All's Fair in Lust & War (3 page)

“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

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?”