“You’re late.”
“I…was caught in traffic. Sorry.”
Helena squinted. “Is that a banker’s clip in your hair?”
I stood and pointed to the files. “Something I can take off your hands?”
Helena gave me a suspicious look, then nodded and handed me the files. “Could you please take a look at these circulation reports and have a summary for me by this afternoon?”
I blinked because I didn’t realize the word please was in Helena’s vocabulary. “Sure, I’ll have a report for you ASAP.”
Helena started to go, then turned back. “Kenzie, did you enjoy your time off yesterday?”
I smiled at her cordial tone. “Yes, I did.”
“Is there anything you’d like to…share?”
My throat constricted. Was it that obvious that I’d recently crawled out of a strange bed and sponged the sex off my body before donning stolen clothes and sliding into the office late? “I…no.”
She gave me another wary once-over, then turned and strode away. I was shaking when I rummaged in my desk drawer for an antihistamine tablet. Helena could be a demanding boss, but I admired her and wanted her respect. I didn’t have to consult a shrink to know that I had some kind of maternal projection complex where the woman was concerned. On the other hand, having a moral compass in one’s life wasn’t such a terrible thing.
I was a bad, bad girl.
But I’d had a good, good time.
In fact, I could still feel Sam’s hands on my body, the rough texture of the calluses on his broad fingers—one of the reasons I’d doubted his story about being a doctor, although I couldn’t argue on the subject of his dexterity. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to relive his kisses and his attention to detail—James had never made love to me like that.
Of course, James and I had never had a one-night stand. Maybe men simply performed better during one-night stands without the pressure of a repeat performance hanging over their heads. In fact, there was probably a woman out there who’d had a one-night stand with James and sat in her office with her eyes closed, fantasizing about his freakishly small hands.
Or maybe not.
The break room was on the other end of the department, but I dragged myself over there to fill a huge insulated mug with strong, hot coffee. The milk container in the mini-fridge was empty, so I braved the brew straight. My spirits lifted, though, when I spotted a lone powdered sugar doughnut on a plate. My stomach howled and I wondered if Sam had ordered room service.
“What are you smiling about?”
I turned to see April Bromley coming into the room, smothering a yawn. My hackles raised. April was the executive assistant to the creative director, Ron Castle, and she was always trying to usurp what scrap of authority I had. She was a dark, exotic goddess and was not above using her considerable curves to further her ambitions. We didn’t like each other, and we didn’t hide it.
“I’m smiling because I love my job,” I said sweetly.
“So do I,” she returned just as sweetly. “But I could never do your job, Kenzie—I don’t like dogs.”
A flush climbed my face as a triumphant smile crawled over hers. Apparently word of my stint as a dog-sitter had reached the water cooler.
April grabbed the doughnut I’d had my eye on, took a bite, and shrugged prettily. “I need energy for the meeting that Ron asked me to sit in on this morning. If we need any copies made during the meeting, I’m sure Helena will buzz you.”
I looked for something to buzz her with, but she’d already flounced out. Ooh! That woman knew how to push my buttons, knew that Helena never invited me to sit in on the creative meetings. And since I had to write that summary report, this morning didn’t seem like a good time to hint for an invitation.
That’s why I was shocked when about thirty minutes later, while I was elbow-deep in circulation reports, Helena called and asked me to sit in on the creative meeting.
“You’re one of my most valued employees, Kenzie. It’s time that you became familiar with what the other departments are doing.”
So Helena was feeling guilty about the dog-sitting gig—good. I could only imagine the look on April’s face when I walked into the meeting, but I tried to keep the elation out of my voice and still sound conscientious. “What’s on the agenda?”
“Ron is finalizing the cover for an upcoming issue.”
A sore spot with Helena—after several incarnations, she still wasn’t happy with the cover look for Personality. From my perspective, finalizing a cover was one of the more interesting steps in producing a weekly news magazine. Still, I manufactured a thoughtful noise. “That sounds great, but I’d like to finish the summary report first.”
“Oh.”
Helena was caught off guard—she thought I’d be frothing at the mouth to join the meeting. I was, but she didn’t have to know that.
“The meeting will last until noon. Join us in the west boardroom when you can.”
“I will.” I hung up the phone feeling pretty pleased with myself and at least a birthday wiser. Helena was definitely treating me differently today. Maybe last night had been a turning point for me—a bon voyage of sorts to my immature fantasy of what the world was like. Goodbye multiple orgasms, hello functional sex. So long French panties, hello sensible underwear. It was time to advance my career, and find a marriageable man.
I suddenly felt very grown-up.
I pulled out my Palm Pilot and called up my to-do list for the following Monday. Using the stylus, I wrote “Start looking for a nice guy” on the screen, then stabbed the tiny enter button as ardently as possible, breaking a nail. Still, I was resolute.
I finished the reports five minutes before the meeting started, but I decided to wait another fifteen minutes before making my entrance. I lifted the lapel of Sam’s shirt and was happy to see that the hives had all but disappeared. After refilling my drum of black coffee, I gathered a fresh pad of paper and a pen, and walked to the meeting room.
A hum of voices floated through the closed door. I checked my clothing and smoothed a hand over my hair. My heartbeat was clicking away, and I prayed I could make at least one intelligent remark over the course of the meeting. I twisted the doorknob and entered as quietly as possible (I was doing a lot of sneaking in and out of rooms today), taking mental stock of the attendees—Helena, Ron Castle, April and a dozen others from production, photography, editorial and marketing. I claimed the closest empty chair, tucking myself in and turning toward the speaker, Ron.
He paused and gave me an inquisitive look akin to “What are you doing here?” A flush scorched my cheeks as all eyes landed on me. April smirked.
“Everyone knows my assistant, Kenzie Mansfield,” Helena spoke up. “I asked Kenzie to sit in because I’d like to begin exposing her to more activities in various departments.”
I circulated a respectful smile, stopping short of April, then Ron picked up where he’d left off.
“As I was saying, I think the hometown hero issue is going to be a big success in terms of attracting new readers—high-earning blue-collar workers who might not normally pick up a copy of Personality will be attracted by the all-American appeal of this issue.”
“The advertising department is on board,” offered Nita, the marketing manager. “Banks, insurance companies and car manufacturers are lining up for this issue.”
“The difficult part,” Ron continued, “was finding just the right person for the cover.” Then he smiled. “But I think