“Look, I know you’re supposed to be going on vacation, but I swear I’ll make it up to you,” he said with enough sincerity to win votes from an opposition party.
“Supposed to be? I am going on vacation.” Even though she said it firmly, she could still hear the questioning lift in her voice. Damn.
Harvey hurried right on. “It’s just one of those things. Joe was supposed to handle this, but his wife—You know Kelly Marie, don’t you? A really sweet girl. Anyway, she’s expecting a baby....”
There had been this sinking sensation in the pit of Audrey’s stomach. She had sighed fatalistically and completed the sentence for him, “And Joe would never be able to forgive himself, if he weren’t around when she delivered.”
In retrospect, she knew that was the moment when she should have said no. Emphatically. Instead, thinking of poor Kelly Marie going into labor all alone, she had muttered resignedly, “Okay, Harvey, what’s the assignment?”
“The hot air balloon festival in Snowmass.” The words sort of ran together in a rush. When Harvey actually displayed overt signs of nervousness, it was definitely ominous.
“What about it?” she asked, eyeing him warily. “Are we providing the champagne? Am I supposed to pour five thousand glasses of our finest?”
Harvey scowled at her sarcasm. “No, it’s nothing like that. You won’t have to do a thing, really. Just be available. Blake’s entered in the race—it’s a damn crazy obsession for an executive, if you ask me—but we need one of the PR folks on hand to make sure the media gets anything they need about him or the company. The bio is all prepared. Joe even ran off a history of Blake’s record in these ridiculous competitions. Our boss is actually pretty good. He won down in Albuquerque this year and we weren’t around to capitalize on it. I don’t want that to happen again. All you’ll have to do is hand the press the prepared stuff and maybe do one quick release if he wins any of the events this time. I hear one of the networks will be there. You might try to set up something with them.” He peeked to check her reaction, then added, “I’d do it myself, but I’m scheduled to work that wine-tasting event in San Francisco.”
He tried to make himself sound like a nominee for martyrdom, but Audrey wasn’t buying it. She knew all about those wine tastings. Harvey’s extraordinary talents would not be taxed. What she didn’t know much about were balloon races. She tried to pin Harvey down on the details. “Simple, straightforward PR and that’s it? You’re absolutely sure? There are no hidden agendas, no arranging middle-of-the-night tête-à-têtes for the boss?”
“From all I’ve heard, Blake can handle those quite nicely on his own. As for you, you’ll get an all-expenses-paid weekend in Snowmass or Aspen. Take your pick. I’ll even consider throwing in a few extra days on the company, if you want to spend the rest of your vacation there. I hear it’s great in the summer. You can go hiking, go to the music festival, whatever it is people do in those ski resorts when there’s no snow on the ground.”
“And my nonrefundable ticket to Hawaii?”
“No problem. We’ll cover it and you can reschedule the trip for whenever you like.”
Audrey regarded him warily. There was some little nugget of unpleasant information Harvey had yet to share with her. There had to be. He was still awfully edgy. “What’s the catch?”
“There’s no catch.” He made a little cross-my-heart gesture. Audrey noticed he didn’t quite finish it, probably because he knew God would strike him dead on the spot.
“Harvey, I know you. You don’t go tossing around paid vacations unless you know there’s something I’m going to hate.”
Harvey regarded her indignantly. “Well, you will be delaying your vacation in Hawaii. I know how much you’ve been counting on it. Isn’t that enough?”
“It is for me, but I have this funny little suspicion nagging at me that it’s not enough to explain your sudden burst of generosity. What’s the rest?”
“Well, you will have to get up a little early....” At the lift of her brows, he hurried on, “But it won’t be so bad, really. It’s just for a couple of days. You’re a real trooper. You can manage.”
“Forget the snow job. How early?”
Harvey stared at the Monet print behind her desk, another ominous sign. Usually he could at least manage to look her in the eyes. Besides, he hated that print. He’d always said it was too “mushy.”
“Harvey!”
“You’ll have to be at the rodeo grounds in Snowmass by six to keep an eye on what’s happening.” He beamed at her again...unconvincingly. “But by noon you should have the rest of the day to yourself and it is only for the weekend. After that you can sleep all day, if you want to.”
“Six o’clock in the morning?” Audrey had asked in a horrified whisper. “Harvey, you know perfectly well that I can barely get my eyes open by nine. I certainly can’t function before that. Do you want to trust Blake Marshall’s public relations to a woman who’s practically comatose?”
“You won’t have to function exactly, at least not at that hour. You just have to show up, look things over, make a few contacts.”
“Sounds like functioning to me.”
“It’ll be a breeze. I promise. You know Blake’s reputation. He loves the limelight and the media gravitate to him. He’ll do most of his own public relations.”
“Then why do I need to be there at all? He’ll probably fire both of us, when he discovers you’ve hired a woman who can’t talk in coherent sentences until lunchtime.”
“You’re doing okay now.” Harvey had grinned at her and looked as though he might pat her on the head. If he had, she might very well have slugged him.
Instead, he simply said, “I want you there because Blake Marshall owns this winery. Sales are climbing and he’s a hot story, if we play it right. If he wanted the entire public relations staff to fly balloons from Snowmass to the East Coast as a publicity gimmick, we’d all be climbing into those flimsy little baskets.”
Even Harvey, who claimed more than his share of unorthodox youthful adventures, had shuddered at that prospect. “Fortunately, he seems to be willing to do that part himself. All you’ll need to do is put in an appearance and make sure the press and Blake get exactly what they need, a lot of solid PR for Blake Marshall Vineyards and his Grapes of Wrath balloon.”
“His what?”
Harvey grimaced. “I know. I didn’t pick the name. Ask him about it. Maybe it has something to do with that notorious temper of his.”
“I hope it’s because he reads Steinbeck,” Audrey had retorted, stalking off to make her plane reservations only to discover that Harvey, the smug creep, had already made them for her.
So, here she was on Friday at barely 5:00 a.m., with rain pouring down outside and the temperature hovering around 50 degrees. It was July, for God’s sakes! This was definitely not Hawaii.
Three alarm clocks strategically placed around the room and a wake-up call from the front desk were needed just to get her out of bed. She was still standing bleary-eyed in front of a cracked mirror—another ominous sign?—wondering once again why she didn’t have any of that noble strength her mother swore her name was supposed to impart. As near as she could recall, the last time she had said no effectively, she had been barely two and it was practically the only word in her vocabulary. According to her parents, it had been her favorite for quite some time. Maybe she’d used it all up.
More likely, she was just a sucker for a sob story.