she could. Where had that come from? “I could learn. That’s what I always do, make my lists and research every aspect of the company and its products. How hard could fishing lures be to understand?”
His deep chuckle rubbed on her nerves. “Now, I’m not saying a woman can’t know about fishing. It’s got nothing to do with gender and everything to do with having the product here.” He fisted his hand to his chest. “Like me and Cheesecake Galore. You’re not a fishing type of girl. You’re banks and florists. Roger said he knows fishing inside and out, so he’s the likely candidate. The next new account that’s suitable for you, it’s yours. If you’ll look past your pride, you’ll see that we’re all here to service our customers the best we can. We’re a team. Be a gentleman, Cassie, and step aside so Roger can win this new client over to Nicholson.”
Her shoulders bunched up as she realized how often she’d stepped aside gracefully. “It’s kind of hard to step aside when you’ve just been stepped on.”
“HE’S GOING TO LET that loser keep the account?” Pam asked when Cassie relayed the conversation.
“Yep. Because, hey, what do I know about fishing?”
“What do you know about fishing?”
“You throw something in the water, the fish grabs it and you wrestle it in and try not to get so excited that you rear back and knock your husband right out of the boat in front of all his buddies.” Cassie’s face flushed. “Never mind that.” She tapped her jaw with her forefinger, her mind searching. “I’ve been a pushover for too long. He doesn’t know how much of a quitter I’m not. I’m mean, how much I’m not a quitter. I mean—you know what I mean.”
“Scarily enough, I do. Between your lists and charts and goals, you’re the most determined person I know.”
“Yeah, (a) determined not to be like my mother, and (b) I’m certainly no gentleman.” To prove it, she rifled through the receptionist’s desk and snagged a key. “And (c) I’m tired of being a rung on the ladder that everyone else uses on their way up.”
“You’re so cute when you’re angry,” Pam said with a grin. “Even when you’re pulverizing butter rums. So what are you going to do, insist that Mr. Nicholson let you present a campaign, too?”
“Hah! And let him pat my head and tell me how ungentlemanly that would be?” Cassie gave her a slow smile. “I’m simply going to walk into the presentation and show them my stuff.”
“What if he fires you on the spot?”
“He won’t.”
“Uh-oh. This is starting to sound—dare I say it?—impulsive.”
Cassie stopped. “This isn’t impulsive. No, not at all. It’s going to be a well-planned attack in the name of all that’s fair and good in the world. And I’m going to be honest about it. You know I can’t stand dishonest people.” She slid the key into Roger’s doorknob.
Pam whispered, “Wouldn’t breaking into Roger’s office fall slightly under that category?”
“Of course not. I have a key. No breaking anything.”
“Cassie, what if someone catches you and you’re arrested? We’re arrested? We’ll be in the Police Beat section of the paper. We could be shot by a trigger-happy cop who’s out to prove himself!”
“We won’t.” Cassie opened the door. The office smelled like Roger’s last splash of cheap aftershave. “When I chose a career in marketing, I decided this was something I was going to stick with, follow through on.” She flicked on the light.
Pam took up a lookout position near the door. “You’re thinking about your ex-marriage, aren’t you?”
“Of course not. I’m thinking of that cross-stitch thingee I started five years ago. It sits in my wicker basket and reminds me of all the puzzles, paintings and hook rug kits I didn’t finish. Every Sunday, I put three stitches in the thing. At least I’m making progress. Oh, stop looking at me with that I-know-you-better-than-you-do smirk of yours. Okay, yes, I am thinking about my ex-marriage. You don’t know how scary it was for me to realize I’d become my mother. She’s hopped into and out of so many marriages, I’m surprised she isn’t perpetually dizzy. As a matter of fact, she is, God love her.”
“You’re nothing like your mother.”
“Not now, but I was then. I was suddenly married to a gorgeous stranger. The first blush of excitement turned into the reality of bills, routines and the mention of babies, and I panicked. Probably the same way Mom did in her seven marriages. I wasn’t ready, I ran away and…I hurt Dan.” She was sure the thickness in her throat was the result of eating too many butter rums. “I swore I would never start something I cared about and not finish it.” She consulted the small, leather-bound notepad she wore on a chain around her neck. “I have $12,420 to save before I can escape this place and start my own company. In 1.4 years, I should be able to bring you aboard. This is what being sensible does to a person: (a) concrete goals and (b) no broken hearts.”
“Sensible. Yeah, well, I know you’ll never have a broken heart again.”
Cassie smiled. “Thanks for your vote of confidence.”
“Because you’ll never find anyone who’ll fit that compatibility list you have.”
“Hey, you’re supposed to support me.”
“I’m not your bra, I’m your friend. I’m telling you, you’re going to be a lonely old woman before you find a man who matches the criteria on that list, watching The Rockford Files reruns and conversing with your nine cats. You’ll be one of those people who never throws anything away and you’ll be dead a week before anyone knows it. They’ll have to wade through thirty years of trash to find you. Or something worse.”
“No, I won’t. At least I won’t be a seven-times-divorced lonely old woman without goals or a career.” Like her mom, dragging her daughter all over as she skipped from place to place, living wherever an acquaintance or boyfriend would permit until she got bored or wore out their welcome. No roots, no traditions, and no sense of being able to depend on her mom when she needed her. Not even a father to provide a speck of stability, since three years after her mother had divorced him, he’d died in a sailing accident. She blinked back the thought and opened one of Roger’s drawers. She pulled out a wrinkled tube of Preparation H. “Would I be totally evil if I put Ben-Gay in here?”
Pam screeched in laughter, then quickly sobered. “Yes. Totally.”
Cassie tossed it back in with the other junk in the drawer: wart remover, corn pads and an assortment of nasal sprays. After rooting around in the papers on his desk, she held up a brochure for the Naples Snook Rodeo, a fishing tournament starting the next morning. “Ugh, at seven o’clock. The weirdest thing in the world is for someone to get up before dawn all excited to go fishing. It was a phenomenon I never could figure out.” She flipped open the brochure, pushing away the memory of Dan tiptoeing around their bedroom in all his naked glory as he got ready. “Whew, is it warm in here?” She fanned herself, forcing her attention back to the brochure and not Dan’s bare butt in the early morning light. “Hey, it’s sponsored by the Lure ’Em In Tackle Company. Isn’t that handy-dandy?”
“Perfect! So you’ll go talk to some of the fishermen, maybe even the company officials?”
