dreams?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, not that she planned to. He went on. “That’s a shame. I always remember mine.”
“How nice for you,” she muttered with a definite lack of sincerity.
He wasn’t put off. No. A sideways glance in his direction revealed he was grinning. Then rich laughter rumbled. “And I have a feeling the one from last night is going to stay with me for a long, long time.”
He winked at her, once again leaving Sam with the uncomfortable yet highly erotic impression that she’d played a starring role in his dreams, too.
Thankfully, the flight attendants came through then to ready the cabin for take-off. Once the plane was in the air, Sam reclined her seat and closed her eyes, determined to nap or at least feign sleep to deter further conversation with Michael. The man was getting under her skin. It was just her bad luck that part of her wanted him there.
The captain had just announced their cruising altitude and turned off the seat belt sign when she felt Michael nudge her elbow. “Hey, Sam.”
“I’m trying to sleep here,” she replied, eyes still closed.
“No you’re not. You’re trying to ignore me.”
She turned her head and allowed one
eyelid to open. “Yes, but I was being polite about it.”
“Right.” The magazine in his hand was turned to an inside page, which he held out for her inspection. “What do you think of this?”
She opened both eyes. “The perfume?”
“No, the ad for it.”
She straightened in her seat, reaching for the periodical before she could think better of it.
“The client certainly spared no expense,” she said of the full-page, full-color advertisement that featured a top-name model standing in the middle of a field of flowers and holding out an ornate bottle of perfume as if making a sacrificial offering. “Is this one of yours?”
“Does this look like my work?” He sounded insulted.
In truth, it didn’t. The composition was too stiff and staged, and the accompanying text about letting love bloom sounded sophomoric. But Sam merely shrugged. No need to feed Michael’s massive ego.
“All that money to spend and this is what they came up with. Amazing.” His voice dripped with such disgust that Sam had to chuckle.
“Are you jealous?”
“Hell yes, I’m jealous,” he surprised her by admitting. “In addition to spreads in several national publications, this same ad is appearing on billboards and the sides of buses all over the country. And there’s a corresponding television campaign under way.”
She saw the dollar signs and whistled. “Someone’s dining on steak.”
“Want to know who?”
Curiosity piqued, she nodded.
“Stuart Baker.”
The name rang a bell. “Wiseman Multimedia, right?”
“That’s him. That guy can’t spell innovation, much less employ it.” Michael snorted.
“Yes, but look at it this way. Unlike me, Stuart Baker will never be a threat to you in the Clio or Addy competitions. And the client obviously likes Baker’s work.”
“Right. Want to know what I think?” Michael asked.
“I’m waiting with bated breath,” she replied dryly.
“He’s got something on the person holding the purse strings at the fragrance company. You know, compromising photos or a lurid videotape.”
“You have a vivid imagination. More likely, the client has more money than marketing sense.”
He shrugged. “Maybe, but you have to admit, my theory is more interesting than yours.”
She shrugged and put her head back and closed her eyes, figuring the conversation was over. But a moment later Michael nudged her arm again.
“If this were your client, what would you do differently?”
Sam kept her eyes closed. “I’m either trying to sleep right now or politely ignoring you. Take your pick.”
“Come on, Sam. We’ve got some time to kill before we land in New York. Let’s make the most of it. What would your ad look like?”
It was an old game, one they’d played often when they were fresh out of college and eager to tear up the advertising scene. They would analyze various campaigns, print or television, and decide what they would do to improve them. Sam had no intention of playing along now. But she made the mistake of opening her eyes and glancing at the glossy page Michael held out to her. A statuesque blonde pouted up at her. She couldn’t help herself. Besides, she rationalized, talking shop with Michael was far safer than discussing dreams…or fantasies.
“Well, for one thing, I would have gone with a lesser-known model,” she said.
“Why?”
“Sasha Herman has pitched everything from cow’s milk to men’s undershirts.”
“So she resonates with the public,” he countered, playing devil’s advocate.
“That might be, but she also causes waves. Her increasingly radical political views aren’t winning many fans among women in middle America.”
“Everyone is entitled to an opinion,” Michael retorted. “So Sasha is a little more vocal than most people, so what? Should she be punished for exercising her constitutional right?”
“I’m all for the First Amendment, but the fact remains that she’s used her celebrity as a platform for some pretty extreme views, and it’s costing her. She’s fallen out of favor with a lot of Americans, including the very women who make up the client’s target market.” She sent him a quelling look. “No one ever said free speech was free.”
“Okay. Point taken. So you’d change models and go with a less recognizable face,” he said.
“Actually, I’d go with a complete unknown,” Sam decided as a new ad took shape in her mind. It was black-and-white and far more sensual, fitting with the perfume’s name: Beguile.
“To play up the mystery?” he asked.
“That’s right.” Sam nibbled her lower lip and allowed the vision to expand. “It should be a man wearing a white dress shirt, left unbuttoned to show off his incredible abs. After all, perfume is really just sex in a bottle. Women want to buy it from a good-looking man. It’s part of the fantasy. If I wear this scent I’m desirable. I can entice anyone. I can have anyone. Even this drop-dead gorgeous stud whose eyes are saying, ‘Beguile me.’”
“God, it’s scary how the female mind works,” Michael replied dryly.
“Oh,
