His gaze met hers. “Is that the only perfume you wear?”
She nodded. “It’s my favorite.”
“Could I convince you to wear another fragrance?”
He was using her as a test market? Interesting. She could tell him what he wanted to hear, but how would that help him develop a new marketing strategy? She decided to take her chances and give him honest answers.
“Why would I change when I’ve been using this same perfume for years?”
He rubbed his neck as she’d seen him do numerous times in the past when he was contemplating new ideas for big accounts. And the Van Holsen account was a very big account. The fact that the client had the money to toss aside a fully formulated ad campaign and start over from scratch was proof of their deep pockets.
Mr. Amatucci’s gaze was still on her, but she couldn’t tell if he was lost in thought. “How long have you worn that fragrance?”
“Since I was a teenager.” She remembered picking out the flower-shaped bottle from a department store counter. It was right before her first ever school dance. She’d worn it for every special occasion since, including her first date with Steven. And then there was her high school graduation followed by her college commencement. She’d worn it for all the big moments in her life. Even the day she’d packed her bags and moved to New York City in search of her dreams.
“Talk to me.” Mr. Amatucci’s voice cut through her memories. “What were you thinking about just now?”
She glanced hesitantly at him. In all of the weeks she’d worked as his PA, they’d never ventured into a conversation that was the slightest bit personal. Their talks had always centered around business. Now, he’d probably think she was silly or sentimental or both.
“I was thinking about all the times in my life when I wore this perfume.”
“And?”
“And I wore it for every major event. My first date. My first kiss. My—” A sharp look from him silenced her.
“So your attachment to the fragrance goes beyond the scent itself. It is a sentimental attachment, right?”
She shrugged. “I guess so.”
She’d never thought of it that way. In fact, she’d never given her perfume this much thought. If the bottle got low, she put it on her shopping list, but that’s as far as her thoughts ever went.
“So if our client doesn’t want to go with a sparkly, feel-fabulous-when-you-wear-this campaign, we can try a more glamorous sentimental approach. Thanks to you, we now have a new strategy.”
She loved watching creativity in action. And she loved being a part of the creative process. “Glad I could help.”
He started to walk away, then he paused and turned back. “You were just promoted to a copywriter position before you took this temporary assignment as my PA, right?”
She nodded. What better way to get noticed than to work directly for one of the biggest names in the advertising industry.
“Good. You aren’t done with this project. I want you to dig into those memories and write out some ideas—”
“But don’t you have a creative team for this account?” She wanted to kick herself for blurting out her thoughts.
Mr. Amatucci sent her a narrowed look. His cool, professional tone remained unchanged. “Are you saying you aren’t interested in working on the project?”
Before she could find the words to express her enthusiasm, his phone rang and he turned away. She struggled to contain her excitement. This was her big opening and she fully intended to make the most of it.
This was going to work out perfectly.
A smile tugged at Kayla lips. She’d finally made it. Though people thought she’d made a big mistake by taking a step backward to assume a temporary position as Mr. Amatucci’s PA, it was actually working out just as she’d envisioned.
She’d gone after what she wanted and she’d gotten it. Well, not exactly, but she was well on her way to making her dreams a reality. With a little more patience and a lot of hard work, she’d become an account executive on New York’s famous Madison Avenue in the exclusive advertising agency of Amatucci & Associates.
Her fingers glided over the keyboard of her computer as she completed the email to the creative department about another of their Christmas campaigns. Sure it was only March, but in the marketing world, they were working months into the future. And with a late-season snowstorm swirling about outside, it seemed sort of fitting to be working on a holiday project.
She glanced off to the side of her computer monitor, noticing her boss holding the phone to his ear as he faced a wall of windows overlooking downtown Manhattan. Being on the twenty-third floor, they normally had a great view of the city, but not today. What she wouldn’t give to be someplace sunny—far, far away from the snow. After months of frigid temperatures and icy sidewalks, she was most definitely ready for springtime.
“Have you started that list?” Mr. Amatucci’s piercing brown gaze met hers.
Um—she’d been lost in her thoughts and hadn’t even realized he’d wrapped up his phone call. Her gaze moved from his tanned face to her monitor. “Not yet. I need to finish one more email. It shouldn’t take me long. I think your ideas for the account are spot-on. Just wait until the client lays her eyes on the mock-ups.”
Then, realizing she was rambling, she pressed her lips firmly together. There was just something about being around him that filled her with nervous energy. And his long stretches of silence had her rushing to fill in the silent gaps.
Mr. Amatucci looked as though he was about to say something, but his phone rang again. All eyes moved to his desk. The ringtone was different. It must be his private line. In all the time she’d been working for him, it had never rung.
It rang again and yet all he did was stare at the phone.
“Do you want me to get it?” Kayla offered, not sure what the problem was or why Mr. Amatucci was hesitant. “I really don’t mind.”
“I’ve got it.” He reached over and snatched up the receiver. “Nico, what’s the matter?”
Well, that was certainly a strange greeting. Who picked up the phone expecting something to be wrong? Then, realizing that she was staring—not to mention eavesdropping—she turned her attention back to the notes she’d been rewording into an email. She glanced up to see Mr. Amatucci had turned his back to her. He once again faced the windows and spoke softly. Though the words were no longer distinguishable, the steely edge of his voice was still obvious.
She looked at the paper on her desk, her gaze darting over it to find where she’d left off. She didn’t want to sit here with her hands idle. No, that definitely wouldn’t look good for her.
She was sending along some of Mr. Amatucci’s thoughts about the mock-up of an ad campaign for a new client—a very demanding client. The account was huge. It would go global—like most of the other accounts her boss personally handled. Each of his clients expected Mr. Amatucci’s world to revolve around them and their accounts. He took their calls, no matter the time—day or night. Through it all, he maintained his cool. To say Angelo was a workaholic was being modest.
As a result, he ran the most sought-after advertising agency in the country—if not the world. Stepping off the elevator, clients and staff were immediately greeted by local artists’ work and fresh flowers. The receptionist was bright and cheerful without being annoying. Appointments were kept timely. The quality of the work was exemplary. All of it culminated in Amatucci & Associates being so popular that they had to turn away business.
“Cosa!