One Night Standards(7)

Sophie felt her heart beating a staccato rhythm in her chest. This is it, she chanted in her mind. This is it, the chance we’ve been waiting for…

“After a private, relatively secret search, we have narrowed the field of competitors to two.”

Sophie’s eyes widened.

Wait a minute.

Two?

Whatever gossipy buzz had been traveling through the room ceased as all ears pricked up.

“First…Trimera International, headquartered in New York.”

Sophie saw Mark sit up a bit straighter, his eyes gleaming avariciously.

“And second…Diva Nation, from California.”

She could hear people muttering “Who?” after Diva Nation was announced. She suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to crow—and an equally powerful urge to make a break for her room before her incognita status disappeared. She got the feeling that by tonight, every single person at the conference would know exactly who she was and who she represented.

’Bout time!

“Congratulations,” Mark murmured to her, and she nodded, accepting it. His eyes weren’t gleaming anymore. Instead, they studied her…appraising, yet wary.

Mrs. Marion smiled at the shock wave she’d sent through the conference. She was obviously a woman who liked to push buttons, and cause a stir. “To these two companies, I am asking for a series of distinct proposal rounds. Your individual headquarters will be receiving the necessary materials by this afternoon. This brand will be rolling out by the end of next year. Thank you, all of you, for your time.”

With that, and with people clamoring out with questions, Sophie felt herself go numb.

“Who the hell is Diva Nation?” a woman next to her asked, sourly. “Mark…heard of them?”

“Yup,” he said, looking at Sophie. “They’re a sort of underground urban cosmetics brand, out of L.A.”

She blinked. She hadn’t told him that. He’d somehow…

Of course he knew. She grimaced, and quickly snatched up her things, grabbing her phone as almost an afterthought.

“Yeah, but who the hell are they?” the woman persisted.

Sophie didn’t wait to hear what his response was. She just made a beeline for the door.

Mark was right behind her, it turned out. She knew because of the cologne he wore…. It wasn’t overpowering, but it was really nice, and suited him to a T. “Wait up,” he said.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to get going,” she said quickly. “It’s now going to be a really chaotic conference for me.”

“You pulled off a coup back there,” he said, and admiration was obvious in his voice. “Did you know they were going to give you a chance at the account? When I gave you a ride?”

She glanced around. People were watching them. More to the point, they were watching him. Women couldn’t keep their eyes off him, which was hardly a shock. “I thought we weren’t going to talk business,” she said in a hushed, reprimanding voice.

“That was last night,” he murmured. “I think things have changed since then, don’t you?”

“They have changed,” she said ruefully. “Now, we’re direct competitors, not just rivals in the same industry. And we really, really need to not talk anymore.”

He was still following her as she walked toward the elevator bank. After they waited there in silence, he said, “I’m not stalking you. I’m only trying to get to my room.”

She drowned again for a second, wallowing in memories of last night…of the two of them. Of his earlier promise to make love to her all night tonight. “No problem,” she said, glad her voice managed to sound casual.

The two of them rode the elevator in silence, ignoring the gaggle of sales reps who surrounded them as they managed to get off on earlier floors, all of them commenting bitterly on Trimera getting chosen, and all wondering about Diva Nation. Sophie made sure that her arms covered her name badge. Finally, it was her and Mark alone, on the elevator, headed for the twelfth floor.

“What are you doing for dinner tonight?”

She glanced at him. “Sorry?”

“Dinner. Tonight.” He sent her a sidelong glance that practically melted her heart. “I was sort of wondering. I mean, you’ve got to eat, I’ve got to eat….”

She stared at him. “Hello. We’re up against each other for this account!” Was the man insane?

He stared at the ceiling of the elevator, contemplatively. “And yet, I still crave food. I imagine at some point, you might feel a little nibbly. So what the hell, we run up the white flag and just have a bite?”

“No, Mark.”

“No, you won’t be hungry?”

“No, I won’t be eating with you!” She couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Damn. Either you’ve got a ton of moxie, or…”

She stopped. Or he’d reconsidered his stance on sleeping with her.

Of course. Now that she absolutely could not, in good conscience, sleep with him…he’d changed his mind.

“I’m not sleeping with you,” she said bluntly.

Now he smiled back at her, devilishly handsome. “Um…ever?”

She forced herself to keep a straight face. “More than likely. But definitely not as long as we’re both in the running for this account.”

“Somehow,” he said, “I can probably manage to share a meal with you without pushing the dishes aside and just taking you on the table.”

The image that conjured up sent shivers of heat along her body. “Don’t even joke,” she said, hating the breathless edge her voice took on.

“I wasn’t really joking,” he said.

He was dangerous.

“Stay away from me, Mark,” she said. “I really appreciated yesterday…on a couple of levels. And I would’ve loved to become friends with you. But you’ve got to see how this won’t work.”

He took that in silence for a moment, then the two of them headed to their respective rooms. She noticed her hand shaking slightly as she wrested with the card key.

She’d been so close to sleeping with him, she thought, with regret so keen it was painful. Now, she knew that every single ounce of common sense told her that he was off-limits, for good.

He pulled out his wallet, producing a business card that he quickly scrawled something on. “Here,” he said.

She stared at it. “What’s this for?”

“It’s my cell-phone number,” he said. “Just in case you change your mind about dinner.” He paused. “Or anything else.”

She watched as he effortlessly opened his room door and shut it behind him. She finally went into her own room…the card burning a hole in her pocket.

You’re not going to call him, she told herself.

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to throw the card away.



“ALL WE HAVE TO DO IS TAKE OUT one puny competitor, and the house brand for Marion & Co is ours,” Simone said, back at the office in New York. “Now—brainstorm. What do we know about Diva Nation, and how can we knock them the hell out?”

Mark looked at his boss, and then at the VP of marketing, Roger, who was sitting in on the meeting. They were both standing at the head of the large conference-room table, looking puzzled. Well, puzzled wasn’t the best way to describe it. Simone looked determined, as always, but also somewhat frazzled. Roger looked gob-smacked. The rest of the Trimera team, seated around the broad expanse of table, was somewhere between the two. Except for the resident pit-bull saleswoman, Carol, who looked as if her solution would involve some kind of violent force.

“I cannot believe this. I cannot…frickin’…believe this,” Roger finally said, anger filtering through his obvious surprise.

Simone sighed. “Roger, we’ve been over this.”

“I don’t think you realize what a slap in the face this is,” he countered, obviously eager to discuss in front of the team what he’d already hashed out with Simone in private. “Marion & Co. has always carried Trimera. We’ve always had a good relationship with them. Now, they’re creating an exclusive house brand, and they’re going to pit us against some nobody brand from California?” He looked at Mark. “I thought sales were doing well in that channel! Could somebody please tell me how the hell this happened?”

Carol cleared her throat before Mark could respond. “Account management has reported some problems with the Marion & Co. account,” she said, her voice deceptively calm. Her eyes looked fiery and triumphant, though.

“That true, Mark?” Roger snapped.

Mark forced himself not to glare at Carol. “Actually, it’s not,” he responded, his voice cool. “At least, we may have lost sales volume, but not market share. We’re doing fine.” He paused. If you’d read my last three reports, you’d know that.

Roger brushed off the comment, as Mark knew he would. “So, if we’re doing fine, who the hell is Deviant Nation, anyway? And why are they even in this?”

“Diva Nation,” Mark corrected. “They’re a small independent brand out of Los Angeles. They’re getting some decent distribution, though, and their products are getting a good deal of buzz. They’re not much now, but if their numbers keep up…”