Not Quite as Advertised

She kept her attention on Stanley. “Most power-tool consumers are men, and you, the manufacturers, are all competing for the same buyers. But imagine if your campaign was aimed at women. Bring in that market, and you’re a leg up on the competition already.”

Under his breath, Hugh mumbled something about ads in pink fonts, but not loudly enough to alienate his potential client. “We can certainly explore that idea if you’re interested, Stanley, but I have to say, ignoring your target market is risky at best. Practically speaking, how many women do we think spend their disposable income on power tools?”

He turned to Joss, his eyebrows raised in an expression of mild curiosity. “You, for instance, just as a demographic example. Would you know the difference between a skill saw and a reciprocating saw?”

One of the fundamental rules of gunning for an account was demonstrating familiarity with the product, and everyone at the table knew Joss had never heard of Patone before today. Hugh’s attempt to discredit her was simple, but delicately handled. An allout assault on her credentials would seem like bullying, and besides, she sensed he saw her more as an annoyance than a real threat to be feared.

“No, I guess I’m not the reigning expert on saws. Or drills, or wrenches.” Eyes innocently wide, she smiled at Hugh. “I admit it. When people think tool, you’re what comes to mind.”

He blinked, and she turned away quickly, appealing to Stanley. “But I did spend hours yesterday in home-improvement stores and can give you a female’s perspective, if you’re interested. I can also tell you that the popularity of home-makeover shows can be used to attract women.”

She outlined a few of her thoughts, expounding on how and why women could be a valuable asset, especially when they were Christmas and birthday shopping for the men in their lives.

Vivian returned to the table, zipping her cell phone back into her purse. “What did I miss?”

Ever charming, Hugh rose to pull her chair out, but his smile was strained. “Joss has been sharing her…wonderful ideas.”

Smiling inwardly, Joss cast a small sidelong glance in Hugh’s direction. Do you fear me now? Good.

After the food arrived, all talk of anything requiring power cords and drill bits was put on hold, and Vivian genteelly monopolized conversation with real estate anecdotes. But when the check came, she reverted immediately to their earlier topic. “You should take Joss’s card with you.”

Joss almost flinched. As much as she wanted to succeed, especially if she beat Hugh in the process, there was something a little embarrassing about being twenty-eight and having your mother try to direct your business endeavors.

But Stanley was nodding. “I had already planned to ask. Young lady, you had some terrific ideas, and I’ll be in touch with you this week.”

Avoiding Hugh’s gaze, she reached for her purse. Despite the few times this morning she’d wanted to cringe over Vivian’s “help,” Joss would be thrilled to have Stanley as a client. After everything that had happened in the past week—being told over a breakfast her agency had paid for that Neely-Richards was going with someone else, dealing with the EWA agent, not winning an ADster—Joss craved that adrenalized buzz of feeling like a winner.

“I’d love to hear from you,” she told Stanley. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

She’d intended to tackle her kitchen wall today, but now she was torn. It ate at her to be surrounded by unfinished projects, but maybe her time was better spent researching and working up ideas for Patone instead. When Stanley called, she would be ready. What a coup it would be for Visions to sign him out from under Kimmerman!

Although Wyatt had assured her he wasn’t disappointed with the second-place standing Friday night, her boss had been uncharacteristically subdued. Joss loathed the sensation of having let someone down, and this was her chance to make it up to him. She couldn’t wait to get to work Monday morning.

In hindsight, she’d been in a slump lately, but her luck was about to change. She just knew it.

4

“WYATT, I HAVE GOOD NEWS!” Actually, what Joss had was more like a tentative lead, but why split hairs? Besides, she’d embraced the power of positive thinking.

Her boss lowered the coffee he’d been pouring into his Real Ad Men Get the Job Done in Under Thirty Seconds mug and gave her a wan smile. “Actually, I have some news of my own. Maybe I should go first.”

Her breath caught. His mood lately hadn’t been in her imagination. “What is it?”

“Let’s talk in my office.” Did he suggest that because they’d be more comfortable there, because no one arriving at work would walk in on the conversation, or because he was stalling?

She followed him past deserted cubicles. Joss was always among the first to arrive, but today, mocked at home by windows that needed new treatments and a kitchen decorated in Early Whorehouse, she’d left her place even earlier than usual. By the time she and Wyatt entered the glass-fronted presidential suite, she felt almost queasy with nerves.

“I was planning to tell the entire staff today, but maybe telling you first would be good practice,” he said ominously, making her wonder if he suffered some ailment she didn’t know about.

“There’s something wrong?”

“Not technically. In fact, it’s even good news.” Yeah, he looked like a man bursting at the seams with joy, what with the way he sighed heavily and fiddled with the container of pens on his desk instead of meeting her gaze. She lowered herself to the buttery-soft leather chair across from him and experienced a moment of déjà-dread. The knots in her stomach were tied in the same formations she’d felt when she watched a newscaster tell the city about Mitman’s fraud.

Oh, God, surely she wasn’t about to lose another job?

“I’m proud of Visions,” he told her. “Proud of each of my employees, especially you. But I don’t have your youth and energy, and I’ve been receiving buyout offers that are becoming more and more difficult to turn down. So Penelope and I decided to take one of them…. I’m retiring. I’ve worked hard over the last thirty years, and I’ve put in hours my wife was a saint to tolerate. But now we’re going to spend time together before we get too old to make the most of it.”

The words sank in slowly, in the same manner that water drained drop by excruciating drop in her clawfoot tub. “You sold Visions?”

“Legally, it’s set up more as a merger—with me stepping down from the merged company. You, the staff, make Visions what it is, and you all have brand-new jobs waiting for you. With raises.”

She liked the job she had. “And who will be paying these raises?”

“Kimmerman and Kimmerman.”

Oh, no. Working for Hugh Brannon’s employer? No, no, nooo.

Wyatt must have sensed her—bone-deep hatred of the idea—reluctance. “Joss, you’re a talented young lady with a great career ahead of you. With your drive and ambition, you should be at a company like Kimmerman. They’ve got the resources to take you places.”

“Mitman was a top company with prestige and national recognition, too.” That had been one of the things that had drawn her to the position—even Vivian had been impressed. Until the slightly less impressive criminal suit.

Wyatt shook his head. “I know Rob Kimmerman and his son, and they’re running an honest ship over there. Of course, I can’t make you accept a job with them, but they’ll need someone like you to ease the clients through the transitional period. And it’ll be something of a transition for your colleagues, too.”

Joss bit her lip. She didn’t think Wyatt was trying to emotionally manipulate her, but she came preprogrammed with a sense of obligation to others’ expectations. She didn’t want to fail him. Besides, smart women didn’t voluntarily chunk their incomes when the ink on their mortgage papers wasn’t quite dry.

A raise would certainly make it easier to refit her kitchen with a stove not off by sixty degrees and wallpaper that didn’t say “hourly charge includes condoms.” Then there was the new water heater she needed, the sink that needed to be replaced in the laundry room so that she wasn’t in danger of a small domestic flood every time she ran a load of darks, her bedroom floor upstairs that dipped ominously if you stepped beneath the ceiling fan…

“When are you telling everyone else?” she asked, trying to get her bearings.

“Staff meeting first thing this morning. I hope you don’t think me too selfish, Joss, but Penelope and I can’t pass up this opportunity. And I really think it’s what’s best for all of you, too.”

She forced a smile for the man who had taken her under his wing when she joined the firm. “I’ve always trusted your judgment.”

His shoulders sagged with relief. “Then you’ll help me get everyone else excited about the idea?”

What? “Oh. Of course.” That should be quite the pep talk.

Still, if she’d somehow been able to convince herself she truly wanted to live in a house that would make Bob Vila turn and run screaming into the street, then surely she could convince a handful of people they wanted to work with Hu—er, Kimmerman and Kimmerman.

HUGH STEPPED INSIDE Kimmerman Sr.’s office, a spacious suite that overlooked a putting green and boasted its own executive washroom. On the other side of the mahogany desk, Robert Kimmerman held up a finger to signal his almost being finished with an e-mail, and Hugh sat down to wait. When he’d arrived that morning, his phone had already been blinking with voice mail from the company’s president. Hugh doubted the older man wanted to see him “immediately” to congratulate him again on the ADster win. Was this a status check on Patone Power Tools?

Until yesterday, Hugh would have bet money on his sitting here now with a contract signed by Stanley Patone…and Hugh almost never lost a bet. But he hadn’t factored in Joss McBride as an obstacle. Her appearance at the restaurant yesterday morning had completely blindsided him. He told himself the surprise he’d felt was why he’d been so off-kilter throughout the brunch—not because he was preoccupied with thoughts of courting her instead of the prospective client.

Watching her walk toward him in the familiar setting, catching the spicy fragrance of her tantalizing perfume, battling her for an account…it had been just like old times, except without the hot sex. Which was like braving the traffic to reach the stadium, getting all revved up during the pregame activities and then leaving before the kickoff. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her once he finally climbed into bed that night and tried to sleep. He didn’t actually mind the dreams she’d inspired, but he wondered if she’d thought about him, too. Missed him?