All's Fair in Lust & War - Amber Page

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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

      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.

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