The Only Solution(33)

"I'm not finished," Mack said, and Wendy's heart sank. "And now I'm  dragging you into it as well, I'm afraid. I'm sorry about this, Wendy,  but the company president is bringing his wife to dinner tonight."

"So I'm expected as well?" Wendy had mixed feelings about that. She'd  like to be a part of Mack's evening, to meet his business acquaintances  –   but only if he wanted her there. And obviously this wasn't his choice  at all.

But she had to admit that whatever reluctance he might feel wasn't on  display that evening. She was already dressed and waiting when he came  into the suite, with the brown paper sack of mail on the coffee table in  front of her and a great deal of it already scanned and in the  wastebasket at her feet. And though Mack didn't go into raptures, he  obviously didn't disapprove of the dress she'd chosen  –  salmon-colored,  with a tiny jacket which could be whipped off to expose almost-bare  shoulders if the evening was more formal than she expected. He looked  her over from head to foot, then gave her a smile and a tiny nod of  approval.

To Wendy, it was as good as getting an award. Mack went into his bedroom  to shower and change, and she settled down again with another handful  of mail. A first-class envelope peeked out at her this time  –  a response  to one of the job applications she'd sent out in that first panicked  flurry. It was a standard form letter announcing that the company had no  positions available.

She didn't recognize the company name on the next envelope, and she  almost put it straight into the wastebasket. On a whim she opened it,  finding a request for her to call at the personnel office to fill out an  application. A company recruiting employees  –  that was a surprise.                       
       
           



       

Then Wendy saw the note handwritten in the corner of the letter. "I want  you on my new team as assistant marking director," Jed Landers had  written. "Together we can make things happen here, Wendy."

Wendy looked at the postmark and sighed; calling Jed a full two weeks  late was going to make her look like the kind of careless employee no  one could seriously want to hire  –  though now that she wasn't in the job  market any more, it hardly mattered.

She set the letter aside. She'd call Jed in the morning and tell him her  plans had changed. In the meantime, it felt good just to know that her  old boss hadn't forgotten her in the shuffle. She should have had more  faith in herself; if she hadn't panicked and made that phone call...

She never would have met Mack, and that would have been a sacrifice far more costly than losing out on a job could ever be.

She was curled up with a long letter from a college friend when Mack  returned, and she put it down with reluctance. But the moment she saw  Mack, she forgot all about her friend's crazy adventures. He looked so  marvelous, soberly elegant in a black tuxedo, that he took her breath  away.

And she couldn't have asked for a more devoted escort. Mack helped her  out of the hotel's limousine and kept his hand on her elbow as they  entered the exclusive private club. And the tiny wink he gave her as  their hosts came to greet them was one of encouragement, not concern.

There were just the four of them and so, even though the president  seated Wendy at his right, she was immediately absorbed in conversation  by his wife, a well-preserved woman in her early fifties. She was also  slightly dizzy, Wendy concluded after she'd listened to half an hour of  gentle monologue about the woman's children  –  their accomplishments,  educations, jobs, houses, and offspring.

Since Wendy wasn't likely ever to meet them, she had difficulty keeping  the details straight, and despite her determination to be polite, the  second conversation going on at the table insistently drew her  attention. It was so much more fascinating to listen to plans for the  venture-capital expansion of the president's business and the problems  he was encountering in keeping the new product's price at a reasonable  level.

They were having dessert when Wendy couldn't stand it anymore. "If the  product's really better," she said crisply, "don't worry so much about  the price."

Silence fell over the table. The president's eyebrows had shot up almost  to his hairline. Mack put his fork down and studied her thoughtfully.  The president's wife said, "Our daughter's like that, she always has an  idea. That's why she's done so well at her new job."

The president held up a hand to silence his wife. "Go on, please, Wendy."

"Well, if your product is clearly better than the competition – "

"Of course it's better." He sounded indignant. "An entirely new,  all-natural substitute for oils and fats that doesn't break down when  exposed to high heat, and doesn't add a single calorie to the diet, is  head and shoulders above what's available now."

Wendy shrugged. "Then promote it as something exclusive. Worth the price, no matter what it costs."

The president laughed a little and shook his head. "That's easy to say, my dear, but when it comes to marketing – "

Wendy shrugged. "You'll simply have to convince your customers that the consumer will pay the price."

"And how do you suggest we do that?"

"This is off the top of my head, of course, but I'd say the best method  is to work indirectly. Don't argue with your customers. Bypass them and  go straight to theirs. Set up your own research kitchens  –  rent them,  rather  –  and run large-scale taste tests." She held up her fork, a bite  of her chocolate layer cake displayed on the tines like a trophy. "If  it's really that good, it won't be difficult to convince people that  they can eat their cake  –  or french fries  –  or deep-fried chicken  –  and  skip the added calories. Sell consumers on the idea, and they'll knock  down the doors at bakeries and restaurants and factories, which will of  course call you and beg to buy your product."                       
       
           



       

"That's obvious," Mack said.

His flat tone annoyed Wendy, and her voice was a bit tart. "If that's  the case, I'm a little surprised you didn't think of it yourself."

"Marketing's not my business," he said reasonably.

"That's right. It's mine." She saw the muscles tighten in his jaw, but  she couldn't stop herself. "So perhaps you shouldn't tell me what's  obvious, Mack."

"You're a marketing expert?" The president sounded as if all the breath had been knocked out of him.

"Hardly an expert," Wendy said. "But that's my field, yes."

"Are you available to...?" He darted a look at Mack and sighed. "No, I  suppose not. But if you're ever interested in consulting..."

"I'll keep it in mind," she murmured and turned back to the president's wife. "You were telling me about your daughter?"

The president insisted on driving them back to the hotel, so there was  no chance for private conversation until they were inside. Even then  Mack didn't say a word, and Wendy eyed him warily as they climbed the  few steps at the corner of the atrium lobby to reach their suite.

Was he really annoyed? No matter how pleased the president had seemed,  and no matter how helpful the idea might turn out to be, she had butted  into a conversation that hadn't included her.

Still, it wasn't like Mack to react this way. Not the Mack she knew.

But this wasn't the Mack she had come to know over the past few weeks.  This was the Samuel Mackenzie Burgess of that first telephone call, the  businesslike man who had appeared in her office cubicle and carved her  life into pieces. She had almost forgotten that man. Now she felt as if  someone had taken away the stuffed teddy bear she'd grown accustomed to  and substituted a full grown grizzly instead.

"I'm sorry I put myself forward," she said tentatively.

"Why? The president seemed to love it. Brandy?"

Wendy shook her head.

Mack poured himself one and stood swirling the liquid in the snifter,  not even raising it to his lips. "Was food your specialty?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You told me you weren't particularly interested in marketing clothes or  valves, but you never did answer my question about what you liked  best."

Wendy nodded slowly. "Most of my research in college was centered around marketing food products."

"I see." He drank his brandy thoughtfully.

After a moment, Wendy said, "I think I'll get some sleep. It's been a long day."

For a moment she thought he hadn't heard her. "Of course. Thank you for coming tonight, Wendy."