did not cultivate bad attitudes. “Don’t worry about it. I have two meetings next week I feel really good about.”
“Right. Sorry things aren’t going better now, though.”
So was she. Her boss, Wyatt Allen, had been a bit preoccupied lately, almost tense, and if he was worried about business, this contract would have really helped.
“See you in a few hours, then,” Nick said. “It would really stink if you didn’t get to accept your aromatherapy trophy in person.”
She groaned. “There’s a reason we hired you to do visual and not copy.” Her friend’s sense of humor was a lot like the common cold—there was no known cure, and you just had to suffer through it. She liked his optimism, though.
Her second call was to her best friend, business-communications professor Emily Gruber. “Hey, Em. It’s me. You have a minute before class?”
“You mean the sixty seconds I’m using to magically finish all the grading I put off?” Emily’s sigh was rueful. “I know, I know—I’m worse than the students. But these mock cover letters and résumés make me fear for the future of the country.”
Joss laughed. “It’s barely October. You have the rest of the semester to whip your students into shape.” Well, not so much “whip,” as gently nudge. Emily’s classes always had high numbers because she was known for being something of a soft touch. “I won’t keep you, but can I ask a quick favor?”
“At least you ask,” her friend said cheerfully. “Simon just lets me know what I can do for him.”
Joss bit back her first instinctive reply. Much as she loved Emily, Joss had never really warmed to Em’s boyfriend—Dr. Simon Lowe, Ph.D. and SOB. The pompous man took Emily for granted. But, since Joss herself was calling to impose, perhaps now wasn’t the optimal time to lecture her friend on telling people no.
“I’m stuck in Chicago,” Joss said, “and have the ADsters tonight. Would it be possible for you to run by my house later, pick up my dress and some essentials and leave them at the office?”
“Sure, no problem. Dulcie will appreciate the extra visit.” Since Joss didn’t know any of her new neighbors very well, Emily had agreed to stop by and feed the chocolate-point Siamese while Joss was gone. “Will you have time to get to the office, or is someone bringing your clothes to the awards?”
“Nick’s taking care of that. You are an absolute lifesaver, Em. The only other person with a key is my mother.”
And, at the moment, Joss would rather lie on the runway and let a plane roll over her than call Vivian McBride. No doubt her mom would have had the forethought to travel with her ensemble for the evening, just to be safe. Plus, if Joss phoned, Vivian would automatically ask about the results of the business trip. Nothing solidified the thrill of failing quite like sharing the failure with her mother.
“Just let me know what to grab,” Emily said. “We want to make sure you look fabulous for your big win.”
As Joss listed everything she needed, she experienced a twinge of anxiety. First, Nick’s remark about Joss taking home the trophy, now Emily’s assurance of a “big win.” Optimism or not, the word jinx came to mind.
She was proud of her work—you didn’t succeed in advertising by feigning modesty—but underestimating the opposition would be a mistake. Hugh Brannon could charm his way into a nunnery, and he often produced campaigns as slick as he was…even if some of his accounts with Kimmerman and Kimmerman did rely heavily on the marketing equivalent of name-dropping, substituting celebrities for creativity.
“Joss? You still there?”
“Yeah. I was just trying to think if there was anything else I need. Thanks again, I really appreciate this.”
“You’re welcome. And good luck tonight!”
She needed it, Joss thought as she punched in her home number to check her machine. Two messages, both for Bob—the apparent former owner of her new phone number. She tried not to think about the fact that he got more calls than she did, but her mind just wandered back to her nervousness about tonight.
Hugh Brannon had already beat her once, and even if he didn’t pull it off a second time, there were four other deserving nominees in the regional print-campaign category. Her stomach knotted. Where’s your winning attitude, Jocelyn?
Maybe it had taken the flight to Dallas without her.
SINCE HER PLANE from Chicago left on schedule and she hadn’t checked any luggage for the airline to lose, Joss arrived at the downtown awards site with eight and a half minutes to spare. And here I thought I’d be pressed for time to get ready. Despite knowing she didn’t have to be inside the ballroom at the exact time printed on her invitation, years of hearing “Perfection begins with punctuality, Jocelyn” rang in her head.
Ask not for whom the annoying voice tolls…
As promised, Nick Sheperd stood in the hotel lobby, shifting his weight and looking uncomfortable.
“Thanks so much,” she greeted him breathlessly. “I couldn’t very well wear this to the awards.” “This” was a utilitarian navy pantsuit perfect for business travel, over a crisp white blouse that had been rendered considerably less so when a fellow passenger dumped his soft drink on her midturbulence.
“I’m just glad you’re finally here,” Nick said, a relieved expression on his lean, unshaven face. “I was beginning to feel stupid standing with a dress and a bunch of flowers.”
“Flowers?” She’d noticed her garment bag draped over a nearby powder-blue love seat. Taking a second look, she saw the vase of red roses on the tiled floor, and sighed. “David, I presume?”
It was identical to the arrangement she’d received from her ex-boyfriend on Valentine’s Day, her birthday and their six-month anniversary. They hadn’t made it to seven.
Nick nodded, the overhead light reflecting off the mousse he’d used to carefully spike his hair tonight. “He sent them to the office, and I brought them with me so they wouldn’t wilt over the weekend.”
She studied the flowers. When you care enough to send the very cliché. Maybe she should be touched that David remembered her big night, but it was hard to work up any real emotion now when he hadn’t shown any throughout their relationship. While she’d given the relationship her customary one hundred and ten percent, David fell back on pat gestures.
He was the type of person who preferred the ease of gift certificates to actually picking out something personal and would buy ten copies of the same generic birthday card to send to friends and family. She, on the other hand, had already started looking for the perfect Christmas present for Emily, even though it was only October. Joss was in the habit of finishing her holiday shopping before Thanksgiving.
In all fairness to David, he’d never made an effort to hide his minimalist approach to relationships. One of the things she’d found attractive about him in the beginning was how different he’d been from charming ubersalesman Hugh, who gave women the same full-court press he gave prospective clients. Joss should have ended things with David sooner, but breakups were failures, and she’d been loath to admit another romantic defeat.
She scooped up her garment bag, needing to correct
