LITMIR.BIZ

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by the senior account execs.”

      He sputtered. “We don’t ignore the junior account managers.”

      “Really? What’s the name of the guy who sits in the cube next to mine?”

      “The new guy?”

      “He’s worked there for five years.”

      “Oh…right.” Dell tried to conjure up the man’s face in his mind. “Mike something?”

      “Close—Oscar. Oscar White. Nice guys with two kids, puts in about seventy hours a week at the office.”

      “Oh. Well, I guess our paths haven’t crossed that much.”

      Her mouth flattened, and she remained infuriatingly quiet.

      He started the engine and tried another tack as he pulled away from the curb. “So do you live around here?”

      “No, I was coming from my friend’s place. I live in Midtown.”

      “Really? So do I.”

      “I know. I’ve seen you at my grocery Sunday mornings.”

      “Why haven’t you ever said hello?”

      “You were always with a woman. Sometimes Courtney, sometimes…not.”

      He squirmed and inexplicably, he thought of Gabby waking up in his bed on Sunday morning and them running to the store for a newspaper and a carton of juice. The image very nearly made him miss the ramp to the interstate that would take them north toward the Georgia Mountains.

      “I’ve seen you at the Fox Theater, too,” she said.

      “Oh? Do you moonlight at the Fox?”

      “I’m a volunteer usher.”

      “Really? I thought only old people did that.” He winced as soon as the words left his mouth.

      “Old people and me,” she said cheerfully.

      How did she do that—keep him off balance, make him feel as if he were a snob? “I guess that’s a great way to see all the shows.”

      She nodded and turned to look out the window. He hadn’t given much thought to her salary, but he vaguely remembered being on a tight budget back when he’d been a junior account manager. There had been no money for theater tickets.

      “How old are you, Gabby?”

      After a few minutes of silence, she said, “I really wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

      He gave a little laugh. “I think it’s cute.”

      “I don’t want to be cute,” she said stiffly. “I want to be taken seriously. You think I don’t know what everyone is saying?”

      “What is everyone saying?”

      “That this competition is a joke, that there’s no way I can beat a superjock like you on a wilderness survival course.”

      He weighed his words, especially since he might have inadvertently fueled a few of those sentiments going round the office. “Apparently Bruce feels differently.” His conscience plucked at him, though, for giving her false hope that she could actually beat him. After all, the woman had nearly been done in with her backpack.

      She fell silent again, watching the passing scenery on Georgia 400 until they were north of the city. Dell couldn’t remember a time when he’d actually wanted a woman to talk.

      “Where are you from?” he asked finally.

      “I grew up in a small town outside Chattanooga.”

      A small-town girl—not surprising. “Sounds nice. Are your parents still there?”

      She nodded.

      When no other information seemed forthcoming, he offered, “I grew up in D.C.”

      “I know. I helped to put together the bios for the senior account execs for the annual report. Your parents work for the Pentagon and you have an MBA from Emory.”

      What his bio didn’t say was that his parents were bitterly disappointed that he hadn’t gone into law or politics, that marketing had been a compromise of his skills and their expectations. Still, she knew more about him than he knew about her. Normally, that wouldn’t bother him, but for some reason, he felt compelled to know what made this woman tick, why she was so spirited in spite of her social clumsiness.

      After knocking over that tree in the conference room and sprawling in the floor, most people would have been too embarrassed to show their face again, much less have the balls to march into Bruce’s office and ask for an A-list account.

      “I think it’s about a two-hour drive to Amicalola Falls,” he said.

      “More like three, actually.” She pulled a sheaf of papers from one of the pockets in her cargo pants. “I’m a bit directionally impaired, but I read the information that Bruce gave us very carefully.”

      Of course she had. “Then maybe you can tell me what we’re in for.”

      “The instructions aren’t that specific, just that we should bring a stocked backpack, study the weather forecast and be prepared for anything.”

      Weather forecast. He looked toward the sky. Hmm, maybe he should have read those papers after all.

      “A guide will meet us at the site and give us more instructions from there.” She ran her finger down one of the sheets. “Says here there’ll be ten of us.”

      He frowned. Not enough bodies to keep them from bumping into each other.

      She pivoted her head. “Do you know Nick Ocean?”

      Oh, brother—he knew that look. He’d seen it in Courtney’s eyes when she talked about the movie star. “I’ve met him a couple of times at trade shows.”

      “What’s he like? He seems so macho onscreen.”

      Dell shrugged and shifted in his seat. “I guess.”

      “Tori wants me to get his autograph.”

      “Just be careful around him. I’ve heard that he likes to hit on young women.”

      “That’s funny,” she murmured, looking back to the papers. “I’ve heard the same thing about you.”

      He frowned and only the ringing of his cell phone in its mounted cradle kept him from defending himself. In deference to the ban on holding a cell phone while driving, he hit the hands-free speaker button on the visor. “This is Dell.”

      “Hey, gorgeous, it’s Courtney.”

      He glanced sideways at Gabby. She didn’t act as if she were listening, but he wished he’d remembered to bring the headset for his phone. “Hi. This is a surprise.”

      “I just called to wish you luck on your wilderness weekend—wink, wink.” She laughed gaily.

      He shifted in his seat. “Uh, thanks. We’re on our way up there now.”

      “We?”

      “Gabby—I mean, Gabrielle is with me.”

      “Oh.”

      “She doesn’t have a car.”

      “I see,” she said, her voice laced with innuendo. “Well, Gabby, should feel right at home in the mountains, with all the trees.” Laughter at her own joke burst over the speaker.

      Dell shifted in his seat. “Courtney, you’re on the hands-free speaker.”

      “Oh. Sorry, Gabby,” she said, not sounding sorry at all.

      “How are things in Manhattan?” he asked, trying to reroute the conversation into safer territory.

      “Great,” she said brightly. “My

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