“I want the CEG account,” she repeated, this time with more force.
McGee barked his enthusiastic agreement.
She slowly undressed, peeling her sticky blouse from her body, and bypassed her dry cleaner’s bag in favor of the trash can for her soiled, dated suit. She pulled on shorts and a T-shirt, using her hand to smooth down the loose bits of hair that stuck up from her French braid. Good grief, the stuff was like an unruly scouring pad.
If you go for it, what’s the worst thing that could happen?
She’d be humiliated and have to slink back to her cubicle and be satisfied with her feminine hygiene and hemorrhoid cream accounts. Although, would it really be any more humiliating to be turned down by Bruce Noble than wrestling with a tree in front of the entire department—and losing?
No, she decided. But would she be able to talk to Bruce Noble without lapsing into a babbling fool? She glanced at the discarded suit, which McGee was sniffing suspiciously. And if she were going to step into Courtney’s shoes, she had to step up her wardrobe a notch. Or three.
Gabrielle reached into the back of her closet and removed a pale green suit that her mother had given her for her birthday. Fiona Flannery was a flamboyant redhead who was always pushing her daughter to play up her unusual coloring, frequently sending makeup and beauty products and clothes that Gabrielle hadn’t had the nerve to use or wear.
She held the suit in front of her and stared at her reflection in the closet door mirror. The fabric was soft and clingy, the color set off her green eyes. The jacket was fitted and flirty, the skirt was short—well above the knee.
Remembering Dell’s comment about her long, albino legs, her cheeks warmed. He’d only been teasing her, of course, trying to get a rise out of her. But it was fun to think that maybe the flash in his decadent eyes had been a tiny bit of male appreciation.
Then she smirked at her reflection. If Dell got wind of her vying for the CEG account, would he feel threatened…or would he laugh?
What’s the worst that can happen?
She could always go back to being invisible.
She put a leash on McGee and pulled the magazine out of her bag to take on their walk. McGee was the dearest dog ever created, but he moved his squatty little self like a sleepy snail—a turn around the block gave her plenty of time to reread the “Adrenaline Rush” article for tips on how to begin working toward her goal.
To prepare for an uncomfortable situation, visualize the scene, how you want it to unfold, how you will respond to resistance. Write a script, and practice what you’ll say until you can speak with authority.
Visualize…practice…
She closed her eyes and with great effort, banished the vision of her walking into Bruce Noble’s office Monday morning, her knees quaking, her voice leaving her. Instead, she visualized walking into his office Monday morning, declining his offer to sit, calling him “Bruce,” and telling him that she wanted—no, that she deserved—the CEG account.
But each time she visualized Bruce’s face, he looked incredulous, skeptical and stupefied at her request.
But when she returned to her apartment, now carrying McGee because he couldn’t maneuver the stairs, an idea popped into her head. She rifled through her briefcase, and pulled out the company’s full-color annual report. Inside was a picture of Bruce Noble, his face nearly life-size…and smiling. She tore out the photo and pasted it onto a piece of cardboard, then cut along the outline of his face. Then she fastened the cardboard face to the front of a ball cap.
“McGee, come here, sweetie.”
He lumbered over and stood patiently while she settled the cap onto his meaty head.
“Perfect,” she said, then stepped back to stare at Bruce Noble’s smiling face. “Mr. Noble, I want the CEG account.”
McGee barked, his jowls bouncing, not unlike her boss’s.
“Why?” She picked up the green suit and held it against her. “Because I’ve assisted on the account for two years—I know the products, I wrote most of the literature, and…”
McGee barked, as if prompting her.
She pulled the clasp from her braid and ran her fingers through her long hair, releasing it into all its furious glory. “And I deserve this chance…Bruce. I’ve given this firm six years of my life, and I’m good at my job. Just as good at Dell Kingston. And I’m tired of being overlooked…by everyone.”
The memory of Dell’s mocking smile as he’d pulled her to her feet flooded her with stinging humiliation all over again. He’d teased her, dismissed her, just like the others.
But Monday morning, she thought determinedly, she would be noticed…for all the right reasons.
3
DELL PRESSED the elevator button and drank deeply from his large cup of coffee, trying to wake up. He’d gone mountain biking yesterday morning in the summer heat, then spent the afternoon rock climbing. It had seemed worthwhile—even enjoyable—at the time, but this morning his ass was dragging and his joints moaning.
He nodded to the security guard, the only other person in the lobby at this early hour. But Bruce Noble was always in his office before most people were out of bed, and Dell had decided to use the opportunity to formally request the CEG account. Formally because it was a near certainty that he would get it—he was a senior account executive with an impeccable track record. And CEG was a perfect fit for him because he spent most of his free time outdoors pushing his body to new limits.
Plus, stuffing his resume with A-list accounts was the shortest route to success.
Success meant early retirement.
Early retirement meant having the time to do the things he enjoyed most.
Ergo, CEG was an important brick in his career path.
Still, he didn’t want to appear presumptuous. It was best to follow protocol and plead his case to Noble so that there would be no misunderstandings.
The elevator doors opened and he stepped inside. Behind him he heard the click of high heels on the tile floor, a sound that always spiked his pulse.
“Hold the elevator,” a female voice called.
He pressed the open button, then looked up to see a tall, leggy woman stride across the lobby like a beautiful colt, her slender figure clad in a trendy green suit, her long legs extended farther by a pair of those high-heeled, pointy-toed shoes that made his cock jump. God, he loved those on women.
She walked into the car and murmured, “Thank you.”
He took a deep drink from his cup to cover his frank perusal of the beauty next to him. Her hair was the color of a red maple tree in full fall flame—spectacular.
Damn, what was it about redheads lately that had him so worked up?
Actually, except for the fact that this woman was polished to a professional shine, her makeup glamorous, her posture
