crush her in the process.


TWO (#ulink_3eb0d3ec-abce-5667-8350-d4782a2a35d8)

Becky looked at the team gathered around the tempered glass conference table. All eight women in the SBD creative department were looking at her expectantly.

“Raise your hand if David has ever belittled your abilities,” she said.

Eight hands shot into the air.

“That’s what I thought. Now, raise your hand if you’d like a chance to prove that chauvinist pig wrong.”

Again hands shot into the air, this time accompanied by hoots and hollers.

Becky smiled. “Good. Today’s your lucky day, ladies. We’re going to win a two-hundred-and-fifty-million-dollar piece of business—and we’re going to do it without the help of a single man.”

Her crew burst into spontaneous applause.

“Now, let’s get down to business. Cheri. What do you think of when I say delicious low-fat Greek yogurt?”

“Um...breakfast?” the brunette answered.

Becky turned to the whiteboard and wrote “BREAKFAST” in caps.

“Good. What else? Tanya?”

“Healthy.”

Becky wrote it down.

“What else? Anyone?”

“A shortcut to skinny,” Jessie said.

“Oh, I like that,” Becky said, writing it down and underlining it. “Let’s explore that.”

“Not just skinny. Strong,” someone else said. “Because it’s got lots of protein in it.”

“Popeye!” Tanya said.

Becky laughed. And then inspiration struck.

“Forget Popeye. This yogurt is for Olive Oyl. It’s Olive’s secret weapon for kicking Popeye’s ass!” she said.

The women around the table laughed.

“Now we’re on to something,” Jessie said. “Here—give me the marker.”

Becky handed it over and Jessie drew a ripped Olive Oyl, flexing her guns, one foot resting on top of a prone Popeye.

“Eden Yogurt. For the super-heroine in you,” Jessie wrote.

Becky stepped back with a grin on her face, feeling the giddy high that always struck during a good brainstorming session.

“Ladies, we are on to something here. Really on to something. Something no guy would think of. So let’s make sure they can’t steal it. Tanya, do you know where there’s any black paper?”

She nodded.

“Great. Go get it. We’re going to make ourselves a good old-fashioned, women-only fort!”

* * *

A short while later all the conference windows were blocked off with thick black paper.

Jessie handed Becky the sign she’d made. It read, “Women at Work. No Boys Allowed” in pink glitter.

Becky skipped over to the door, tape in hand. She was just about to stick it up when she saw Mark approach. Opening the door, she waggled her sign at him.

“We’ve already come up with an idea that’s going to kick the ass of anything you can come up with,” she said, and grinned.

“Oh, really? Then why all the secrecy?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, you’re already in the boys’ club. We thought it only fair that we create a girls’ club with an equally exclusionary policy.”

“I’ll have you know I don’t take part in any boys-only activities. I far prefer the company of women.”

“Well, right now the women of this agency do not want your company. So go play with the boys. We’ll let you back in after we beat you and all your testosterone-addled buddies.”

He sighed. “Becky, Becky, Becky. How many times do I have to tell you? You can’t beat me. I’m magic.”

She sighed in return. “Mark, Mark, Mark. How many times do I have to tell you? You can’t beat us. Talent beats magic every time.”

“You go ahead and believe that,” he said. “But soon you’ll be kissing up to your new boss.”

“Nope,” she said. “Soon you’ll be kissing this.” And she slapped her denim-clad rear.

“You’d like that,” he said.

“I would. Especially if you did it while I was booting your butt out of the office,” she said, slamming the door.

He didn’t need to know how very much she would love to kiss every inch of his magnificent body—and to have him kiss hers in return. Again.

She would beat him and then he’d be gone, taking his career-endangering sexual magnetism with him.

She had to. If she didn’t she’d be lost forever.

* * *

Mark sat behind his heavy oak desk, the eerie white light of his monitor providing the only break in the darkness.

He was trying to polish an ad layout, but every time he turned his attention to the screen Becky’s mocking face filled it.

Accusing him of being in the boys’ club was pretty rich. Truth was, he didn’t have a single close friend—in fact, he didn’t have any male friends. Not real ones, anyway. The last time he’d had a best friend he’d been in sixth grade. His mom had still been single and they’d still been coexisting fairly peacefully, even if she’d never stopped moaning about how tough it was to be a single parent.

Then Bill had entered their lives, and everything had gone down the toilet.

Mark called up Facebook and scanned his friends list, searching for the familiar name. It didn’t take long. He clicked onto Tom’s profile, telling himself he was just curious. Not lonely.

Tom’s page was filled with pictures of his goofy grinning kids and the short, plump brunette who had married him. He wasn’t rich. Or particularly successful. But he did seem happy.

Mark leaned back in his chair and sighed. If things had been different—if he’d stayed in the working-class neighborhood where he’d been born instead of being forced to move into the frigidly upper-class world his mom had married into, where nothing mattered more than money—would he have a life like Tom’s?

Would he have a wife? Kids?

Unbidden, an image of Becky holding a baby popped into his head. Feeling a sharp pang of panic, he shook his head to clear it. He didn’t want a wife or kids. All he had to do was picture Sandra on the day she’d married his stepbrother to remind himself that the only kind of marriage that worked was one based on money. And he was hardly sugar daddy material.

All he needed was a distraction. Pulling out his phone, he scanned his contacts for one of his favorite sex buddies. A little sexting would straighten him right out.

* * *

Becky stood in front of the big laser printer in the central creative area, hands on hips. All her senses were on high alert. She was printing out her team’s latest concepts and she didn’t want anyone from the opposing side to get a glimpse.

Fortunately it was quiet in the agency. Most of the office doors were closed, and those stuck in the wall-less cube maze were plugged into their headphones. The only sounds were the click-clacking of keyboards and the occasional muffled curse word.

Finally the printer started to hum. Becky took another quick look around, but saw no movement.

She relaxed her guard, pulling out her phone to take a quick peek at her Twitter feed. She’d lost all track of what was going on outside the advertising bubble she lived in.

Suddenly she heard paper shuffling behind her. She whirled just in time to see Mark snatching her ads off the printer.

“Hey, give those back!” she snapped, reaching for the papers in his hand.

“In a minute,” he said, turning his back on her. “But not before I see what you’re working on.”

“That’s none of your business,” she said, making another grab for them.

“That’s what you think,” he said, then strode off down the hall with her printouts.

Swearing silently to herself, she hurried after him, hoping with every fiber of her being that no one was watching them. She didn’t need her team to see how easily the other side had managed to outwit her.

Once he reached his office he sat down on the front of his desk, still staring thoughtfully at her designs. She slammed the door, then launched herself at him.

“Give. Them. Back,” she said, trying to snatch them from him.

He easily deflected her attack, then surprised her by pulling her against him. She went still as she registered his closeness, the heat emanating from his body putting her nerves on high alert.

Damn, he smelled good. Like grass and clean air with a hint of musk.

“Just chill out,” he said, from somewhere over her left ear. “I’m not going to steal your ideas. I’ve got plenty of my own. I just wanted to sneak a peek.”

Forcing herself out of the hormone-induced fog his presence induced, Becky pulled away. How was it possible to be so attracted to someone so infuriating?

“Fine,” she said, holding her hand out. “You’ve had your peek. Hand ’em over.”

He did, looking at her with a strangely intense expression.

“Don’t you want to know what I think?”

Of course she did. “No.”

“Well, I’ll tell you anyway. I think they’re pretty awesome.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t what she had expected him to say. “Really?”

He nodded. “It’s a really original idea. One I never would have come up with. The only thing is...”

Instantly anger sparked in her brain. Of course he couldn’t let the compliment ride. Men never could. “The only thing is what?”

“Hey, don’t get mad. I was just going to say that you might try to push the design. The copy carries it, but I think your art directors could give you more.”

She looked down at the ads in her hands. He was right. She’d been thinking the same thing.

“Thank you for the advice. But I think we’re doing just fine. Jessie is killing herself for me.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged.

She nodded and turned to leave.

“Don’t you want to see what we’ve got going on?”

She stopped. “You’re willing to show me?”

“Sure. Fair’s fair. But you’ll have to look at them on screen. I haven’t printed them out yet.”

Wow. A man playing fair. That was a first.

She padded across to his computer, prepared to hate whatever she saw. But when she saw what he was working on she couldn’t help but smile. This guy sure seemed to know women.

“This is good,” she said. “Funny. But...”

“But what?”

“It’s just the headline. It’s a little too much. Too smug. Tell your copywriter to dial it back a little.”

He nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. Thanks.”

She headed back to the door, but stopped before she turned the knob. No need to leave on too much of a friendly note.

“I’m still going to beat you,” she said.

“Keep dreaming,” he retorted.

“Oh, I will.” She smiled. “But no matter how good my dreams are, the reality will be even better.”

* * *

Becky sat staring at her blank computer screen, exhaustion beating at the backs of her eyelids with every blink of the cursor. It was eleven-thirty p.m. on Thursday, and although her team was giving her their all she still worried that it wouldn’t be enough.

Three days just wasn’t enough time. Not when there was a quarter of a billion dollars on the line.

As tired as she was, she couldn’t keep the memories from invading. Couldn’t keep from hearing the sneering voice telling her she’d never get anywhere without him. That she was a hack, and always would be. That the only way she’d ever attain any success would be if she kept warming his bed...

A gentle hand clasped her shoulder.

“Hey, space cadet? Did you hear a word I just said?” Jessie asked.

Becky blinked, shaking her head to clear it.

“No, I...”

“You were listening to the mini-Pence in your head again, weren’t you?” she said, sympathy plain in her bright blue eyes.

Becky forced a halfhearted smile. “What? Of course not. How could I when I’m surrounded by such a fantastic group of talented women?”

Jessie snorted. “Liar. When was the last time you slept?”

Becky thought for a second. She honestly couldn’t remember.

“I can tell by your silence that it’s been too long. Go home. Rest. You need to bring your A game tomorrow. It’s D-day, you know.”

As if she could forget.

“I know. I’ll go soon, I promise.”

Jessie gave her a long look. Becky could tell she wanted to say something else.

“Really. I will. Don’t worry about me.”

“All right,” Jessie said. “Well, I’m heading out. And I’m taking mini-Pence with me. You don’t need him being a backseat driver.”

This time Becky smiled for real.

“You’re right. I don’t. Get him out of here, and good riddance.”

After Jessie had left Becky headed for the kitchen, and the free coffee that awaited her there. As she waited for her mug to fill with the magic brew she laid her head on the cool metal of the stainless steel countertop and closed her eyes. Just for a second...

Next thing she knew a big hand was shaking her awake. She bolted upright, trying to get her bearings.

“I’m on it, Pence. Don’t worry. I just...” she blurted, her mind still in dreamland.

“Hey, it’s all right. There’s no Pence here. It looks like you just drifted off for a second,” a familiar voice said.

Becky blinked. Sure enough, Mark was standing there, smiling gently at her. And in his hand was the cup of coffee she’d been waiting for.

“Here. It’s still hot,” he said, handing it to her.

She took it silently, waiting for him to comment on what he’d heard her say. He didn’t disappoint her.

“Who’s Pence?”

She looked at him, expecting to see ridicule in his eyes. But there was only compassion.

“He’s the reason I don’t do workplace relationships. Or relationships at all, for that matter.”

“Ah. Why?”

Without knowing why, Becky found herself wanting to confide in him.

“He was creative director at the agency where I interned during grad school. He was my mentor, and then he became...more. Much more.”

That was the understatement of the year. But Mark didn’t need to know how bad things had gotten—or how far she’d run to get away from him.

She shrugged her shoulders. “The whole thing left a bad taste in my mouth. So I decided to focus on my career instead. And now here we are. Competing for the promotion that should be mine.”

Mark smiled ruefully and lifted his coffee mug. “Indeed we are. Although I have to admit I’d rather be competing to see how fast we can make each other come.”

Becky raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want this job?”

“Of course I do,” he said with a heated smile. “And I’m going to get it. But I’d also like to hear you screaming my name again. Creating killer ads makes me hot.”

Becky couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up. “Well, that’s nice to know. But I’m afraid I can’t help you. I’ve got an equally hot campaign to finish.”

Mark slowly got out of his chair and walked over to where she stood. “Okay, but just so you know, I’ll be thinking about you,” he said, dropping a kiss on her neck.

Her blood sizzled at his touch, and she found herself hoping he’d keep going.

Instead he turned and walked away. “Sweet dreams,” he called.

Grabbing her still-warm coffee cup from the counter, Becky started the trek back to her office. Sleep would have to wait. She had a campaign to perfect—and a devil of a man to vanquish.

* * *

Mark took a deep breath, straightened his black sport coat, and walked into the crowded conference room. He had timed his entrance carefully, so that he was almost late but not quite. He needed every tool in his arsenal to keep Becky off balance.

“Nice of you to show up!” David boomed.

“I was just putting the finishing touches on our concept,” Mark answered. “Nothing less than perfection will do, after all.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” David said. “Now, since you’re so sure of yourself, how about you go first?”

Mark took a deep breath, then snuck a look at Becky. She was sitting quietly at one end of the giant conference table, her emerald-green dress the only bright spot in the overly industrial room.

She looked at him mockingly. “Yes, Mark, why don’t you go first? We’re dying to hear what you’ve come up with.”

Mark looked at her, then looked at David.

David nodded encouragingly.

He took a deep breath as he strode to the head of the table. This is it, he told himself. Time to knock their socks off.

“I’ve spent a fair bit of time around women,” he said. “I like to think I know what makes them tick. In fact,” he said, turning to write on the whiteboard behind him, “the way I see it, women want three things... First, they want to look good. Which, for most women, means being skinny. Second, they want other women to be jealous of them. And third,” he said, writing the number three with a flourish, “they want a man. Not only that, they want a man of their choosing. And they want him to drool over them. Which, if we’re honest, brings us back to number one. But there are plenty of yogurts promising to make women skinny. To stand out, we need to say something different.”

He turned the first board over, so the whole room could see a woman in a cocktail dress being admired by a host of attractive men. Once he was sure they’d seen it, he read them the headline.

“‘Eden. The yogurt for the woman who knows what she wants.’ That’s our tagline. We’ll use it in connection with women in all kinds of situations. At the beach,” he said, flipping over boards sequentially, “in the dressing room, hailing a cab. In every scene men will be staring, openmouthed, at the female.”

When he’d finished a momentary silence filled the room. He glanced from one face to another but couldn’t read what anyone was thinking. This crew would be awesome at poker.

Finally he looked at Becky and cocked an eyebrow at her. The concept had come a long way since the last time she’d seen it.

She cleared her throat.

“So your message is pretty much: ‘Eat this, be skinny, get men to lust over you’?” she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. “In a nutshell. It’s taking the bikini-clad woman in a beer commercial and turning it on its head. Men get to be the hangers-on.”

“Huh... But what about women who aren’t interested in men?”

Mark turned to look at her, expecting to see spite in her eyes. But instead he saw genuine interest. “That’s a good point,” he said. “But I think this idea has legs. It could cover different topics.”

She walked around the room, grabbed the marker out of his hand and began to write down ideas. “Like instead of men it could be openmouthed business associates admiring her. Or cyclists left in her dust.”

“Oh, I see where you’re going,” he said. “That could be cool.”

She grinned at him, and for the first time since they’d returned to New York he got a glimpse of the happy, gorgeous girl he’d shared a night with in Vegas.

He grinned back. “So, what if—?”

David cleared his throat.

“I like where this is going—but, Becky, didn’t you have a concept to present, as well? This is a competition,” he said.

Becky blinked, and the laughter in her eyes disappeared.

“Right. Of course. Mark, can you clear your stuff out of the way? I’ll grab my boards.”

* * *

A few moments later Becky took center stage. And when she did she was magnetic.

“So, on my team we got to thinking about what women really want. And we think it goes deeper than just being skinny or attracting the right man. That’s what our mothers wanted. But we want more. We want to be recognized as the strong, independent beings we are. We want the superhuman feats we accomplish every day to be recognized. After all, today’s woman works like a dog at her corporate job, putting in twice as much effort for half the pay, then heads to the gym to ensure she stays model-thin, then goes home to run a household. Today’s women are incredible. We think it’s time for a marketer to sit up and acknowledge that.”

Then she flipped a board over.

It showed a business-suited woman standing in a superhero pose on top of a conference table as her colleagues clapped.

“‘You save your world every day before lunch. Choose the only yogurt high-powered enough to keep up with you,’” she said.

She flipped more boards. One of a soccer mom pulling a dirt-covered boy from a vat of quicksand. One of a runner flying ahead of the pack, cape billowing out behind her. And another of a lab-coated woman punching an oversize germ in the mouth so her patients could get away.

After she presented the last board she looked up and smiled. “Every woman deserves to feel like a superhero. Because she is one.”

Her team applauded.

Mark had to stop himself from joining in.

David looked at Mark, seeming to be waiting for something. Oh. Right. He was supposed to be shooting holes in her concept.

“What about all those young hipsters who don’t feel like they’re accomplishing anything yet?” he asked.

“Well, we could have smaller situations. A woman stopping a cab before it can get away,” she said.

“Or wowing a crowded club with her dance moves?” he suggested.

“Or saving a cat from a snarling dog?” she chimed in.

“Or what about—?”

“I hate to break this up, but we’re not in a brainstorming session,” David broke in. “We’re supposed to be making a decision about which concept to present to the client.”

Mark snapped his mouth shut. Damn it. He’d gone from shooting her down to making her case for her.

Thinking fast, he smirked in David’s direction. “I think the choice is clear,” he said. “Superheroes are great—if you’re seven. I think most women would rather fantasize about a good-looking man than dress up in a Spandex suit.”

The look Becky shot him was murderous. But before she could open her mouth David held up his hand.

“You have a point, Mark,” he said. “But there’s something in Becky’s idea, too. Let me think for a minute. Everybody be quiet.”

Instantly the conference room was deathly quiet.

David moved to the front of the room. “Mark, put your boards back up.”

“Sure,” he said, reaching for them.

“Just do it. Don’t talk about it,” David snapped.

Mark blinked, then did as he was told. This man could give any dictator a run for his money.

David paced back and forth, picking up boards, shuffling the order, then shuffling them again. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally spoke.

“All right. Here’s what we’re going to do. I want you to merge these campaigns. They both have their good points, but together they’d be stronger. So,” he said, smiling broadly at Mark and Becky, “I want the two of you to work together.”

Shocked, Mark stared at Becky.

She stared back, panic in her eyes.

“Together?” she blurted. “But we were competing.”

“Not to worry,” David said, patting her on the shoulder. “You still are. We’ll just have to think of a different way to evaluate you. From now on consider yourselves partners as well as competitors.”


THREE (#ulink_cf0d359b-4fad-51d6-8cf3-665e2139ebbd)

David’s words echoed in the now silent room.

“Partners?” Becky squeaked.

David looked at her, a frown working its way between his piercing blue eyes. “That’s what I said.”

The whole idea was insane. How could they possibly get anything done when they were both focused on winning the competition? Plus, it meant spending a lot of time alone together. Too much time.

“This is a lot of work,” she said. “How are Mark and I supposed to get it done without the help of our teams?”

“Well, Becky,” David said, looking at her with more than a little disdain, “if you want to be a creative director at this agency you’re going to have to learn to be resourceful. Figure it out.”

Mark cleared his throat.

“I don’t see any reason why the teams can’t help us blow the campaign out after we’ve finalized the concept,” he said.

David clapped him on the back. “Now, that’s the way a creative director thinks. Becky, pay attention to this guy. You could learn a thing or two from him.”

As Becky seethed, David gave his full attention to Mark. “You two have the weekend to get this nailed down. I expect you in my office at nine a.m. sharp on Monday morning to present it to me. Any questions?”

Mark looked over the top of the bald man’s head at Becky. “You?”

She had plenty of questions. Like, why was David such a Neanderthal? What did he see in Mark? Why the hell had she decided to be a copywriter, anyway? Surely there were better ways to make a living. Picking up the city’s garbage, for example.

But neither of the men in the room could provide the answers, so instead she just shook her head.

“All right. I’ll leave you to it,” David said. “Jessie, would you come with me to my office, please?”

The redhead nodded and followed him from the room. Everyone else followed her lead, and soon they were alone.

Becky collapsed in one of the deliberately uncomfortable metal chairs. “Now what?”

“Now you let me take you to dinner,” Mark said.

Good Lord. The man never let up.

“Dinner? No. We might be partners, but we don’t have to be friends.”

“Who said anything about being friends? This is just dinner. You gotta eat, right?”

He looked at her with that damn eyebrow quirked and she felt her resolve melting. She was hungry. And they had a lot of work ahead of them. It made sense to fuel up before they got started.

“All right. Dinner. But I’ll pay. And I’ll choose the place.”

“You’ve got a deal,” he said, smiling triumphantly.

“Good. Meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes,” she said.

That gave her time to come up with a game plan for winning the promotion...and keeping her clothes on this weekend.

* * *

Mark paced in front of the glass doors that marked the entrance to SBD, dodging tourists with every turn.

He’d arrived at the designated spot on time. Unfortunately Becky was nowhere in sight. Just like a woman, he found himself thinking. Probably trying to figure out how big his bank account was. Then he caught himself. Where had that come from?

Surely David couldn’t be rubbing off on him already?

Just then Becky burst through the doors. The killer green dress was gone. In its place was a pair of worn-looking jeans and a baggy rust-colored sweater. And damn if she didn’t look just as good.

“There you are,” he said. “Where are we off to, chief?”

She looked up at him and he noticed her face was scrubbed free of makeup. Without it, she looked all of nineteen.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” she said. “Come on.”

He followed her as she wound her way through the congested city streets, ignoring the pressing crowds as only a seasoned New Yorker could.

“So, are you from here?” he asked.

She seemed to hesitate before answering. “No. But I like to pretend that I am.”

He wasn’t sure what to make of that statement, so he ignored it. “Then where are you from?”

“Detroit,” she said shortly.

“Ah. Where the weak get killed and eaten, huh?”

“Or pushed to the end of the unemployment line,” she said. Then, seeming to realize that she was being rude, she smiled up at him. “How ’bout you? Where’s your magic come from?”

“Oh, here and there,” he said. “I moved around a lot.” From boarding school to summer camp to anywhere else his mother had been able to think of sending him that kept him far from home.

Looking around, he realized they were standing at the corner of Fifty-Third and Sixth. Tourist central.

“Hungry for some overpriced deli sandwiches?” he asked.

“Nope. Just spicy deliciousness,” she said, pointing to a food cart.

“Really?”

“Don’t look so surprised. It’s the best halal cart in town. And it’s cheap.”

A few minutes later, when they were seated on a bench with their plastic containers on their laps, he had to admit that she knew what she was talking about.

“This is good,” he said between bites of lamb and rice. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a street food kind of girl.”

“Really? What do I seem like? A steak and champagne enthusiast?” she said with a sarcastic grin.

“No, more like a vegan foodie.”

She snorted. “We don’t have vegan foodies in the Midwest. Just a bunch of overweight carnivores.”

“So what brought you here? To New York?”

Her expression closed. “The bright lights and big agencies, of course. Just like everybody else.”

She took a big bite of lamb and rice, then abruptly steered the conversation back to him.

“So. In all your moving around you never made it to the Midwest?”

“Nope. I have an aversion to corn fields.”

“Where did you live, then?”

“Well, I lived in New Jersey until I was ten,” he said, hoping that would be enough to satisfy her.

“And then...?”

Man, was she persistent. He sighed.

“And then my mom married a rich man and moved to Connecticut.”

“Didn’t you go with her?”

He laughed bitterly.

“Well, I had a room in her house. But I wasn’t really welcome there. She was too busy with her new family. I spent most of my teen years seeing how many boarding schools I could get thrown out of.”

Her eyes went round. “Why?”

Thanks to the years of therapy his mom had forced him to do, he knew it was because acting out had been the only thing that got his mother’s attention. But he wasn’t going to tell Becky that.

Instead, he shrugged. “Why does a teenage boy do anything? But I saw a lot of the East Coast. Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Maine...everywhere fancy pants rich people live.”

Becky snorted. “I would have hated you when I was a teenager—you know that?”

He looked at her, genuinely surprised. “Why do you say that?”

“I was the kid doing extra credit projects and sucking up to teachers, hoping they’d help me when it was time to apply for college. I thought kids like you were idiots.”

“And what kind of kid was that?”

She looked at him, her eyes flashing with remembered anger.

“Kids who spent all their time screwing around, knowing they could buy their way into college even if their grades sucked. You would have been one of the people making my life miserable because I couldn’t afford to waste my time partying with you.”

He sat silently for a long minute, unsure of what to say. She was probably right. After his mom had married Bill money had lost all real value. No matter how much he’d charged to his stepfather’s accounts, or how outrageous the purchase, no one had blinked an eye. Except...

“Not me. I went to all-boys schools. Girls were rare and always appreciated, no matter how geeky. Besides,” he said, brushing her hair back from her face, “even if you were a nerd, I’m sure you were a gorgeous nerd. I would have been just as desperate to get in your pants then as I am now.”

She rolled her eyes, looking pleased nevertheless.

“Whatever,” she said, looking down at her phone screen. “Whoa. It’s almost seven already. What do you say we go back and get our war room set up? That way we can start fresh in the morning.”

“That’s a good plan. You’re just going to move your stuff into my office, right?”

Becky froze. “I...uh...thought we should set up shop someplace public. With more space, I mean. Like, you know, the conference room.”

“Why? Are you afraid to be alone with me?” Mark asked, half hoping that she was. He’d love to know he had that kind of power over her.

“What? No. Of course not. I just thought we might need the whiteboards or something,” she said, pointedly not looking at him.

“I’ve got plenty of whiteboards in my office,” he said. “I don’t know about you, but I like a little privacy when I’m working hard. And everybody can see into the conference room.”

She picked at her fingernails. “I don’t know...”

He couldn’t resist the urge to tease her.

“I promise to be on my best behavior. I won’t show you my underwear even if you ask me to.”

Becky laughed at his reference to the first time they’d met.

“Okay. Deal. I won’t show you mine if you don’t show me yours,” she said. “But you’ll have to help me move my stuff.”

* * *

By the time they’d finished moving her desk, laptop dock and giant monitors, dark had fallen and the lights from the skyscrapers that surrounded them twinkled like stars.

Becky gazed out of the window and sighed.

“I could get used to a view like this,” she said.

Mark came to stand beside her. “It is pretty sweet. Definitely beats the view I had at my last office.”

“Oh? Where was that?”

“Los Angeles,” he said.

“Oh. Yeah... I can see how you’d get tired of looking at palm trees and bikini-clad babes,” Becky teased.

“I was a contract worker. Which meant I was one small step away from sitting in the basement with a red stapler. The only thing I had to look at was fuzzy cubicle walls.”

“Ah. At least I’ll always have Ryan Gosling to keep me company,” she said, motioning to the poster she’d tacked to the wall by her desk.

“If you get tired of looking at him I’m happy to pose for pictures,” Mark said.

Becky stepped back. “Now you want to be my eye candy, huh?”

“Nope. I just want you to want me to take my shirt off.”

If he only knew... But she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t even kiss him—at least not again. That morning in his office had been an aberration.

“Dream on, buddy. I don’t sleep with the competition.”

“I know, I know,” he said. “But you can’t blame a guy for trying. You know, if you slept with me I might not try so hard to win.”

“Yeah, right. I’m pretty sure you don’t give up that easily,” she said, giving him a sideways smile.

Then she turned away. It was either that or give in to the temptation to rub her hands over the hard planes of his chest.

“I’m going to check my email and then head out for the night,” she said. “You?”

“I think I’m just going to head out,” he answered. “I need to hit the hay so I’m ready to rock tomorrow. See ya in the morning.”

Becky waved vaguely in his direction as he left and fired up her laptop. She didn’t really need to check her email—that was what smartphones were for. But she did need some time to get used to her new surroundings and wrap her head around the situation.

Truth really was stranger than fiction. If she’d set out to write a book she’d never have come up with anything as screwy as this. It was almost reality-show-worthy.

She could see it now: Flung: Where One-Night Flings Compete.

Giggling, she peeked at her inbox. She was surprised to see it was flooded with messages of support from the whole creative team. The guy in charge of the agency might be a sleaze, but he sure did hire good people.

She was just about to close it up when she saw a name that froze her heart.

Pence.

What did he want?

She considered deleting the email without reading the message, but knew that was the coward’s way out. Taking a deep breath, she clicked on his name, willing herself to stay calm.



Hey Babe

Saw you at AdWorld, but I knew you wouldn’t want to talk to me so I didn’t say hello. Couldn’t stop thinking about you, though. You look good. Done good, too. I’d like to say I’m surprised, but you learned from the best—me.

Did you know my agency is pitching to Eden, too? I’d say may the best man win, but we both know who that is—me.

I’m sorry I’m going to have to crush you. But, hey, there’ll always be a job waiting for you here! Oh, and Chelsea hit the road, so there’s a room for you, too.

Pence



Becky read it twice, unable to believe what she was seeing. Unfortunately the message only got more infuriating the second time around.

Could the man be any more repulsive? Was he really inviting her to take his wife’s...er...his ex-wife’s place over email?

Unable to contain her rage, Becky screamed. Her shriek echoed in the mostly empty office, carrying her pain right back to her ears.

She slammed her laptop shut and got up to pace.

There was no reason this should affect her so much. She’d outgrown him. Outstripped him. She was twice as good as that scum-sucker had ever been on his best day.

Seeking confirmation, she grabbed one of her awards off her desk, stroking the golden statue. She was good. Damn good. And nothing that man could say would convince her otherwise.

But still she heard the echoes in her brain. “No-good hack,” they spat. “Bed-hopping social climber,” they hissed. “As terrible on paper as you are in bed,” they screamed.

Unable to help herself, Becky chucked the award across the room. It landed with a dull thud, the thick red carpet seeming to reach up to protect it from damage.

Becky caught the sob before it could escape from her throat. It was time to go home.

* * *

Becky turned the key in the faded red door that marked the entrance to her third-floor walk-up and trudged up the stairs.

This morning she had felt so confident. So alive. She’d been sure that the world was hers to conquer.

Now? Now all she wanted was a giant glass of wine and the oblivion that came with sleep.

Without bothering to flip on the light switch, Becky stepped into the kitchen and opened the tiny fridge. Wincing at the glaring light, she pulled the Pinot Grigio from the top shelf and took a swig straight from the bottle.

A cockroach scuttled across the bloodred countertop directly opposite her. Without thinking, she slammed the bottle down, reveling in the sickening crunch that sounded as it met its demise.




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