about the merger three days ago, his answer would have sounded something like this:
“Fuck Scacchi & Scacchi—it’ll be a cold day in hell before I’m caught wiping my ass with old stationery. Therefore—no new business cards. We’re keeping the goddamn worldwide because we’re more than ready to go global—when and if—the deal is fucking right.” Our fearless, foul-mouthed leader had left the conference room trailing expletives behind him.
“…Motherfuckers.”
Temperamental shortcomings aside, Axel had been my first friend and mentor in New York and would always remain so. He also loved edgy advertising and for that reason alone, he was held in the highest esteem by all the creatives in the agency.
I put my iPad to sleep. “We’re making a Lo’s Rickshaw run.”
Axel reversed course and handed Sarah a large bill. “Bring up…what is everyone drinking these days?”
“Jasmine-infused green or black tea, iced or hot, with or without bubbles.” My art director shrugged. “You asked.”
“Make mine a decaf chai latte.” He pointed from Sarah to me as he backed out of the room. “My office—ten minutes—both of you.”
I rolled back my chair. “FYI, the model up in Times Square is Jake Hudson. He’s the new face-slash-torso for the A/X Spring collection. Derek has a shoot with him next week.”
“The bath tub layout for Acqua?” Sarah’s large brown eyes went Gollum on me. “That rat—he never said anything.”
“We just booked him.” I flicked my gaze upward. “It was a nightmare—sign him or lose him. His agent just confirmed yesterday.”
Speaking of Giorgio Armani, I grabbed my distressed black leather messenger bag and thought about Bradley’s remark last night. He seemed genuinely curious about human behavior, be it the psychology of sale shopping or the length of time it takes a woman to reach orgasm.
Geekishly smexy.
Sarah sprang out of her chair and caught up with me in the hallway. “Do you think Derek will let me drop by the shoot?”
“If he doesn’t, I’ll have to send you over with a rough cut of the Swatch spots in need of urgent feedback.” Somewhat gingerly I stepped toward an open elevator.
I turned to Sarah. “Do me a favor?”
She nodded. “Anything.”
“Push me inside.”
I adored my art director’s ready sense of play and adventure. Without so much as a raised brow, Sarah shoved me inside the metal box.
I ignored a few tetchy looks and resisted the urge to monitor my thumping pulse rate. Not quite as bad as the ride up this morning.
With no Bradley Craig around, I needed a distraction. I listened absently to Sarah complain about her quasi-date with a casting director.
According to the Urban Dictionary a quasi-date is an ex-girlfriend or boyfriend you still hang out with because they’re smokin’ hot. Instantly my mind wandered to last night in the elevator—in fact, this very elevator—and Smokin’ Hotness himself.
“I was stuck in this elevator during the blackout.” I blurted out, much to the consternation of everyone on board including Sarah.
“Holy crap! And you waited this long to say something?”
I checked my watch. “It’s nine-thirty. And I haven’t told anyone because…” I lowered my voice. “There would be questions.”
I might have given things away with an eye roll.
Sarah’s mouth dropped open. “You weren’t alone.”
I imagined every ear in the elevator swiveling like a radio telescope dish. I cleared my throat. “Could we take this up outside?”
Sarah, bless her heart, waited until we got in the tea truck line.
“Okay, who?”
No one in this office can know what happened—about you and me. My own words came back to haunt me. But I had to tell someone, and Sarah was the closest thing I had to a best friend in New York City.
I exhaled. “The new hire from London, Bradley Craig.”
“Just the two of you…alone?”
I nodded.
Her eyes stayed glued to me.
“Fuck Scacchi & Scacchi—it’ll be a cold day in hell before I’m caught wiping my ass with old stationery. Therefore—no new business cards. We’re keeping the goddamn worldwide because we’re more than ready to go global—when and if—the deal is fucking right.” Our fearless, foul-mouthed leader had left the conference room trailing expletives behind him.
“…Motherfuckers.”
Temperamental shortcomings aside, Axel had been my first friend and mentor in New York and would always remain so. He also loved edgy advertising and for that reason alone, he was held in the highest esteem by all the creatives in the agency.
I put my iPad to sleep. “We’re making a Lo’s Rickshaw run.”
Axel reversed course and handed Sarah a large bill. “Bring up…what is everyone drinking these days?”
“Jasmine-infused green or black tea, iced or hot, with or without bubbles.” My art director shrugged. “You asked.”
“Make mine a decaf chai latte.” He pointed from Sarah to me as he backed out of the room. “My office—ten minutes—both of you.”
I rolled back my chair. “FYI, the model up in Times Square is Jake Hudson. He’s the new face-slash-torso for the A/X Spring collection. Derek has a shoot with him next week.”
“The bath tub layout for Acqua?” Sarah’s large brown eyes went Gollum on me. “That rat—he never said anything.”
“We just booked him.” I flicked my gaze upward. “It was a nightmare—sign him or lose him. His agent just confirmed yesterday.”
Speaking of Giorgio Armani, I grabbed my distressed black leather messenger bag and thought about Bradley’s remark last night. He seemed genuinely curious about human behavior, be it the psychology of sale shopping or the length of time it takes a woman to reach orgasm.
Geekishly smexy.
Sarah sprang out of her chair and caught up with me in the hallway. “Do you think Derek will let me drop by the shoot?”
“If he doesn’t, I’ll have to send you over with a rough cut of the Swatch spots in need of urgent feedback.” Somewhat gingerly I stepped toward an open elevator.
I turned to Sarah. “Do me a favor?”
She nodded. “Anything.”
“Push me inside.”
I adored my art director’s ready sense of play and adventure. Without so much as a raised brow, Sarah shoved me inside the metal box.
I ignored a few tetchy looks and resisted the urge to monitor my thumping pulse rate. Not quite as bad as the ride up this morning.
With no Bradley Craig around, I needed a distraction. I listened absently to Sarah complain about her quasi-date with a casting director.
According to the Urban Dictionary a quasi-date is an ex-girlfriend or boyfriend you still hang out with because they’re smokin’ hot. Instantly my mind wandered to last night in the elevator—in fact, this very elevator—and Smokin’ Hotness himself.
“I was stuck in this elevator during the blackout.” I blurted out, much to the consternation of everyone on board including Sarah.
“Holy crap! And you waited this long to say something?”
I checked my watch. “It’s nine-thirty. And I haven’t told anyone because…” I lowered my voice. “There would be questions.”
I might have given things away with an eye roll.
Sarah’s mouth dropped open. “You weren’t alone.”
I imagined every ear in the elevator swiveling like a radio telescope dish. I cleared my throat. “Could we take this up outside?”
Sarah, bless her heart, waited until we got in the tea truck line.
“Okay, who?”
No one in this office can know what happened—about you and me. My own words came back to haunt me. But I had to tell someone, and Sarah was the closest thing I had to a best friend in New York City.
I exhaled. “The new hire from London, Bradley Craig.”
“Just the two of you…alone?”
I nodded.
Her eyes stayed glued to me.
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