to buy it because if it looks even half as good on them . . . ; even cranky babies stop crying and give her gummy smiles when they see her behind them in the grocery store line.
If Alex weren’t my sister, I probably wouldn’t be nearly so driven. But I learned long ago that it’s easy to get lost and overlooked when someone like Alex is around. In a way, she has made me who I am today.
I pushed away my muffin and glanced over at Matt. He was sprawled on my couch, one leg hooked over the armrest, half-asleep. How he always managed to stay calm amid the chaos and frenzy of our agency was a mystery. I’d have to ask him for his secret. When I had time, which I didn’t right now, since I was due downstairs in forty-four minutes. Mason was letting me greet the clients, since I was presenting first, and Cheryl would get to walk them to their car afterward.
“Can we do one more run-through?” I begged.
“We did twelve yesterday,” Matt reminded me, yawning. He opened one sleepy-looking brown eye and peered up at me.
“You’re right, you’re right,” I said, lining up the pencils on my desk at a perfect right angle to my stapler. “I don’t want to sound overrehearsed.”
“Knock it off, OCD girl,” Matt said, pulling himself up off the couch and stealing a bite of my muffin. “Mmm. How can you not be eating this?”
“I had a bowl of Advil for breakfast,” I told him. “High in fiber.”
“You’re beyond help,” he said. “What time is the party tonight?”
“Seven-thirty,” I said. “Is Pam coming?”
Pam was Matt’s new girlfriend. I hadn’t met her yet, but I was dying to.
“Yep,” he said.
Tonight was our office holiday party.
Tonight was also the night the name of the new VP creative director would be announced.
“Nervous?” Matt asked me.
“Of course not,” I lied.
“Step away from the Advil,” Matt ordered me, slapping my hand as it instinctively went for my desk drawer. “Let’s get your storyboards into the conference room. You know you’re gonna kick ass, Madam Vice President.”
And just like that, the cold knot of anxiety in my stomach loosened the tiniest bit. Like I said, Matt was my only real friend at the office.
2
WHEN THE STRETCH limousine glided to a stop outside our building forty minutes late, I hurried to the curb and pasted on a welcoming smile. I hoped I looked okay. I’d gone for a professional, no-nonsense vibe, which was lucky, since those were the only kinds of clothes my closet was capable of coughing up. I was wearing a classic black Armani pantsuit with an ivory silk shell and black sling-backs. My hair was pulled up into its usual twist, and my earrings were pearls encircled by tiny diamonds—a gift to myself for my twenty-ninth birthday last month. Boring, yes, but safe, too. I wanted my clients to be dazzled by my work, not me.
“Mr. Fenstermaker? So nice to meet you.” I greeted the head of the Gloss empire like he was Prince William as he grunted and heaved his squatty body out of the limo.
“And this must be Mrs. Fenstermaker?”
As if I hadn’t read a half dozen magazine profiles about the Fenstermakers and studied their pictures so carefully that I could ID them out of a lineup of thousands. He looked more like a meat butcher from Brooklyn than a multimillionaire purveyor of glamour, but his wife—make that his third wife—more than made up for it. She could double for a Bond villainess, the icy blond kind who could open a man’s jugular with a single swipe of a nail. He shook my outstretched hand, and she swept by me with a nod, oversize Prada sunglasses firmly in place.
“I hope you didn’t encounter much traffic on the drive in from the airport,” I said as we entered the building, crossed the gleaming marble floors, and stepped into the elevator. He grunted again, and she didn’t deign to answer. I hate awkward elevator silences, but apparently the Fenstermakers didn’t share my bias, which meant elevator
If Alex weren’t my sister, I probably wouldn’t be nearly so driven. But I learned long ago that it’s easy to get lost and overlooked when someone like Alex is around. In a way, she has made me who I am today.
I pushed away my muffin and glanced over at Matt. He was sprawled on my couch, one leg hooked over the armrest, half-asleep. How he always managed to stay calm amid the chaos and frenzy of our agency was a mystery. I’d have to ask him for his secret. When I had time, which I didn’t right now, since I was due downstairs in forty-four minutes. Mason was letting me greet the clients, since I was presenting first, and Cheryl would get to walk them to their car afterward.
“Can we do one more run-through?” I begged.
“We did twelve yesterday,” Matt reminded me, yawning. He opened one sleepy-looking brown eye and peered up at me.
“You’re right, you’re right,” I said, lining up the pencils on my desk at a perfect right angle to my stapler. “I don’t want to sound overrehearsed.”
“Knock it off, OCD girl,” Matt said, pulling himself up off the couch and stealing a bite of my muffin. “Mmm. How can you not be eating this?”
“I had a bowl of Advil for breakfast,” I told him. “High in fiber.”
“You’re beyond help,” he said. “What time is the party tonight?”
“Seven-thirty,” I said. “Is Pam coming?”
Pam was Matt’s new girlfriend. I hadn’t met her yet, but I was dying to.
“Yep,” he said.
Tonight was our office holiday party.
Tonight was also the night the name of the new VP creative director would be announced.
“Nervous?” Matt asked me.
“Of course not,” I lied.
“Step away from the Advil,” Matt ordered me, slapping my hand as it instinctively went for my desk drawer. “Let’s get your storyboards into the conference room. You know you’re gonna kick ass, Madam Vice President.”
And just like that, the cold knot of anxiety in my stomach loosened the tiniest bit. Like I said, Matt was my only real friend at the office.
2
WHEN THE STRETCH limousine glided to a stop outside our building forty minutes late, I hurried to the curb and pasted on a welcoming smile. I hoped I looked okay. I’d gone for a professional, no-nonsense vibe, which was lucky, since those were the only kinds of clothes my closet was capable of coughing up. I was wearing a classic black Armani pantsuit with an ivory silk shell and black sling-backs. My hair was pulled up into its usual twist, and my earrings were pearls encircled by tiny diamonds—a gift to myself for my twenty-ninth birthday last month. Boring, yes, but safe, too. I wanted my clients to be dazzled by my work, not me.
“Mr. Fenstermaker? So nice to meet you.” I greeted the head of the Gloss empire like he was Prince William as he grunted and heaved his squatty body out of the limo.
“And this must be Mrs. Fenstermaker?”
As if I hadn’t read a half dozen magazine profiles about the Fenstermakers and studied their pictures so carefully that I could ID them out of a lineup of thousands. He looked more like a meat butcher from Brooklyn than a multimillionaire purveyor of glamour, but his wife—make that his third wife—more than made up for it. She could double for a Bond villainess, the icy blond kind who could open a man’s jugular with a single swipe of a nail. He shook my outstretched hand, and she swept by me with a nod, oversize Prada sunglasses firmly in place.
“I hope you didn’t encounter much traffic on the drive in from the airport,” I said as we entered the building, crossed the gleaming marble floors, and stepped into the elevator. He grunted again, and she didn’t deign to answer. I hate awkward elevator silences, but apparently the Fenstermakers didn’t share my bias, which meant elevator
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