Working It (3 page)

She was exactly what Jade wanted to be when she grew up.

“Why does this account mean anything to you?” Betsy's voice was cultured, as if she was chastising a member of her garden club rather than her direct report. “You've got a full load as it is.”

“Nothing pressing,” Jade said. “I've got all of my key accounts taken care of, and it's not like I'd be ignoring them. I would love to take Robson on as a challenge, but you know I don't turn my back on my work.”

Betsy's nose wrinkled with displeasure. “Robson is a little nothing account. Sure, some of the other partners thought that it would turn into something, but—”

“I think we shouldn't write it off just yet,” Jade interrupted, causing Betsy's frown to deepen. Jade bit back on an impatient sigh. “Sorry. I'm just really excited about this account. It's a little hard to explain.”

Probably because I'm not entirely clear on the reasons myself.

“It can't be the money,” Betsy scoffed. “Because a measly hundred thousand is hardly worth getting out of bed for.”

Jade smiled at the comparison. “No. It's not the money.”

“Is it the challenge?” Betsy's eyes narrowed. “I know you, Jade. If somebody told you that you couldn't climb Mount Everest, the next thing I'd see is a framed photo in your office of you on some snowy peak with a broad grin. Probably giving the cameraman the finger.”

Jade looked away, laughing nervously. “I'm not that bad.”

“I heard about this Robson character from the other execs,” Betsy warned. “I never should have let that pass your desk, but you've still got that reputation as a closer…”

“I like that reputation.” Jade grinned. “I'm one of the best.”

“Yes. But, Jade,” Betsy said, her voice going gentle and patient, “that hasn't exactly gotten you the promotion you've been hoping for, now, has it?”

Jade's grin slid. She stood, started pacing a little. “I know. And I know you think I should be working on higher profile accounts. But we haven't had a high-profile account come my way in months.”

“We just have to keep working on it,” Betsy said. “Be patient.”

“I've been patient for five years,” Jade said. “If they're not going to let me prove myself on a big account, then I was thinking, maybe it's time to show them what I can do with a small account. An impossible account. One they've written off.”

Betsy sat up. “So that's what you want with Robson.” Her tone sounded impressed. “They watched some of their top account executives fail, and then you go in…hmm. Interesting.”

Jade saw her advantage, pressed it. “I know I can turn this around,” she said, her voice low and impas
sioned. “You should see this factory. All of the workers seem to love Drew Robson, and the Robson family. He's got a fiercely loyal staff. And he…”

She stumbled on her words. He was amazing, frustrating. But he was also dedicated to saving his company, its workers, and the town. She had felt turned on—the guy was impossibly good-looking, and she wasn't blind—but she had felt something more. She'd felt inspired.

“He's the heart and soul of that place,” she said. “I win him over, and the rest will fall into place.”

Betsy pressed her fingertips against the broad surface of her desk. “How long do you think this will take?”

Jade felt a glimmer of hope burn in her stomach. “I'm not sure. Fairly quickly…no more than a few months.” She got the feeling if she didn't turn things around for Robson, his company might not be around for much longer than a few months anyway. Now was not the time to mention that to Betsy, however.

“A few months. And how much of your time?”

This was a little trickier. “As I said, I wouldn't be ignoring my key accounts. Most of my work with my current clients is just maintenance, anyway.”

“And new accounts?”

Jade winced. “I'd have to ask for a break from new account work for a while,” she admitted. “Just until I got Robson back on its feet.”

“I don't like it,” Betsy said. “I value your help with my new account pitches—there isn't anybody at Michaels and Associates with your flair for presentations or proposals.”

“I promise, I'll still be able to help you with those,” Jade said hurriedly, sitting back down in the seat with
a thump. “You won't notice a difference in my work habits.”

Betsy sighed, sitting back, obviously evaluating. Jade held her breath.

“Tell me something.” And now Betsy's eyes were shrewd. “This
is
just for the promotion, right? There's nothing else here I don't know about?”

Jade stared. “Sorry?”

“You're not going altruistic on me, are you?” Her voice rolled out in sonorous waves. “I mean, charity has its place…but I'd hate to see you pinning your hopes on some poor little company that doesn't have a chance no matter how good you are. There's taking on a challenge, and then there's career suicide.”

Jade's spine stiffened. “I like helping people.”

“So do I. So does everyone,” Betsy said smoothly. “But sometimes you take things on to help people. And then, sometimes you say no because you're only hurting yourself.”

“This isn't like that,” Jade said, crossing her arms. She realized how defensive her posture was and forced her body to relax. “I just really think I have a shot with this. It's an untapped opportunity. And, yeah, showing the partners how well I can do in the same company their hotshots failed in will only help my cause. Now can I work on the Robson case, or not?”

Betsy smiled. “I've had a lot of people work for me over the years, but you're special, Jade. You rather remind me of myself…when I was your age, of course.”

Jade smiled back, highly complimented. “Would you have taken on the Robson case?”

“Probably.” She took a deep breath. “Okay. You can take on this little pet project of yours.”

Jade beamed. “Great. I'll get started right away—”

“Not so fast,” Betsy interrupted. “There are a few provisions on letting you do this.”

Jade nodded, still elated. She should have known her boss would do this—nothing came easy when you were working for Raw Diehl. But then, few things Jade took on were easy. She prided herself on that.

“First of all, you're going to keep working on all of your accounts. One slip-up on any of them, and you're off the Robson account.”

“Agreed.”

“Second, you're still going to help me with those new account pitches.”

Jade groaned internally, but kept her game face on. “No problem.”

“Third…you're bucking on this to get you a promotion, Jade. That means that you're going to have to prove yourself to the other partners and to myself. You have to get Robson to pay the bill. From the looks of it, that means pulling the company out of the fire single-handedly. That's an awfully tall order.”

“I know.”

“I'm going to have to go to the other partners and explain why I'm not putting you on other accounts, and why you're spending your time and our resources helping what could be a delinquent customer,” Betsy said, and her gray eyes were like flint. “That means that I'm going to have to do some fast talking and make some concessions.”

Now Jade felt a cold prickle of apprehension dust her spine. “I don't want to put you in a bad position,” she said.

“I've been on the hot seat before, don't worry,” Betsy said with a negligible wave of her hand. “But in order to say that you can shirk the new account
work, especially for a long shot…well, if it goes under, we're both going to look bad.”

“I understand.”

“So, I'm going to propose this—if you get the Robson account, you finally get the promotion to account supervisor, with the opportunity to buy into the partnership—” Betsy paused “—but if the Robson account doesn't pay, or if anything goes wrong…then you're going to have to forfeit any promotions for the entire following year. And you'll have to give up some of your key accounts. It'll be like starting all over again.”

Jade swallowed hard. “I see.”

“Now, are you sure you want to risk this?” Betsy's face was concerned. “Or do you want to just be patient, see how it goes at your next review? That's only four months away. It might be different this time.”

It might be different this time.
How many times had Jade walked into her boss's office with that thought? And walked out empty-handed? Still, maybe it was safer…

She thought, suddenly, inexplicably, of Drew Robson. With his flashing, light blue eyes full of righteous fury. He would've been safer staying at some other job, but instead he'd taken the helm of a sinking ship, determined to do everything he could to save it. He would never take the easy route. He wouldn't go quietly.

She wouldn't do less.

“I'll take the risk,” Jade said instead, standing and shaking Betsy's hand. “Thanks for letting me have the chance.”

“I shouldn't be surprised. As I said…you're special.” Betsy shook her head. “I'm sure that if anybody can do it, it'll be you, Jade. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

“And don't forget about my new account work.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Jade winked, causing Betsy to laugh.

As Jade walked out of Betsy's office, she felt a burst of excitement—quickly coupled with a burst of nerves.

I've got the opportunity, she thought. Now…I just have to make it happen.

And making it happen meant tackling the lion in his lair yet again. She went to her desk, picked up the phone and opened her organizer. She dialed, tapping her pen against her desktop impatiently.

“Robson Steel.”

“Ah, Mrs. Packard, so lovely to speak with you again,” she said quickly. “I need to set up an appointment as soon as possible with Mr. Robson. When can you schedule me in?”

D
REW FLIPPED THE LAST
slide over in his presentation, forcing himself not to run a finger under the collar of his starched white shirt. He'd tied his tie too tight. Damned thing felt like a noose.

“So, gentlemen, investing in Robson Steel over the next four years could mean additional profits and an obvious significant return on your investment. It would be revitalizing the community, retaining jobs, and our streamlining would help the environment by reducing wastes by an additional ten percent. It's the ecological, political and economical choice.”

He paused, then shut off the projector. “Uh…thank you.”

He looked over at the other end of the conference room, where Ken was sitting, pretending he was an investor. Ken didn't say anything.

“So how'd I do?” Drew finally growled.

Ken frowned, shaking his head and rubbing at his temples. “Drew…I work for you, and
I
wouldn't invest after a presentation like that.”

Drew yanked at his tie, taking a deep breath as it loosened. “Listen, I'm doing the best I can.”

“Don't say that,” Ken groaned. “That means it's all downhill from here.”

“If you hadn't worked for my grandfather, I'd kick your ass,” Drew said, wadding up the tie and throwing
it across the room. Ken let out a dry, sandpapery laugh when it hit him in the chest.

“Your grandfather,” Ken said with a sigh. “He was the same way. Couldn't charm his way out of a paper bag, but by God, the man knew steel.”

Drew sobered quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Drew smiled. “You know, after all these years, I still miss him.”

They were silent for a moment.

“Still, you've got four weeks,” Ken said, clearing his throat. “Your grandfather could devise a solution for any problem on earth when it came to steel. You'll figure out something.”

“Sure I will,” Drew said, feeling his stomach begin a slow boil of nerves. No pressure, or anything.
I laugh in the face of pressure. Ho, ho, ha, ha. Whee.

Mrs. Packard knocked at the door of the conference room. Considering she usually looked as though she'd just been permanent-pressed, her frazzled state was unnerving.

“What is it?” He stared at her. “An invasion?” Maybe those creditors had gotten tired of the phone calls. Could you repossess a steel press?

“That
woman
is back,” she said, sounding out of breath, as if she'd been fighting off infidels at the door. “And you won't believe what she's wearing.”

Drew felt his stomach clench at this announcement. The way that Mrs. Packard said “woman,” in a tone she usually reserved for such terms as “Jezebel” or “libertine,” meant only one thing. The tall, redheaded P.R. barracuda was back. And from the sound of things, she was loaded for bear.

“She was quite insistent that she see you, even though I told her you were busy.” The fact that the
woman actually defied his stern-faced assistant showed that she was brave. Or foolish. Or possibly both. “Shall I throw her out?” Mrs. Packard looked as though she'd relish the chance.

Ken chuckled a little more easily this time. “After a statement like that? I want to see what she's wearing.”

“And won't your wife love it when I let that one drop at the company picnic,” Drew said with a humorless grin. “Don't worry. She won't be here for long. I'll handle this, Mrs. Packard.”

Mrs. Packard looked momentarily disappointed, then nodded. “I'll show her in.”

When she left, Drew looked at Ken. “Okay. Out.”

“Come now,” Ken protested. “What's the harm in an old man admiring a rather amazing—”

“It's going to be quick, and it'll probably be messy,” Drew interrupted. He already remembered just what amazing attributes the woman possessed. “I don't want you interrupting.”

Ken stood, then wiggled his eyebrows. “Interrupting what…and how hasty are you planning to be?”

Drew cursed himself silently. “
Interfering.
I meant, interfering.”

“Of course you did.” With one last sly grin, Ken wandered out.

Drew threw his suit coat over the back of a chair and rolled up his sleeves. She was tenacious, he'd give her that much. But tenacious or not, he'd send her right back to her fancy, schmancy P.R. firm. Crying, if need be. He didn't relish acting like this, but he knew how these P.R. people worked. The first guy Drew had spoken with
from Michaels & Associates probably would've misted up if he thought it would seal him a sale.

Drew heard the clack of footsteps coming down the hallway before he saw her. He set his face in a firm, determined frown.

I am going to get rid of this woman once and for all, no matter what she looks like.

And he'd meant it, too. Right up to when she took one step into the room and his jaw dropped.

She was wearing a snug-fitting pair of well-worn blue jeans over what looked like black hand-tooled leather boots. She was also wearing a faded black T-shirt that sported the name of a rock band he'd never even heard of. Her red hair exploded around her head like fireworks. She wore a broad smile beneath eyes of mossy-green determination.

“Mr. Robson.” Without invitation, she sprawled herself in one of the conference room chairs. “Sorry I'm arriving unannounced like this. I've got a proposal I think you'll be interested in, and I seemed to have difficulty setting up an appointment, for some reason. Not that I'm implying anything. I'm sure you wouldn't have given that…uh, your assistant specific instructions not to put me on your calendar.”

“I would have if it had occurred to me you'd be crazy enough to come back,” he said tightly. “And don't make yourself comfortable. You won't be staying long.”

“Now that's where you're wrong,” she said confidently, propping her feet up on the desk and crossing her legs at the ankle. She looked like a cross between the CEO of a multimillion dollar company and a roadie for Lollapalooza. “I made a mistake with you. I thought you were looking for polish, and some
charm…and let's face it, a little polite strong-arming. I understand now that it was a total misjudgment on my part.”

“I'm not looking for anything you're offering,” he pointed out.

“Exactly. But you
are
looking for a way out of the hole you're in.”

His eyes narrowed and he sat next to her, glaring. “I used to bounce in a club for a while. Don't make me escort you out, Ms. Morrow.”

She sat up, meeting his gaze with an unflinching determination. “Just hear me out. Five minutes. That's all I'm asking.”

“No.”

“You're trying to save your company,” she said, her voice low and impassioned. “I can help you do that.”

“Bull.” He reached for her arm. “Now come on…”

She held his wrist, stopping him. He wasn't pushing, but she wasn't struggling, either. It was just a gentle grip, her fingertips brushing the flesh over his pulse.

It stopped him more than a fist would have.

“You need an inflow of cash. Quick. That means investors,” she continued. “Investors like companies with buzz around them, you know that. You start to get your name—in a positive light—in the trade mags and other papers, and you'll be better able to…”

“We've been to investors,” Drew said, his voice tired, trying to end the conversation. He didn't know why he was letting her pull him into this. “We're running out of time. This isn't just me trying to shut you up, this is a fact—we don't have the time you're talking about to make a successful go of it.”

She frowned. He noticed that she hadn't released his wrist.

“So what happened?” She finally pulled away from him and, for a second, he felt bereft. He hid the confusing emotion by putting his hands against his temples, rubbing against the now-ever-present brewing headache.

“I don't see the point in telling you.” He didn't mean for that to come out so curt, but it was too late to take it back.

He noticed that she didn't look cowed. Nor did it look as though she was leaving.

“I don't
know,
all right?” He took a deep breath. Maybe if he just said it quick, she'd leave. “Our numbers are bad, but not that bad. Of course, as you mentioned, it doesn't help that the previous president embezzled almost a million dollars and fled the country.”

“It doesn't help that you're young, either,” she mused.

“Thirty-four isn't exactly right out of school.”

“You didn't get an M.B.A. until you were older, either,” she added, frowning. “That's not a bad thing.”

“I sure as hell don't think so,” he said, trying hard not to bristle at her casual assessment. Then he scowled. “And how the hell do you know when I got my M.B.A.?”

“You're my client, Drew.” She paused, shooting a friendly, almost sexy smirk at him. “You don't mind me calling you Drew, do you? Because for the next few weeks, we're going to be working very closely together. Calling you Mr. Robson is going to be a pain in the ass.”

He couldn't help it. He smiled back. “Sure. Call me Drew. But as far as being your client…”

“When I work with a client, I make sure I know
everything relevant about the business and the people I'll be working with,” she said. Her voice was now all business, not even a hint of flirtatiousness. “I've done a lot more research on you since our first meeting. As I've already said, it was an error in judgment on my part. It won't happen again.”

He couldn't help it. He looked her over, from her curls to the scuffed tips of her boots. “I have to ask. What about the getup?”

She laughed, a warm, rolling sound that hit him like a fist in the gut. “I figured this was the only attire I could wear that would convince you I wasn't trying to use my body to get your business.”

His own body involuntarily tensed at the lazy, sexy drawl of her words. The woman would have to be wearing a potato sack to make her body unappealing. But it was obvious that she'd worn this as a direct response to his skirt-as-short-as-a-headband comment.

“So, you came in work clothes, did some homework, and you're trying to convince me that what you do is valuable,” he said, trying to regain some of his previous anger. It would be easier to kick her out in that mind-set. The problem was, his heart wasn't really in it this time. He'd been happy to the first time she'd come around. She was sexy as hell then, too, but she'd looked like a banker, or worse, a salesperson. Then she was trying to either con him or to blackmail him. Now she looked like somebody he could talk to…and she was trying really hard to listen to him. She was saying she could show him a way out. And for a second, he wanted nothing more than to talk to her and to let her do her best.

He shook his head.

He had to kick her out. He couldn't afford to do anything else.

She stared at him for a second, sighed. “You don't believe me, and I don't blame you.”

“You don't blame me.” This made him pause. Then he leaned back in his chair. “But you're not going to stop pestering me about this, are you?”

She smiled. “Now…what kind of person would you think I was, if I drove all this way just to give up that easily?”

He couldn't help it. He laughed, before choking it down to a quick, throat-clearing cough. “Well, as you can see, I'm pretty busy today…”

He shouldn't have said it. She glanced around and quickly saw the last presentation slide he'd left up after his mock “investor presentation” with Ken. She was out of the chair in a flash, going to his pile of slides.

“Hey!” He got up to stop her, but it was too late—she was plowing through them.

“This? This is what you're going to present to a group of investors?”

“Give me those.” He tugged the slides out of her hands, not needing to feign annoyance at her tactics. His voice turned sharp. “Like I said, I'm busy. Which means you're leaving.”

“You realize, of course, that you're burying them in information,” she said with a sweet smile. “Nobody's going to cough up money at the end of something like that. You'll be lucky if they're still
awake
at the end of something like that.”

“What, you want a check for that brilliant piece of advice?” he snarled, then winced.

“Well, I don't think it's worth one hundred grand,
but…” She stopped, her green eyes going wide. “You know, that's it.”

“What's it?” Talking with the woman was like watching television with a bored teenager armed with the remote.

“I've got an idea on how I can help you.
And
how the firm can earn that hundred grand.” She bit her lip thoughtfully, something that made her look devilish…and cute, although women like her usually hated being called cute. Sexy, exotic, dangerous, perhaps, but never cute.

“What are you doing tonight?” The question was offhand, and she wasn't even looking at him. Still, the rough-husky sound of her voice tugged at him.

“Guess it depends on what you have in mind,” he replied reflexively. “No. Forget I said that. I didn't mean that.”

She didn't, and wouldn't. He'd bet his car on it. Her grin was pure mischief.

“I'm working late,” he said, his justification sounding lame to his own ears.

“You'll still be working,” she said. “Working with me. Can I borrow those slides?”

“No, you can't,” he said, putting them behind his back. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Michaels and Associates does P.R., naturally…but we also do coaching, for sales, media, presentations,” she said, her voice growing more excited. “It's a perfect plan. I'll go into it more tonight. Just give me a few hours. We could have dinner. Business dinner, nothing funny,” she said firmly. “I don't want any more crap about how I ‘take care of' my clients. I run strictly by the book.”