Hostile Makeover (29 page)

She, Shelley Schwartz, was about to put Tire World on the map and make Fadah Awadallah’s Falafel Shack a household name. Then she was going to pitch the Selena Moore Boutiques account and win it for the agency.

Ross Morgan would simply have to understand that just because she’d gone to bed with him didn’t mean she wasn’t serious about her work. Or capable of standing on her own two feet.

Dropping her things on her desk, she dialed his secretary’s extension. “Mia, is Ross in?”

“Well, he is, but he’s—”

“Good, I’m on my way up.”

“But—”

Two minutes later she was in his outer office with her eyes fixed on the big double doors.

“Shelley, wait,” the secretary said, “he’s—”

Afraid that stopping would weaken her resolve, Shelley continued past Mia. “It’s OK,” she said as she threw open the double doors, “I’ll just announce myself.”

Ross looked up in surprise as Shelley, gaze fixed on his face, crossed the room to stand before him.

“Listen,” she said without preamble, “I’m sure I’m not the only one feeling a little . . . awkward . . . about our, er, sexual encounter in L.A.”

The expression on his face changed. He looked as if he’d swallowed something that didn’t agree with him. “Shelley, you don’t understand, there’s—”

“I know, I know,” she waved him off, “it was a really bad idea and it never should have happened.”

His eyes widened. She’d never really understood what people meant when they said that, but as she watched, his eyes actually did get . . . wider. And bigger. In fact, they looked as if they might pop right out of his head. “Right, but—”

“Not that it wasn’t great, of course,” she interrupted. “I mean, I thought the supply closet was pretty incredible, but California was . . .” she paused again to look for the right word, “um, well, actually, I think it was . . . stellar.”

“Shelley, stop.”

“No, don’t be modest. You were, it was . . .” she shook her head in wonder, “really and truly . . . um, you know . . . mind-boggling.

“But the thing is . . .” She paused again to search for the words she needed, but her knees started to shake, and she knew if she stopped too long she wouldn’t be able to finish. “For all I know, you’re still hoping you can make me quit.”

He got up and started around the desk. “What you need to quit is talking.
Now
.”

Shelley refused to be silenced. She really, really wanted to get this off her chest. Not that she was doing it all that eloquently, of course, but still, she needed to get it all out. “Please don’t interrupt until I’m done.”

A look of exasperation passed over his face. In two strides he was beside her, grasping her by the arms. “Shelley!”

“So, um, I just want to make sure you understand that while I did, um, enjoy myself thoroughly, I think—”

He turned her around so that she was staring at his chest. She looked up into his eyes. There was a warning there that she didn’t understand.

“Shut up.”

“Of course, I want you to know that I’m going to sit down with Luke immediately about the Selena Moore account. And if I get it, I expect a full partnership.”

He put a finger to her lips. “Shelley,” he said softly. “Be quiet.”

“But—”

“I’ve been trying to tell you that we’re not alone.”

There was a complete and absolute silence as the enormity of what he’d just said and what she’d just blurted out sank in. And then someone cleared a throat in the back corner of the room.

“Oh, my God.” Shelley squeezed her eyes shut and leaned hard to her left. When she thought she’d cleared the screen of Ross’s body, she opened them. One at a time.

And then most definitely wished that she hadn’t.

chapter
27

S
helley watched in horror as her father rose from what used to be
his
leather couch in the seating alcove and began to walk toward them.

With every step another emotion appeared on his face, and none of them were emotions she wanted to see. Shame warred with embarrassment, then gave way to dismay. Resignation followed. They blended with the shock to form a road map of a father’s disappointment.

It was the resignation that frightened her the most.

He came to a halt in front of them, and if she hadn’t known better, she would have thought that Ross was trying to shield her. He turned and drew slightly in front of her so that they faced her father almost side by side.

“Now, Harvey.” Ross’s tone was reasonable, almost placating.

“No,” Harvey Schwartz said, “no explanations, no excuses.”

She wanted to shout, “It’s not what it sounds like,” but of course it was. She’d been trying so hard to clarify everything, there could be no doubt what had taken place between her and Ross.

“I’ve been trying to protect her for as long as I can remember,” her father said. He spoke to Ross as if she weren’t even there. “She doesn’t have to think before she acts, because there are never any consequences. She just leaps without a net.”

“Daddy, I—”

“No.” He turned and looked at her and his face was horrible to see. Her heart hurt inside her chest. She could feel each individual beat reverberating in there, like a gong struck by a mallet. How ironic it would be if she was the one who succumbed to a heart attack. Right now, it felt entirely possible.

Or maybe she could just die of humiliation and be done with it.

“I think we should all just take the day and cool down,” Ross said. “Maybe tomorrow—”

Harvey Schwartz shook his head. “No.”

Everything was so off. Her father was supposed to cluck his tongue over her, pat her on the head, and tell her to try harder next time, while Ross jeered and pointed a finger. But her father had turned into an implacable stranger, and Ross looked . . . regretful?

“I thought things had changed. I’d heard you were working hard, producing results,” her father said.

She didn’t ask him where he’d heard these things. “But I am, Daddy,” she said. “I’ve got all the accounts I was given back on track, and I’ve been invited to pitch the Selena Moore Boutiques account. We can become their agency of record.”

“But you’re still playing at this, Shelley,” her father said, “still letting men and . . . whatever else comes up . . . get in the way of your professional judgment.”

OK, she was not going to have a conversation with her father about sex. They were all already suffering from way too much information. Still, the injustice of the double standard rankled.

“So this is
my
error in judgment? Despite all the things I’ve accomplished, you’re going to focus on my sleeping with Ross? What about him? What about his sleeping with me?” Even in her own mind she sounded like a child trying to place the blame elsewhere.

She pointed to Ross even as she took a step away, needing to put distance between them. “I didn’t think Jews bought into the whole Immaculate Conception thing.”

Ross actually laughed.

She shot him a look. “You! You’re lucky I’m not suing for sexual harassment. And you know what else? I take back all the things I said earlier. Stellar? Ha! I spit on stellar!”

Ross stopped smiling. Harvey Schwartz cleared his throat again. And everything plunged the rest of the way down the hill.

“I came in this morning to discuss the offer from Miller Advertising,” her father said, looking at her.

“Offer?” The hair on the back of her neck popped up. Between the hurt and anger and embarrassment, it was hard to imagine summoning another emotion, but fear managed to rear its ugly head.

“They want to buy us out and merge the two agencies,” Ross clarified.

She was having a hard time catching her breath. Each of their comments struck her like an unexpected body blow and left her gasping for air.

“They approached Ross six weeks ago. I’d be paid off. Ross would stay on as president. Others,” her father looked at her, “would be out.”

Others meaning her. They’d been talking about selling for six weeks and this was the first time they’d bothered to mention it to her.

“Your father’s been resisting,” Ross explained. “He wasn’t willing to agree to some of the terms I was. He wanted to see you taken care of.”

So she’d been the holdup. Her father had tried to protect her once again.

Looking at her father made her want to cry, so she looked at Ross instead. Then the full realization hit her. She’d been jumping through hoops to try to prove herself to Ross Morgan while he’d been lobbying to sell the agency, to an agency he knew she wouldn’t be a part of.

Ross could afford to pretend regret; he would get a big fat payout and be named top dog. She would be out.

Because she’d slept with him and spoken out of turn. Because she didn’t know how to keep her mouth shut at the appropriate time.

“You’ve just helped me make my decision,” her father said. “Ross, contact Chase Miller today and tell him to have the papers drawn up.”

She looked at him. “That’s it? Have the papers drawn up? Shelley slept with the wrong person, so she can’t possibly be serious about her work? I guess I’ll go ahead and sell out?”

She looked at her father again, trying to understand. “No matter what I do, you still see me as a child, treat me as a child. You’ll never see me any other way.”

Her father sighed and set his shoulders. She absolutely could not bear the look of disappointment on his face. “We’ll talk about this another time, when we’ve both calmed down.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked slowly out the door.

Stunned, Shelley watched him go. Then she turned to look at the man beside her; the one she’d resented and fought with and been unable to resist. The one who’d wished her gone and whose dreams had all just now come true.

“Well,” she said as her anger and anguish built, “this must feel like Christmas and Easter rolled up into one.” Too agitated to stay in one place, she began to pace. “It’s not every day you get to watch someone destroy herself quite so completely.” Her stomach was churning so violently she was afraid she was going to be sick. “I waved my sex life in my father’s face. And then I handed you everything you wanted on a silver platter! Me! I gave it to you!” She absolutely could not believe it.

Incensed, she rounded on him, prepared to tell him off some more. But he beat her to it.

“I hate to break it to you, Shelley, but every move I’ve made has not been about you.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Sometimes things don’t work out the way we plan, or even the way we want them to.”

He came over and bent his face to hers. His eyes were full of emotion she didn’t understand.

“And don’t you dare try to tell yourself that our sleeping together was some ploy to get rid of you. This thing, whatever it is between us, has been brewing since we laid eyes on each other. I’m not wild about it and I sure as hell wished it would go away, but it won’t. I should never have touched you. Never.”

He shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe it. “But I couldn’t resist. And look what’s happened.”

He sounded almost as unhappy about it as she felt. “You know, if you had acted like a grown-up for once, instead of a spoiled little girl, your father wouldn’t have had our mistake stuffed in his face. A grown-up might have resisted storming in here unannounced. Or taken a moment to make sure we were alone before launching into such intimate detail.” He shook his head again and snorted in disgust. “Just a little bit of self-restraint, and we wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation.”

His last words were whispered, but they rang in her ears as if they’d been shouted. He might as well have capitalized every one of them. “I have a final news flash for you: Your father treats you like a child because you insist on acting like one.”

He speared her with his blue eyes so that she couldn’t look away. “I was never a serious threat to you, Shelley. The only real threat you’ve been facing is yourself.”

She stared into his eyes, completely aghast, and knew that at this moment she hated him more than she had ever hated anyone.

Most of all, she hated that he was right. She’d never forgive him for that.

Mandy Mifkin was . . . miffed. Someone who didn’t know her might not have noticed, but Judy could tell just how ticked off the bar mitzvah coordinator was. She held her small overexercised body very still; there was no fluttering of the hands, no overt physical indication. But if this had been a cartoon, lightning bolts would be shooting out of her eyes.

They were seated at the Bagel Nosh, a small delicatessen not far from Judy’s neighborhood, where the waitstaff did a fair imitation of surly New York and you could get chopped liver with the bagels that were baked fresh daily.

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Mandy said. “I explained at the Bar Mitzvah Expo that if you’re not planning to go all out, you’re wasting my time and your money.”

Judy understood the woman’s dilemma; an event planner was only as good as her last event. Mandy Mifkin’s reputation and ability to attract future clients were constantly on the line.

“If you’re going to do the sports thing, you’ve got to DO the sports thing. Let’s divide the banquet room into National League and American League, or NFL and AFL, let each table be a different team, make the kids’ buffet look like a concession stand. We could even dress the waiters like concessionaires or referees. It does no good to do these things halfway.”

Mandy Mifkin could sell. She hadn’t gotten where she was by letting clients shy away from the spectacular, and the larger the spectacle the better. Other coordinators might turn out nice, tasteful events. A Mifkin bar mitzvah was an extravaganza. But Judy no longer felt all that extravagant.

“We can put baseballs on the yarmulkes and edit Sammy’s video to make it look like an episode of
Baseball Tonight
. We’ve already booked the whole ESPN Zone. You’ve got to embrace this theme and make it your own.”

Judy took a bite of her bagel. At a nearby table, a group of women from her temple glanced their way and then put their heads together. Whether they were whispering about the obvious falling-out between planner and client or the state of Judy’s marriage was unclear. Taking a sip of coffee, Judy tried to focus on the woman across from her.