‘Designed to appeal to all women—except Ms Linton, it seems.’
‘Perhaps,’ Cass said coolly. ‘But that does not mean I don’t know how to persuade other women to like them—Mr Grant. I never allow my personal judgments to get in the way of work,’ she added sweetly.
‘Don’t you, Ms Linton?’ It was his turn to shrug. ‘Well, you’ll have a chance to prove that to the hilt in the weeks ahead. We’ll give your campaign a trial, and see how it works out.’
She swallowed, managed a feeble, ’Thank you,’ and began to gather her papers together. She could sense the jubilation in the air around her, but seemed to have no part in it. She’d been walking the high wire for too long. Rohan Grant’s almost laconic bestowal of the account, whether it was on trial or not, could only be an anti-climax. And a glance at her watch revealed that even if she could slip away now, she would be too late for Jodie’s open day. She felt weary to death suddenly.
And, of course, there was going to be no chance to slip away. An elaborate cold buffet had been laid out in the next room, and champagne was being poured.
‘Honey babe, you were sensational,’ Barney whispered, as he pushed a glass into her nerveless hand. He gave her a wicked leer. ‘I don’t know whether it was your arguments which turned the balance, or those fabulous legs of yours.’
‘Thanks,’ Cass said drily, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
‘But you had me worried a couple of times,’ he went on. ‘I had no idea you liked living dangerously. However—it paid off in the end. Expect a big bonus from grateful Uncle Barney.’
‘Thanks,’ she said again, this time with real gratitude. Barney might make her grind her teeth a lot of the time, but he was unfailingly generous when rewards were called for. She might be able to afford to have some redecoration done—or to take Jodie abroad for a couple of weeks later in the year. It had been a tough winter, with Jodie succumbing, it seemed, to one virus after another, although Cass herself had escaped unscathed. Some Mediterranean sun might be what they both needed.
She put down her untouched glass, and looked for an unobtrusive exit, but her way was blocked.
‘Not leaving already, Ms Linton,’ Rohan Grant said pleasantly. ‘Or may I copy Barney Finiston and call you Cassie? After all, we shall be seeing quite a lot of each other in the coming months.’
Cass looked past him. ‘I doubt that, Mr Grant. I’m sure you have far more pressing concerns in your empire than Eve cosmetics.’
‘Most of my empire, as you call it, seems to be flourishing,’ he said drily. ‘Which gives me more time to spend on the ailing sections of it, like Eve.’ He paused. ‘It happens to be rather close to my heart. Would you like to know why?’
‘Not unless I can use it in one of my campaigns, Mr Grant.’ She met his gaze fully for the first time. ‘Otherwise it’s not really any of my business. Now, perhaps you’ll excuse me. I think Barney—Mr Finiston—wants to speak to you.’
His mouth twisted slightly. ‘He probably does at that. However there are still several points from today’s presentation I would like to go over with you—perhaps over dinner tonight?’
Cass’s jaw dropped. She said stupidly, ‘I don’t understand.’
He looked faintly amused. ‘What’s so baffling? You eat, I presume, and you’ve heard of dinner—a meal, consisting of several courses, taken in the evening.’
His tone flicked her on the raw. ‘I do seem to recognise it,’ she said coolly. ‘But I’m afraid I have other plans.’
‘Change them,’ he suggested. His voice was pleasant, but the note of command was implicit, and unmistakable.
‘I’ll do nothing of the sort,’ Cass said, her voice shaking a little. ‘Incredible as it may seem, Mr Grant, I have no wish to have dinner with you tonight, or any other evening. And if the Eve account is conditional on my agreement, you’d better say so now. I think Barney might have something to say about a member of his staff being—sexually harrassed even by an important client like you.’
She paused. ‘And in case you hadn’t noticed, I happen to be married.’
He gave her a long, hard look. She’d made him, she thought detachedly, very angry.
‘I’d like to meet your husband,’ he said silkily at last. ‘He must have the guts of Genghis Khan to get to first base with you, you little fire eater. The invitation, as it happens, was to dinner, not to bed. Christ, woman, I thought the next round of discussions could take place in slightly more congenial surroundings, that’s all. A table is often more conducive to agreement being reached than a desk, or haven’t you noticed?’
She said, ‘I find our present surroundings quite congenial enough, Mr Grant, and I work office hours.’
‘I see,’ he said. ‘You disappoint me, Ms Linton. I’d begun to think you were the real thing, for a change, but you’re just another married lady playing at career woman. Pity,’ he added with a shrug, and walked away.
She watched him go with sudden apprehension. She might be the blue-eyed girl where Barney was concerned, but if Rohan Grant relayed the gist of their conversation to him, then she would be in deep trouble.
Perhaps she even deserved to be. She seemed to have misconstrued his motives pretty thoroughly. But it was far better for him to write off her conduct as boorish, than to know the truth—that even the prospect of sharing a conventional tête à tête dinner with him frightened her half to death. She did not want to be alone with him, ever, or on any terms of intimacy. She wanted all future dealings with Eve to be with Mr McDowell and Mr Handson. She wished Rohan Grant had stayed in Paris and rubber-stamped his approval of that campaign from a distance.
What’s happening to me, she asked herself desperately, with a little shiver. She was beginning to feel positively light-headed. Perhaps in reality the radio alarm had never gone off that morning, and she was still in bed, having some nightmare.
Somebody from the accounts department came over to her. ‘Barney says don’t forget to let us have the bill for that dress,’ he said in an undertone.
She said, ‘I’d prefer to pay for it myself. That way, I can give it to a jumble sale with a clear conscience.’
He gasped at her. ‘Cassie, are you mad? It looks terrific on you. I’d hardly have known you.’
‘I hardly know myself,’ Cass said hardily, ‘And I don’t like it. Back to reality tomorrow.’ She made her way towards Barney. He was not, she noted with relief, talking to Rohan Grant, or anywhere near him. She touched his arm. ‘Would it be all right if I went home now. I have a slight headache.’
He was all concern. ‘I hope you’re not coming down with the same damned thing as Roger.’ He peered at her frowning. ‘You’re very pale,’ he added accusingly. ‘You’d better take a taxi. Charge it to expenses.’
Cass nodded wanly, and made her way to the cloakroom. Her clothes were there, in the boutique carrier, but she felt disinclined to change. It could wait till she got home, she decided.
And the headache hadn’t been just an excuse. It turned into a real one on the journey, most of which
