One Mad Night by Julia London

into the kitchen again. Chelsea looked at her Tuscan chicken and smiled. If he could agree with her that Zimmerman was sleazy, maybe he wasn’t all bad.
    Ian returned a moment later with a scented candle, the type that usually sat on the back of a toilet. “It’s a little dark,” he explained and set it on the table.
    â€œRomantic,” Chelsea said with an approving nod. “Pine mist too. I can almost believe we’re in the middle of a forest.”
    â€œYou know what they say, presentation is ninety percent of the battle.” He picked up his fork and began to eat.
    Chelsea watched him a minute. Did Ian have to be so damned good-looking on top of being so good at advertising and, apparently, at interpersonal relationships?
    She looked down at her container, wishing she’d think of something else. “I can’t believe we are sitting here dining by candlelight on the food we stole from the managing partners’ fridge. If we ever get the Lean Cuisine account, I am totally using this in an ad,” she said. “Lean Cuisine—perfect in a disaster.”
    Ian cast another gorgeous smile in her direction. “That’s good. I’d bite,” he said. “So…have you always been in advertising?”
    â€œYes—first job out of college. I applied on a lark and got the job. I was shocked.”
    â€œDid you get a degree in marketing?” he asked.
    Chelsea laughed. “Nope. My degree is in English. I wanted to be a writer. I used to fill up notebooks with stories I thought I’d publish someday.”
    â€œOh yeah? Have you published anything?”
    Chelsea laughed again. “No. I want to write a book. But I haven’t managed more than about twenty pages of a novel. It’s not as easy as it looks, you know.” She paused for a moment. “I still want to be a writer someday.”
    â€œIt’s hard to make a living as a writer,” Ian pointed out.
    â€œSo I hear,” Chelsea agreed.
    â€œI like writing too.”
    â€œYou do? You don’t seem the type.”
    â€œNow who is being annoying?” he asked cheerfully.
    Chelsea smiled. “Touché.” She was beginning to see past God’s gift to advertising. Ian was seeming more and more a very likable man. “So why did you come here, really?” she asked curiously.
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œTo Grabber-Paulson. I heard you were the best thing going at Huntson-Jones.”
    â€œBe still my heart,” Ian said. “Chelsea Crawford just paid me a compliment.”
    â€œDon’t blow it,” she teased him. “I’m only starting to warm up to you.”
    â€œNo way am I going to blow it,” Ian said. “We might be stuck in here a while and the way you’re attacking that Lean Cuisine, we could be fighting for them later.”
    â€œSo?” she prodded, swirling her fork at him. “Why’d you come?”
    â€œWell, for whatever reason, Grabber-Paulson came knocking. Jason called me and invited me to drinks. He and Brad said they had some great talent in-house but wanted more.”
    This, Chelsea noticed, he said while looking at his little tray of food.
    â€œThey talked to me about a fast track to partner, and they offered me a lot of money.” He glanced up at her as he ate a bite of lasagna. “It was almost a no-brainer.”
    Chelsea could feel the blood rushing from her face. A fast track to partner? A lot of money? Why had Jason even called him? He’d told her they were so happy with her work. She could suddenly see Jason Sung’s smiling face dancing before her eyes, and she really wanted to kick something. Hard. Instead she dropped her fork, gaining Ian’s attention again. “Are you just saying that to rattle me? Is this some sort of game day strategy?”
    â€œNot at all,” he said, smiling curiously at her. “You asked. I told you.”
    Chelsea couldn’t work