“A bigger ball?” He dragged his attention back to her face. They’d rented the ballroom at the Roosevelt Hotel. It didn’t get much bigger than that.
Sinclair shook her head. “Not a bigger ball. A bigger product launch. Something more than a ball. The ball is fine. It’s great. But it’s not … “Her lips compressed and her eyes squinted down. “Enough.”
“Tell me what you had in mind,” he prompted, curious about how she conducted business. He’d been struck by her intelligence in Manchester. It would be interesting to deal with her in a new forum.
“What I was thinking …” She paused as if gathering her thoughts. “Is to launch Luscious Lavender at a luxury spa. In addition to the ball.” Her voice sped up with her enthusiasm. “We’re going after the high-end market. And where do rich women get their hair done? Where do they get their facials? Their body wraps? Their waxing?”
“At the spa?” asked Hunter, trying very, very hard not to think about Sinclair and waxing.
She sat back, pointed a finger in his direction, a flush of excitement on her face. “Exactly.”
“That’s not bad,” he admitted. It was a very good idea. He liked that it was unique, and it would probably prove effective. “What’s Roger’s objection?”
“He didn’t tell me his objection. He just said no.”
“Really?” Hunter didn’t care for autocracy and secrecy as managerial styles. “What would you like me to do?”
Whatever it was, he’d do it in a heartbeat. And not because of their history. He’d do it because it was a good idea, and he appreciated her intelligence and creativity. Roger better have a damn good reason for turning her down.
“If you can clear it with Roger—”
“Oh, I can clear it with Roger.”
Her teeth came down on her bottom lip, and a hesitation flashed through her eyes. “You agreed awfully fast.”
“I’m agile and decisive. Got a problem with that?”
“As long as …” Guilt flashed in her eyes.
“I’m reacting to your idea, Sinclair. Not to your body.”
“You sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure.” He was. Definitely.
“I was going to approach New York Millennium.” She named a popular spa in the heart of Manhattan.
“That sounds like a good bet. You need anything else?”
She shook her head, rising to her feet. “Roger was my only roadblock.”
Two
“Obviously,” Roger said to Sinclair, with exaggerated patience. “I can’t turn down the CEO.”
She nodded where she sat in a guest chair in his office, squelching the lingering guilt that she might have used her relationship with Hunter as leverage. She admitted she’d been counting on Roger having to say yes to Hunter.
But she consoled herself in being absolutely positive the spa launch was a worthwhile idea. Also, Roger had been strangely contrary lately, shooting down her recommendations left and right. It was all but impossible to do her job the way he’d been micromanaging her. Going to Hunter had been her option of last resort.
Besides, Hunter had invited all the employees to run ideas past him. She wasn’t taking any special privilege.
“I’m not holding out a lot of hope of you securing the Millennium,” warned Roger.
Sinclair was more optimistic. “It would be good for them, too. They’d have the advantage of all our advance publicity.”
Roger came to his feet. “I’d like you to take Chantal with you.”
Sinclair blinked as she stood. “What?”
“I’d appreciate her perspective.”
“On …” Sinclair searched for the logic in the request.
Chantal was a junior marketing assistant. In her two years with the company, she’d mostly been involved in administrative work such as ad placement and monitoring the free-sample program.
“She has a good eye,” said Roger, walking Sinclair toward the door.
A good eye for what?
“And I’d like her to broaden her experience,” he finished.
It was on the tip of Sinclair’s tongue to argue, but she had her yes, so it was time for a strategic retreat. She’d figure out the Chantal angle on her own.
Her first thought was that Roger might be grooming the woman for a public relations position. Sinclair had been lobbying to get an additional PR officer in her department for months now, but she had her own assistant, Amber, in mind for the promotion, and Keely in reception in mind for Amber’s job.
“Keep me informed,” insisted Roger.
“Sure,” said Sinclair, leaving his office to cross the executive lobby. First she’d set up a meeting at the Millennium, then she’d sleuth around about Chantal.
Three days later, Sinclair lost the Millennium Spa as a possibility. The President liked Lush’s new samples, but he claimed using them over the launch weekend would put him in a conflict with his regular beauty products supplier.
She’d been hoping the spa would switch to Luscious Lavender items on a permanent basis following the launch. But when she mentioned that to the spa President, he laughed and all but patted her on the head over her naiveté. Supply contracts, he told her, didn’t work that way.
Chantal had shot Sinclair a smug look and joined in the laughter, earning a benevolent smile from the man along with Sinclair’s irritation.
Then the next day, at a pre-Valentine’s event at Bergdorf’s on Fifth Avenue, Chantal earned Sinclair’s irritation all over again.
It was twelve days before Valentine’s Day and the main ball and product launch. Sinclair had worked for months preparing for both events.
For Bergdorf’s, she’d secured special space in the cosmetics department, hired top-line professional beauticians, and had placed ads in Cosmopolitan, Elle and Glamour. She’d even talked Roger into an electronic billboard in Times Square promoting the event. Her spa plan might have fallen flat, but she knew if they could get the right clientele into Bergdorf’s today for free samples and makeovers, word of mouth would begin to spread in advance of the ball.
The event should have come off without a hitch.
But at the last minute Roger had inserted Chantal into the mix, displacing one of the beauticians and making the lineups unnecessarily long. Amber, who had already heard about Chantal’s appearance at the spa meeting, was obviously upset by this latest turn of events. Sinclair didn’t need her loyal employee feeling uncertain about her future.
The result had been a long day. And as the clock wound toward closing time, Sinclair was losing energy. She did her hourly inventory of the seven makeover stations, noting any dwindling supplies on her clipboard. Then she handed the list to Amber, who had the key to the stockroom and was in charge of replenishing.
She reminded the caterers to do another pass along the lineup, offering complimentary champagne and canapés to those customers who were still waiting. The cash register lineup concerned her, so she called the store manager on her cell, asking about opening another till.
The mirrors on stations three and six needed a polish, so she signaled a cleaner. In the meantime, she learned they were almost out of number five brushes and made a