going on with Maxwell," he said, standing to shrug into his jacket, "it could save us a lot of grief later on."
Leah gave an inward sigh of defeat when she realized there was no alternative to having dinner with him. She should have known better. Paul Gregory didn't make requests; he issued orders.
As she followed behind him in her own car, she reluctantly admitted that they did need to get the issue settled. Leon Maxwell, one of the key men from the advertising agency that had submitted the best proposal—not to mention the highest price—was giving off strange signals. Signals that were making everyone involved in the project uneasy. If Maxwell decided to play musical chairs and leave the agency now or anytime in the near future, it would throw a definite kink in the progress of the new promotional campaign.
In the dimly lighted steak house, they were ushered to a booth at the back of a large, elegantly subdued
dining room. As soon as the waiter had taken their orders, Mr. Gregory turned back to Leah.
"Okay, tell me again exactly what Maxwell said to you—word for word," he said briskly.
She was still talking when their food arrived. And twice, as she ate, she had to reach into her briefcase for additional information.
Finally he nodded. "All right, that's it, then. Tomorrow I'll go see him myself—unofficially."
Leah relaxed against the leather seat with a sigh. She couldn't even remember what she had eaten. The wine, however, was excellent, she thought as she picked up her glass again. In the shadows left by the candles, it looked deep purple, almost black.
"This is a nice place," she murmured absentmind-edly, momentarily letting down her guard. "But I don't know why restaurants with really excellent food insist on candlelight. I can never tell if I'm eating the appetizer or the flower arrangement."
She just happened to glance up as she finished speaking and was thereby witness to the most extraordinary change. The flickering light picked up a green sparkle in eyes that crinkled at the corners seconds before he leaned back in the seat and laughed.
Mr. Gregory laughed.
He actually laughed. A chuckle alone should have been, in Leah's opinion, accompanied by claps of thunder and flashes of lightning from heaven. But an honest-to-God laugh was inconceivable.
Good Lord, she thought, her brown eyes dazed, the man is gorgeous. The change in him was unreal. His
features were softer, fuller. It looked as though he had discarded ten years in a single instant.
"What's wrong?" he said, still smiling as Leah stared in amazement.
"Nothing," she said, shaking her head helplessly. "I've just never seen you laugh before."
He raised one brow, his green eyes filled with amusement. "Well, Miss French, since I've never heard you say anything funny before, I guess we're even."
Never in a million years, she thought wryly. Not even if he left half his brain at home.
Picking up her glass, she swallowed the remainder of the wine in a single gulp. She felt strangely disoriented. This was not the man she had worked with for four years. This was a man she didn't know.
Then a crazy thought flashed through her mind. But you do know him. This is the man who walks through your dreams.
Chapter Four
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower—
A Midsummer Night's Dream —Act II, Scene 2
T he radio spots stink."
Leah glanced at Mr. Gregory. They were in his car on their way back from a presentation at the advertising agency. It had been three weeks since he had taken her to the steak house for dinner, and although he occasionally relaxed enough to smile, he was still as formidable as ever.
"I know damn well those weren't Maxwell's work," he continued. "And he knows I know it. He was watching me too closely while they were being presented."
"Yes, I noticed," she said.
Universale marketing department handled ads in the trade papers, and they usually took care of the daily newspapers and
Leah gave an inward sigh of defeat when she realized there was no alternative to having dinner with him. She should have known better. Paul Gregory didn't make requests; he issued orders.
As she followed behind him in her own car, she reluctantly admitted that they did need to get the issue settled. Leon Maxwell, one of the key men from the advertising agency that had submitted the best proposal—not to mention the highest price—was giving off strange signals. Signals that were making everyone involved in the project uneasy. If Maxwell decided to play musical chairs and leave the agency now or anytime in the near future, it would throw a definite kink in the progress of the new promotional campaign.
In the dimly lighted steak house, they were ushered to a booth at the back of a large, elegantly subdued
dining room. As soon as the waiter had taken their orders, Mr. Gregory turned back to Leah.
"Okay, tell me again exactly what Maxwell said to you—word for word," he said briskly.
She was still talking when their food arrived. And twice, as she ate, she had to reach into her briefcase for additional information.
Finally he nodded. "All right, that's it, then. Tomorrow I'll go see him myself—unofficially."
Leah relaxed against the leather seat with a sigh. She couldn't even remember what she had eaten. The wine, however, was excellent, she thought as she picked up her glass again. In the shadows left by the candles, it looked deep purple, almost black.
"This is a nice place," she murmured absentmind-edly, momentarily letting down her guard. "But I don't know why restaurants with really excellent food insist on candlelight. I can never tell if I'm eating the appetizer or the flower arrangement."
She just happened to glance up as she finished speaking and was thereby witness to the most extraordinary change. The flickering light picked up a green sparkle in eyes that crinkled at the corners seconds before he leaned back in the seat and laughed.
Mr. Gregory laughed.
He actually laughed. A chuckle alone should have been, in Leah's opinion, accompanied by claps of thunder and flashes of lightning from heaven. But an honest-to-God laugh was inconceivable.
Good Lord, she thought, her brown eyes dazed, the man is gorgeous. The change in him was unreal. His
features were softer, fuller. It looked as though he had discarded ten years in a single instant.
"What's wrong?" he said, still smiling as Leah stared in amazement.
"Nothing," she said, shaking her head helplessly. "I've just never seen you laugh before."
He raised one brow, his green eyes filled with amusement. "Well, Miss French, since I've never heard you say anything funny before, I guess we're even."
Never in a million years, she thought wryly. Not even if he left half his brain at home.
Picking up her glass, she swallowed the remainder of the wine in a single gulp. She felt strangely disoriented. This was not the man she had worked with for four years. This was a man she didn't know.
Then a crazy thought flashed through her mind. But you do know him. This is the man who walks through your dreams.
Chapter Four
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower—
A Midsummer Night's Dream —Act II, Scene 2
T he radio spots stink."
Leah glanced at Mr. Gregory. They were in his car on their way back from a presentation at the advertising agency. It had been three weeks since he had taken her to the steak house for dinner, and although he occasionally relaxed enough to smile, he was still as formidable as ever.
"I know damn well those weren't Maxwell's work," he continued. "And he knows I know it. He was watching me too closely while they were being presented."
"Yes, I noticed," she said.
Universale marketing department handled ads in the trade papers, and they usually took care of the daily newspapers and
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