One Night Standards(11)

Now, Mark was getting annoyed on Sophie’s behalf. They weren’t letting her get a word in edgewise, and he knew, personally, that she probably wasn’t working on a lot of sleep. Her eyes flared, and he had the feeling this was about to get ugly in a hurry—which was probably what Mrs. Marion had in mind to begin with. He could see Mrs. Marion presiding over the proceedings with a Cheshire-cat grin. She obviously liked seeing how people could react under pressure.

He suddenly hated seeing the pressure being exerted on Sophie. Not that he owed Sophie anything, he thought quickly. But his mama hadn’t raised him to watch a girl get bullied, in any circumstances.

“Caliente. That’s the lip gloss that has red pepper and chocolate, right?” he asked, his voice a shade too loud, effectively cutting across the polite verbal knife-fighting happening at the table.

Now all the women at the table turned to look at him—even Sophie. She nodded, her expression slightly puzzled.

“That’s selling really well right now, I understand,” he said, ignoring Carol’s glare. “The lipsticks and glosses that have an ingredient that causes lip swelling—mint, pepper, that sort of thing—is right on target, for any age group. Especially for women who don’t want to shell out money for collagen injections.”

Now all the women except Mrs. Marion were frowning at him, including Sophie. Which made no sense, since he was trying to help her out.

“I haven’t had the chance to actually study Diva Nation’s product line,” he said, addressing Mrs. Marion, since she was the only one at the table who didn’t seem put out with him. “But obviously, you can bet that I will. Really closely.”

Mrs. Marion laughed, delighted. “Well, Sophie, it looks like you’re in for a fight. Are you up for it?”

Mark looked over at Sophie, whose heated glare could probably melt an iceberg. “I never back down from a fight,” she said in a tone appropriate for a blood vendetta.

What the hell did I do? He frowned. Apparently, no good deed went unpunished.

“Neither does Trimera,” Carol put in, her tone equally fierce.

Mark shot Carol an annoyed look. Yes, they were competitors, but did she have to be so stupidly blunt about things? She was simply throwing gas on the fire.

“I’m well aware of Trimera’s business practices,” Sophie replied smoothly, and her tone made sure that everyone knew the comment was derogatory.

Mrs. Marion sat up straighter at that remark, still smiling.

“Our head chemist and product designer used to work for Trimera,” Sophie added, taking a sip of water to punctuate her sentence.

“Really?” Simone’s tone was surprised. Mark was surprised, himself. However, they were in marketing—and marketing never met the chemists. They dealt with the products afterward. “What made him decide to leave?”

“She decided to leave,” Sophie said, “because she was asked to.”

“You mean she was fired?” Carol interjected.

Now Simone and Mark both glared at Carol, who was oblivious, too intent on trying to insult Sophie to realize she’d screwed up. Smooth, Mark thought. He hoped Simone would report Carol’s obtuse behavior back to Roger.

“She was downsized,” Sophie said without emotion, as the waiter took their plates away. “Apparently, she didn’t really fit in with Trimera’s vision anymore for product development. While it wasn’t stated overtly, they thought perhaps her products were geared toward too mature an audience.”

Mark blinked a moment, floored that Sophie had so neatly turned the tables on them. She’d gone from being a young, inexperienced kid representing the teen market to a champion of the underdog, who obviously was fired because Trimera thought she was too old to develop cutting-edge cosmetics. If Marion & Co. wanted somebody trendsetting, they had Diva Nation…. And if they wanted someone who was mature, they still had Diva Nation. It also cast some doubt on Trimera’s business practices—especially if they were willing to fire people who were too old. Hints at age discrimination, which he knew would not sit well with Mrs. Marion.

Beautiful, Mark thought absently, as Sophie smiled serenely. Just beautiful. Sophie was playing them like a concert pianist.

He supposed he ought to be more upset about the whole thing. After all, Sophie was the competition here. But at the same time, he wasn’t a fan of crushing people who never stood a chance in the first place. And she’d made damned sure that Trimera would not write her off.

Carol, he noticed, was seething. Simone was only frowning, the slightest pucker in her otherwise inscrutable facade. Which he knew, from experience, meant that she was pretty angry as well, but knew enough not to show it.

Yup. It was going to be an interesting competition.

Mrs. Marion obviously felt the same way he did, because she looked practically gleeful. “I think we all understand each other, here,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “Nothing like some healthy competition to bring out the best products, I always say. I can’t wait to see what you come up with. Shall we order dessert?”

“I’ll just have coffee,” Carol said sourly.

“A latte,” Simone countered. “Decaf.”

Mrs. Marion looked at Sophie. “Tell me I don’t have to indulge on my own,” she said.

Sophie smiled, the edge of anger that had frosted her expression finally melted. “I never say no to dessert,” she replied. “And the Double Chocolate Suicide did look tempting. But I couldn’t possibly eat the whole thing on my own. It was huge.”

“I’ll split it with you,” Mark said. “I love chocolate.”

Sophie grinned. “I know.”

They smiled for a split second, then Mark quickly realized their gaffe. All the women stared at him—then at Sophie. Sophie, he noticed, looked aghast.

He shook his head. “My love of chocolate is legendary on the trade-show circuit,” he said lamely. Carol looked shocked. Simone looked smug. Mrs. Marion—well, her expression was one of amused inscrutability.

Oh, hell.

“Would you excuse me?” he said. “I have to make a quick phone call.”

He left, cradling his phone in his hand until he was safely in the hallway. Then he cursed himself under his breath. He didn’t need to make a phone call. He only needed a moment to think the situation through.

It was a tiny comment. Practically innocent.

Simone was going to have a field day with that one innocent remark, he just knew it.

Of course—if they assume you’re sleeping with her already, you might as well go ahead and do the crime you’re being punished for.

For the first time that night, he felt an anticipatory smile cross his face.



“HOW COULD YOU BE SO STUPID?” Sophie muttered to herself for the fiftieth time.

She was sitting in her hotel room, mentally reviewing the dinner meeting. It had all been going so well. She’d been professional, but she hadn’t backed down. She’d shown them that she meant business. Then, with two little words, she’d managed to portray herself as a floozy—somebody who was obviously too close to the competition.

“How else was I supposed to know that Mark liked chocolate?” she said, covering her face with a pillow and groaning.

For somebody who prided herself on her professionalism, she was doing a damned poor job of maintaining it when it came to Mark McMann.

The worst part was it was all her fault. If only she hadn’t called him…If only she’d stuck to her instincts, kept it strictly business…

Oh, who are you kidding? The only thing you’re regretting right now is the fact that you don’t have more to feel guilty about.

And there it was, staring her baldly in the face.

She still wanted Mark McMann. Yes, it was foolhardy: he was a competitor; she was a professional; there was a whole litany of reasons why she shouldn’t get involved with him. But the bottom line was she liked the way he made her feel.

He’s charming. That’s his best weapon, her business instincts warned her. But her body was not listening to her common sense. It was more attuned to the siren call of his southern drawl, the way his blue eyes pierced through her like a hot knife through butter.

Damn, but she wanted him. Even after tonight’s fiasco.

I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want him.

There was a knock on her hotel-room door. She frowned, wondering who it was at this hour. She opened the door cautiously.

Mark was standing there, looking over his shoulder. “Sophie,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “Can I come in?”

She nodded, more out of surprise than anything. He hurried inside, closing the door behind him.

“Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “Nobody saw me come in here.”

He shouldn’t be here, her instincts kicked up again. Get him out, before you do something even more stupid.

“What are you doing here?” she asked instead.

He stared at her, silent, for a long moment.

“You know why I’m here.”

She swallowed hard. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

It was crazy. Beyond crazy. But she knew exactly why he was there.

She knew, because she felt the exact same way.

She went to the minifridge, getting out a bottle of wine she’d purchased with the intention of drowning her embarrassment. “Wine?” she offered, her voice breaking slightly.