Trainwreck 2 (Trainwreck #2) (24 page)

“I have a ten o’clock meeting with Jaime Zander,” I told her.

She glanced at her computer screen and asked me if I was Gloria Long.

“Yes.”

“Cool.”

She dialed an extension, announcing my arrival to whoever was on the receiving end. I assumed it was Jaime’s assistant. “Someone will be right out to bring you back to Jaime’s office. Make yourself comfy.”

Before I could take a seat on the elliptical couch, a twenty-something man with inky blue hair and an earring sashayed into the reception area to fetch me. He was very attractive, very stylish, and very gay. He smiled brightly at me, revealing a set of perfect white teeth. “I’m Ray, Jaime’s assistant. Jaime is so looking forward to meeting you. Follow me.”

Though younger, he reminded me a lot of my best friend and head of Public Relations, Kevin Riley, who was crosstown at the Lexington Avenue Armory preparing for the highly anticipated pre-Valentine’s Day Gloria’s Secret Fashion Show. My assistant, Vivien Holden, was there too. Right after this meeting, I would be rushing uptown to join them. As always on one of these business trips to New York, we had a hell of a lot going on. In fact, too much. The sooner I got out of New York, the better. Boris Borofsky was lurking out there somewhere. Inwardly, I shuddered.

With my briefcase in hand, I followed hip-swaying Ray through a gutted space to the end office. I liked the way everyone sat in the open and was immersed in their work. My eyes took in the posters for various ad campaigns that lined the walls. Most of them were familiar and indeed quite memorable.

“Jaime had to run down the hall to check out a spot we just produced for one of our clients and will be right back. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” I said, surveying my surroundings and deciding where to sit. I chose a Scandinavian armchair over the couch. Sitting tall and cross-legged in a chair was always more empowering than sitting laid back in a couch. I liked to be in control of a meeting, especially when it was with someone I didn’t know.

My eyes toured the expansive office. Like the reception area, it was warm and funky, filled with eccentric, colorful, artsy furnishings. Intriguing abstract portraits and landscapes dotted the walls, all signed PAZ; one of the portraits was of a blue-eyed baby girl that looked a lot like the photo I’d seen online. My favorite piece of furniture was Jaime’s desk which was shaped like a large kidney bean. For a busy CCO, she had few things on it. Just a stack of neatly arranged bright-colored files, a state-of-the-art Apple computer, and a single framed photo. Behind the desk was a credenza that displayed the many awards the small advertising agency had garnered. From what I’d gleaned of Jaime’s taste so far, she must be quite a creative and interesting woman. I was looking forward to meeting her and getting down to business.

With a few minutes to spare, I used the time to my advantage. Pulling out my iPhone from my handbag, I checked my e-mails. There were easily a hundred new ones from people who reported to me around the world. From store managers to subcontractors. Why did everyone have to bother me with their silly problems? But that was my job. To run the company. There were only two that I urgently needed to read. The first, from Kevin, who was likely updating me about the status of this afternoon’s annual Gloria’s Secret Fashion Show. I opened it and sucked in a deep breath. So far everything was on schedule and moving forward. The other one was good news too. It was from one of my product managers informing me that the first prototype of the sex toys we were developing had been shipped to our Los Angeles headquarters. A smile spread across my face. We were about to expand our business, which now included intimate apparel, active wear, and beauty products, with a collection of BDSM-inspired lingerie and a complementary line of fun, innovative sex toys. Our consumer research with focus groups had strongly indicated that this could be a breakout piece of business for us—women believed that vibrators, dildoes, and bondage accessories, like lace masks and silk handcuffs, were a natural extension of our already sexy product line. And that Gloria’s Secret was a store where they would feel comfortable purchasing these provocative items. We had indeed evolved into a major “lifestyle” brand. As I was about to hit reply, an urgent e-mail came in from Kevin.

G~

The run-through was HOT! Except the lead model tripped on her heels and sprained her ankle. Looking for a replacement. Challenging as all models are working Fashion Week. Will keep you posted.

~xoK

I replied to his e-mail with a smiley-faced emoticon. Among the many things I loved about Kevin was that he was a problem solver. He had once saved my life. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be who I am; there would be no Gloria’s Secret. I was confident he would find a replacement, and the show would go on. I began to reply to the remaining e-mails.

The sound of sprightly footsteps diverted my attention. My head swiveled to the doorway. My mouth dropped to the floor, and my iPhone slipped out of my hand. Oh. My. God. It was him! That pompous asshole who had caused me to drop my briefcase in the elevator and then played head games with me. What the hell was he doing here? Maybe he worked for Ms. Zander?

He took long confident steps in my direction. I hesitantly stood up. He took my hand in his and shook it. His grip was firm, the touch warm and smooth. My body stiffened and my heartbeat quickened.

“Ms. Long, a pleasure to meet you officially.”

I wasn’t sure if I had yet closed my mouth, but I was speechless. I finally found my voice. “And you’re…”

“Jaime Zander.”

Fuck! Holy, holy, fuck!

I collapsed back into my chair. He shot me a devilish smile. Damn him. He knew I was caught off guard. Big time.

Wordlessly, I gazed up at his face. The baby photo that I’d seen online flashed into my head. It was him all right. Though maybe thirty-five years older, he had the same baby blue eyes with that thick fan of lashes, silky chestnut hair, and that distinct dimpled chin. He had been one of those babies that old ladies would look at and say, “Oh, he’s pretty enough to be a girl.”

Mortification struck me like a lightning bolt. I was not easily rattled, but Mr. Zander had succeeded. I suddenly didn’t want to do the meeting or give him my business.

Paralyzed, my eyes stayed locked on him as he lowered himself into the chair catty-cornered to mine. We were in such close proximity I could inhale the intoxicating scent of him and feel his warm breath on my cheeks.

“Are you sure I can’t get you something? A coffee? Water? Tea perhaps?”

A fan?

“No, thank you,” I said, nervously tugging on the thick, platinum braid that wrapped around my shoulder and cascaded over my boobs. The sooner we got down to business the better. His presence was making me bristle.
Get a grip, Gloria. You’re one of Forbes’s One Hundred Most Powerful Women in the World!

Composing myself, I began by telling him that I was seeking an outside agency to bring my company, Gloria’s Secret, to a new level of sales and sensuality.

He folded one long, muscled leg over the other and relaxed back in his chair with his sculpted forearms casually crossed over his crotch—I mean, lap. “Gloria’s Secret. The #1 lingerie retailer in the world. 2,045 stores worldwide. Estimated annual sales revenue: 6.2 billion dollars.”

He had indeed done his homework. But there was no way in hell I was going to let him know that I was impressed. My expression remained impassive while I responded.

“Yes. We’ve enjoyed phenomenal success. But we can’t stop here. Imitators are springing up. We’ve got to stay on the cutting edge, ahead of the competition.” I paused. Okay, now the test. “Did you read
Fifty Shades of
Grey
?”

He grinned. “Of course.”

Ha! I didn’t believe him. He was bullshitting me. I could tell by the wry look on his face.

“Okay, then what’s the full name of Christian Grey’s adoptive mother?”

“Are you testing me, Gloria?”

“It’s Ms. Long, and yes, I am…Well?”

Without wasting a second, he said, “Grace Trevelyn Grey. And she’s a pediatrician.”

Damn it! Score one for him. Except for one feminist copywriter who pooh-poohed the book for demeaning women, none of the Madison Avenue suits had read it. I had to hand it to him. But exam time wasn’t over yet. “Mr. Zander—”

“Please call me Jaime.”

“All right,
Jai-me
, tell me, what, in your opinion, has made the book so popular with women?”

He leaned into me, looking straight into my eyes. His gaze was mesmerizing. As much as I wanted to divert my eyes, they stayed on him.

“Truthfully, while the sex is hot, I believe women fall for the romance.”

“What do you mean?” I was all ears.

“Well,
Ms. Long
, wouldn’t you like me to scoop you up in my arms… tell you that ‘I want you, body and soul, forever’ and make insane love to you on the couch?”

Inwardly, I gasped. He had actually quoted Christian Grey. My eyes took in his mountainous biceps, jumped to the couch, and then back to his crotch. My temperature had just risen ten degrees. Confession: I had the burning urge to shrug off more than just my suit jacket.

He leaned in closer and growled in my ear. “Or would you prefer me to throw you over my desk… or perhaps carry you away and devour you on the conference room table down the hall?”

I squeezed my inner thighs together and could not stop my crossed leg from swinging like a pendulum—a behavior so not in my repertoire. I jerked away from him and found my voice. “You seem to know women rather well.”

He sat back in the chair. “Yes, I do.” His tone was confident, almost cocky.

“In my experience, the only men who understand women are gay. Are you, by chance, gay, Jaime?”

He let out a deep, sexy chortle. “Hardly. I could have several hundred stunning women give you a stellar recommendation.”

“Oh, so you have them review you like you’re a book on Amazon?” My deadpan sarcasm camouflaged my shock at the number of women he’d likely fucked.

He laughed again. “You’re quite witty, Ms. Long. I like that in a woman.”

Again, I was speechless. Damn him!

He moved in again uncomfortably close to me and snagged my braid, coiling it around his lithe, long-fingered hand. “So, what will it take to win your account?”

The hair play was angsting me out. And so was his proximity. I promptly removed his hand from my tresses and composed myself once more. “I’ve asked every agency I’ve met with to come up with a pitch by Friday. Do you think your agency could do that?”

“Not a problem. I’ll put my best person on the job right away.”

“And who might that be?” I asked, my voice dripping with a mix of curiosity and sarcasm.

He grinned wickedly. “Yours truly.” With that, he rose and escorted me to the door. Before I could step over the threshold, he barricaded it with his body and outstretched arms. His biceps flexed as he pressed his hands against the framework. We were face-to-face again, only a breath away.

His eyes bore a hole in mine. “I meant to tell you, Ms. Long, I find your eyes fascinating.”

Most people did. My right eye was blue; my left one brown. I had a rare genetic condition known as heterochromia. In press releases and on the Internet, both eyes appeared to be brown thanks to Photoshop. But because I suffered from dry eye syndrome, I was unable to use contacts to conceal my idiosyncrasy the rest of the time.

Jaime continued to study my mismatched eyes. “They’re contradictions just like the rest of you.”

That I hadn’t heard before. “What do you mean?”

“Your mind says one thing, your body says another.”

His words spurred a rush of tingles to my core and sent my heart into a gallop. Damn him! He was unhinging me again. “Mr. Zander, can I please leave?” I spluttered.

With a smirk, he pivoted so that he was leaning against the doorway. He gave my braid a little tug as I hurried past him. “Ms. Long, I look forward to the
pleasure
of seeing you again.”

“The same.”
Bastard!

As I stomped down the hallway, I could feel his fiery eyes on my backside. His voice traveled down the corridor. “Oh, by the way, I find your black lace push-up bra and matching thong very sexy. And that garter…”

Cringing, I just kept moving. How the hell did he know what I was wearing under my Chanel suit?

I
nsanity. Utter insanity. That was the only way to describe the electrifying pre-show atmosphere at the Lexington Avenue Armory. Production personnel were running around like banshees getting it together. They were talking into headsets and cell phones and frantically jotting down notes on clipboards and in notebooks. The look of stress and panic was etched on everyone’s faces. The adrenaline was flying. The much-anticipated Gloria’s Secret Fashion Show was scheduled to start in an hour, but it seemed like we’d never get there.

It was always like this even though this was our tenth show. This one, however, was more ambitious because it was celebrating our first decade of putting them on. For the first time, the show was being broadcast on a major television network in addition to being shown live on our website. Every fashion journalist and blogger in the world was going to be here including reporters from
Entertainment Tonight
…
Vogue
…Joan and Melissa Rivers… even that teenage wunderkind blogger, Tavi Gevinson…just to name a few. And the celebrity list was endless.