The Millionaire Affair(9)

"Chips." He snatched a bag out of the box and held it up.

Kimber came into the room and accepted it, a look of confusion on her  face as if she'd been expecting him to say-or do-something else. But no  matter how much he'd wanted to say or do that something else, he  wouldn't.

Seducing Kimber wouldn't be productive. Not for either of them.





CHAPTER FOUR


Landon leaned into the back of the conference room chair, now  permanently molded to his body. He flipped his Mont Blanc pen  end-over-end on the legal pad in front of him, listening with half an  ear to his team rounding the long, oval boardroom table.

He'd climbed into the shower this morning almost amused by the direction  of his thoughts last night. He supposed the combination of fatigue and  stress could cause the borderline mania he'd experienced. When he'd  entered the kitchen to find Kimber making coffee and Lyon kicked back on  the living room sofa watching cartoons, he'd felt none of the strange  longing he had hours prior. Yes, she was still undeniably attractive,  but that …  need he'd felt for her was gone.

He hadn't been able to ignore her beauty but, thank God, he was able to  have a normal conversation with her before kissing Lyon's head and  walking out the door. A perfectly normal morning where he hadn't shot  headlong into The Twilight Zone with host Rod Serling.

Hopefully this morning was a predictable trend for the future.

"Red and silver. It's who they are," Margaret was arguing.

He tuned in to the chatter around him.

Margaret moved her empty Starbucks cup to the side and flipped around an  art board, featuring Windy City's current packaging, to show Brenda.  "They've built a brand out of these colors." She gestured at the beauty  shot of the bag next to a heaping bowl of thin, golden potato chips  before tapping it twice with her fingernail. Once when she repeated  "red" and tapped the red part of the bag, and again when she said  "silver." Brenda leered at her from across the table.

Landon felt a migraine coming on.

"They've built a not-so-well-known brand," Brenda challenged. "For them  to stand out, we have to think outside of the box, here. I say we start  with tearing the brand down to the studs and rebuilding from scratch."

"Lay's has the color yellow cornered," someone piped up.

And then they went around again. Like they had for the majority of the  morning. It became quickly apparent that the direction of this  conversation, like the other earlier conversations, wasn't productive.

Landon drew in a solid breath and spoke for the first time in thirty  minutes. Because he only spoke when he needed to, the room quieted when  the first syllable exited his lips. "Margaret is right."

Margaret sat up straighter and batted eyelashes over round cheeks. "Thank you, Mr. Downey."

He resisted the urge to shake his head, and capped his frustration. His  designers were like little puppies, desperately seeking pats on the  head. Brenda sent Margaret a sneer. Margaret fluffed her dark hair in an  arrogant manner.         

     



 

Why they took their wins and losses personally, he had no idea. The  product won or lost. A lesson for another day, perhaps. One for a day  when he wasn't circling a hellacious headache at the hands of a group of  corporate ladder-climbers. He scrubbed his face, aware his thinning  patience was not their fault. Not technically. He had a lot riding on  nailing Windy City's brand. Otto Williams had fired his last ad agency.  Landon had seen the other agency's proposal Otto had called "crap on a  stick." Even Landon could admit it hadn't been half-bad, though he'd  kept that opinion to himself.

"The brand's colors aren't the issue," he announced, infusing his voice  with authority. "It's their image that needs updating." A dozen  wide-eyed stares greeted him. Waiting for him to solve this epic  conundrum. He threw the problem back at them. "Suggestions?"

They exchanged glances. He rested his elbows on the table and folded his  hands, waiting. No one commented. Okay. He pushed himself to standing  and a few people shuffled, seemingly confused as to whether the meeting  was over. Rather than walk out of the room, he paused at the coffee cart  and grabbed a hardening Danish from a tray. He took a bite, chewed, and  watched his team expectantly.

"Mr. Downey?" A skinny guy wearing a checkered shirt, his hair shaved into a short Mohawk, spoke up. "I have one."

Saved by the new hire. God bless him.

Landon licked the frosting from his lips. "Mr. Wilson."

Kirk Wilson hesitated and glanced nervously around at the older,  seasoned-jaded, Landon mentally corrected-team members, as if weighing  whether this idea was the right one to share with the table of  cannibals.

"When you say image"-Kirk cleared his throat-"you mean like …  as in who they are. As a company. Like …  as a brand?"

He was going to have to muster more confidence than that to land an idea  in this room. Landon tipped his chin in encouragement anyway. Spit it  out, kid. He hoped it was good. For Kirk's sake. Margaret pursed her  lips and narrowed her eyes, ready to draw blood.

Kirk swallowed hard, surveyed the room one final time, and addressed his  colleagues. "Windy City has a reputation of being the chip that sits  next to a sandwich. But what if consumers thought of the sandwich as  something that sat next to the chips?"

Margaret's face pinched. Brenda craned her thin eyebrows. Stephen  dropped his pen on his pad and blew out a breath, muttering, "Oh boy."

Contrarily, a smile slid across Landon's face. Nailed it. Kirk reminded  him a bit of himself when he'd launched into the field of advertising.

Before Margaret opened her mouth, no doubt to chop Kirk's tender,  sapling-like hopes into kindling, Landon cut her off. "Chips as the main  course," he said. "I like it."

His statement garnered a look of flattered shock from Kirk and one of  betrayal from Margaret and Brenda. Look at that. Finally. Those two  agree on something.

Landon repressed a chuckle. "Order lunch." He dropped the petrified  pastry into the wastebasket. "No one leaves this room until you're solid  on a concept." He snatched up his pen and pad and walked to the door,  pausing to tap the door frame. "Tomorrow, we'll reconvene and hammer out  the details of the campaign. I want it built around Kirk's idea. Windy  City. The main course."

He shut the door behind him, and his team's stone silence erupted into  hushed chatter. Kirk was on his own now. Swimming with the sharks. It  was the best way to learn.

Good luck, kid.



Kimber wanted to collapse on her bed and take a nap. She'd spent the  morning chasing after Lyon, playing one game or another. First it was  hide-and-seek, then tag, then a game he made up, which consisted of him  hiding his Superman figurine in the house and charging her with locating  it. At least she'd been able to cheat via the video-outfitted baby  monitor when Lyon hid the action-figure in his bedroom.

After lunch, when he'd finally wound down, she took the opportunity to  clean the kitchen. That task complete, she walked into his room and  found him on the floor, Legos scattered around him, his face pleated in  concentration as he built Batman's dark domain, Gotham City.

"Some men like to watch the world burn," she said in her best Michael Caine voice.

Lyon smiled, a dimple punctuating his beautiful brown skin and lighting  his blue-green eyes. He was going to be a real heartbreaker, this one.

"You like that movie?" he asked, attaching a Lego.

"A lot." Especially the Christian Bale parts. Her cell phone rang and  she showed him the display before answering. He smiled at the photo of  his aunt.         

     



 

She put the phone to her ear. "Hi, Aunt Angel."

"Hi, nanny Kimber. How is my adorable nephew?"

She smiled back at Lyon and answered Angel with a truthful, "He's great."

"Sucker. Felled by the Downey charm."

She thought of Landon last night: his disheveled hair, crooked tie, the  accidentally sensual smile gracing his firm mouth. You have no idea.

" …  wondering if you'd talked to him?"

Oops. She'd tuned out her friend while lusting after Landon. "Not much.  He came in late last night and looked really tired. He wasn't all that  conversational," Kimber answered. "I offered him spaghetti, but he  declined. Does Landon like spaghetti?"

Angel was quiet for a beat. "Yes, he does. But I wasn't asking about Landon. I asked if you'd heard from Evan."

"Oh!" She let out a nervous laugh. "Evan. Of course. He, uh, he called this morning to talk to Lyon."

Angel fell quiet again. Kimber checked the screen of her iPhone to be sure the call hadn't dropped.

When she returned it to her ear, Angel said, "I am so dim!"

Her intuition prickled. Or maybe that was her pride. "What? No you're  not." She snapped a Lego into place. Lyon pulled it off and put it on  again, frowning in concentration. Perfectionist. She thought of his  concise, intentional uncle and had no doubt who Lyon had inherited that  quality from.