by Lara Nance
Table of Contents
Title Page
DraculaVille – New York
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
DraculaVille
New York
By
Lara Nance
Not your typical love story,
and not your average theme park...
DraculaVille – New York
Book One
By Lara Nance
13 - ISBN 978-1481280204
10 - ISBN 1481280201
© Copyright Lara Nance 2012, All rights reserved.
Cover art: Lara Nance
Editor: Laura Kitchell
Books/E-books are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or depict real places/populations in an imaginary way that in no way is meant to reflect negatively on those places or people. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously and are not construed as real. Brand name products used by the characters in this book do not reflect ownership of those trade names, only the admiration of the characters.
Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
To Laura, who always drags the best out of me.
Chapter One
Talia Quinton tapped French manicured nails on the top of her desk in a sharp tattoo. Impatience itched at her insides, and she shifted in her seat for the hundredth time that morning.
Her desk phone beeped. She pounced on it. “Yes?”
“He wants you in the boardroom.” It was her boss’s secretary, Rhonda. “Good luck,” she said and hung up without waiting for Talia’s response.
Talia’s heart beat faster as she reapplied lipstick and pressed her lips together. She smoothed the front of her impeccable Calvin Klein jacket and ran a finger under the collar of her silk Armani blouse. Show time!
Felix, her assistant, brushed off her shoulders and pushed her out of her office. “Knock ‘em dead, Tiger.”
Her Louboutin heels clicked on polished mahogany as she strode down the hall to the boardroom, making sure to nod graciously to underlings who raised heads from lowly cubicles to watch her pass by in her march of triumph.
Then her shoe slipped on the slick floor. She stumbled a couple steps before she regained her footing. A snicker from one cubical made her narrow her eyes. She let out a huff, tugged on the hem of her jacket, and straightened her shoulders. With a quick glare to both sides, she quelled further laughter and continued on her path to the boardroom.
Her lips curled in a satisfied smile. At last, she’d made it to the top of the heap. She’d struggled through ten years at The Saracin Agency in every job from copy writer to ad executive. She’d paid her dues and now she would reap the rewards.
She took a deep breath, catching the lingering aroma of morning coffee, and then wrinkled her nose at the hint of something else… oh, yes. She was pretty sure she smelled…money. Big Money. Billions with a capital B. Only one company shelled out that much on advertising. Fizzola Cola. The biggest account in the advertising world, and it was going to be hers. A shiver of excitement ran through her.
“Ah, there you are, Talia.” Harvey Saracin, CEO of the agency rose to his feet as she entered. His dark hair had gone gray, but despite that and his stooped shoulders, he gave her hand a firm shake then motioned to a chair on his right at a long, glass-topped table.
She inclined her head to four men and two women who already sat around the table. Something about them struck her as odd, but she couldn’t put a finger on it. They each wore a dark colored suit and fiddled with the fragile china coffee cups before them as if afraid to actually drink.
Then she realized Ken Barstow, the marketing manager for Fizzola, wasn’t present. Strange. She shifted in her seat and eyed her boss. According to her conversation with Harvey yesterday, the deal with Fizzola was sewn up. Surely nothing had gone wrong.
“As I told you, Talia is our top account executive. She’s handled consumer goods at the highest levels as well as publicity for major movie studios, Wall Street firms and some A-list celebrities.” Harvey leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other as he steepled his fingers. “She’s uniquely qualified for what you need. I’d put her up against anyone in the business.”
Talia straightened in her chair, a warm glow of pleasure filling her chest to bursting. Finally, the recognition she deserved. She gave Harvey a slight incline of her head in thanks for his praise. Gazes at the table shifted to her, expectant and appraising.
One of them, a bald man with a bushy gray mustache, drummed the table with chubby fingers. He squinted at Harvey. “We’re aware of Ms. Quinton’s reputation, but are you sure she’s the right person for this particular assignment? This isn’t a glamorous undertaking. Nothing like promoting a famous movie star. We need someone…tough.” His voice was laced with a thick accent Talia couldn’t place. She’d never seen him before. He was surely new with the company.
She narrowed her eyes and nodded. Everyone knew international soda wars were cut-throat. The advertising world didn’t call her Talia the tiger for nothing, however.
“I assure you, there isn’t anything I can’t handle.” She leaned forward, giving them her tough-bitch-in-control look.
The men and women shared worried glances, but the bald man bobbed a terse nod. “Very well. We’ll be back in two weeks to see your proposed campaign. If it meets our requirements, we’ll sign the contracts.”
Talia opened her mouth to ask about what they sought in next year’s advertising campaign, but Harvey gave her a slight shake of his head and stood. She clamped her lips together.
“Thank you so much. I’m sure you’re going to love what Talia comes up with.” He smiled and shook their hands as they filed out.
They were short in comparison to her four inch heel supplemented height. The meeting had been extremely bizarre. Harvey hadn’t even introduced them to her. Plus, the most important part of the meeting should have been her interviewing them to see what vision they had for Fizzola in the coming year. That was crucial for her to develop a campaign. What the hell was going on?
Her boss closed the door behind the dark figures then heaved a sigh as he turned to her. “Congratulations, Talia. If you do a good job with this, you’ll be number one in this business. It’s quite a challenge, but I know you’re up for it.”
A sinking feeling invaded Talia’s gut.
Something was seriously wrong here. Now that she thought about it, those people had dressed as if they’d bought their clothes at Sears, not the polished designer look she’d expect from the world’s largest advertiser. She was pretty sure the women hadn’t had manicures.
“Exactly who were those people? I’ve never seen any of them in news or trade magazines. Are they new to Fizzola?” She tapped a nail tip on the table.
“Fizzola?” His brows went up. “They aren’t with Fizzola. They’re the national publicity committee of Romania.”
“Huh?” It was the only word that formed in her brain.
“Romania. You’re going to pull them from old world eastern bloc obscurity to destination Chic. They need a new identity and they know it. What they’re desperate for is travel dollars. You’re going to figure out how to give it to them.” He thrust his hands into his pants pockets and beamed at her.
“You’re giving me Romania?” Her voice rose on each word, and she came to her feet. She planted both hands on the table and leaned toward him. “Romania?”
He took a step back and frowned. “What’s the matter?”
“You told me I was getting Fizzola. I can’t do Fizzola and this creepy little country, too. Give Romania to Bill, for God’s sake.” What the hell was he thinking? Fizzola was more than a fulltime job. She didn’t need this distraction.
“I gave Fizzola to Bill. You get Romania.”
“That’s bullshit.” The top of her head was going to explode. Panic rose in her gut. She’d built a life around reaching this point. Given up friends, vacations, and romantic relationships. Her mantra had been work, work, work. For years she’d imagined reaching this pinnacle and finally feeling happy and satisfied with life. Now that rug had been pulled from beneath her feet, leaving her wobbling on uncertainty. Anger boiled, replacing the panic. “Bill, the ass-kissing, weak-chinned, idea zombie? Fizzola will eat him alive. What the hell are you up to, Harv?”
The CEO crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his eyes away. “Look, Romania is a challenge. Fizzola is just more of the same—happy people drinking soda to the tune of the newest pop songs. You should be excited about this chance to do something different.”
“How big is Fizzola’s ad budget this year?” She advanced around the table.
“I, uh, don’t…”
“How much?”
“Okay, okay, it’s going to be about three billion.” He threw up his hands.
“And how much is Romania’s?” She stalked closer, grinding her teeth.
“Well, it’s not set in stone, but around…two hundred and fifty million.”
“Ahhhhhhh,” she screamed and slapped her hands to the sides of her face. Peanuts! She’d be the laughing stock of the ad world. She poked a finger into Harvey’s chest. “There’s no way you made the decision to give Fizzola to Bill. You know he can’t come up with an original idea to save his life. The only reason he still has a job is…”
Ice shot through her bones, and she froze as reality sank in. Bill was dating the daughter of their Chairman of the Board. The bastard had pulled strings to cheat her out of Fizzola because he’d make more money to keep daddy’s little girl happy.
Harvey shot her a wary look, but affirmation glinted in his gray eyes.
“So that’s it. Bill got the job because of his girlfriend.” The ice in her bones cracked into a million pieces, their shards raking her insides with pain. This is what it felt like to lose everything. So, hard work meant nothing? Her sacrifices were meaningless? A wave of nausea replaced the pain.
Harvey let out the breath he’d been holding. “I’m sorry, Tiger. I swear I went to bat for you. Bill was smart enough to propose to the girl last weekend. Daddy wants her to have a nice house, and a cut of three billion will buy a really nice place.”
“Damn it.” Talia pounded a fist into her palm. “I want to punch him. I deserve that account and you know it.” Her hopes of moving into a top floor penthouse melted like ice cream on a hot New York City sidewalk.
“Look, Tal, do a good job with this Romania campaign and I’ll get you a great company next year.” Harvey put a hand on her shoulder. “It really is a challenge. I meant what I said about you being the best person to handle it. It’s not going to be easy.”
“I can’t live on two hundred fifty thousand dollars commission. You know that.” She planted her fists on her hips, glaring at him.
Harvey uncrossed his arms. “Don’t worry, Tal. I’ll take care of you. Just do a good job with this Romania thing and I’ll make sure you have a nice yearend bonus.”
She slapped her hand against her forehead. “What the hell am I going to do?”
“I told you, they need a travel destination campaign,” Harvey said. “They need money coming into the country from outside. All you see is talk about their rolling hills and quaint villages. It’s not working. Why would anyone go to Romania when they can go to Hawaii or Amsterdam?”
“Nobody.” She shook her head, which had started to pound.
“See? It’s a tough show, and that’s what brings out the best in you. Trust me, Tiger, you’re gonna thank me in the end. You’d be bored to death working on Fizzola.” He grinned and chucked her under the chin. “Besides, you’ll have the help of our Creative Director. I’m sure Leslie will have some good ideas. Form a committee and start brainstorming. You’ll have lots of help. You won’t be bored, I promise. “
She jerked away, hurt that he couldn’t understand what this meant to her. “I can stand being bored when I’m putting three million dollars into my bank account and holding parties on the deck of my new penthouse apartment.”
“It’s not all about money, kid. Especially not for someone like you.” He rested a hand on her shoulder for a second then left the room.
Not about money. Was he kidding? He lived in a ten thousand square foot townhouse across from Central Park, and a chauffeur drove him to work every day. Of course it was all about the money. She snorted. Maybe she should look for another job. The thought of dealing with this Romania crap left her empty with a side order of nausea. She wasn’t even sure where the stupid country was. Somewhere east of England, right? Did planes even go there?
She took a deep breath. Despite her disappointment, she’d never given up on anything and nothing had ever defeated her. Not her father leaving when she was eight, not her ex-fiancé dumping her at the altar at twenty, and not her mother’s painful death from cancer ten years ago. Somewhere in the recesses of her soul, a spark of defiance burned. Once she got over feeling sorry for herself, she’d rock this stupid campaign. She’d turn Romania into Monaco. But first she needed to get really drunk.
Chapter 2
“Talia? What the hell happened to you?” Gerri Peterman slid into the booth opposite Talia, her blue eyes round. Her long brown hair was pinned in a French twist, elegant as usual. She pushed three empty martini glasses out of the way and grabbed her friend’s hand.
“Stupid Harv gave my Fizzola account to suck-face Bill,” Talia blurted, then burped. She fingered one of the glasses and retrieved its stack of olives on a toothpick, popping them into her mouth one after the other. She glanced at other people scattered in booths about the dimly lit bar wondering if they were as miserable as she was. Nope, nobody could possibly be that miserable. Screwed, let down, backstabbed and miserable. She stared at the four little green balls with their shiny red eyes. Evil little monsters. Like Bill and Harv. She popped one in her mouth, taking pleasure in crushing it with her teeth, like it was a certain loser’s head. Take that, Bill.
Gerri leaned across the table, forehead crinkled in concern. “Tal, you need to get a hold of yourself. Have you had anything to eat other than martinis and olives?” She tried to take the remaining olive kabob from Talia, but she slapped Gerri’s hand and ate the last two with a grin.
“I don’t care. Nothing in life is worth caring about. Oops.” She fell over on the seat when she reached out to flag a waiter. “Everything I’ve worked for
is flushed down the toilet.”
“May I help you?” The young man eyed her, one corner of his mouth pulled tight in misgiving.
She righted herself and flipped her bobbed hair from her face. “Yes, my good man, I’ll have another vodka martini, very, very dirty. One for her, too.” She waggled a finger in Gerri’s direction.
“Tal, I think you’ve had enough.” Her friend glanced at the waiter, but he turned and left. “What’s going on?”
“Tol’ you. Bill got Fizzola.” Talia aimed a straw at the bottom of the three empty glasses and made a slurping sound in each. Where was the booze? She needed to be a lot more drunk than this.
“What account did you get?”
“Romania.” Slurrrrp.
“Huh?”
“The country.” Slurrrp.
“Hell, I know Romania’s a country. I’m a nurse practitioner, I’m not stupid.”
“Ha ha ha, that’s funny. I’m not even sure where it is.” Talia chortled. “Thanks for coming, though. I needed a laugh.”
“Glad I could provide some comic relief.” Gerri frowned. “Now stop joking around and tell me what happened.”
Talia dropped the straw and propped her chin on her fists. “I got sold out. Bill’s bonking the Chairman’s daughter, so she needs a house. Fizzola’ll buy a very nice house.”
Gerri’s narrowed her eyes and leaned back. “That sucks. You’ve worked hard to get that account. It’s all you’ve talked about for the past five years.”
Talia nodded. “I knew you’d understand. You’re my best friend ever, ever, ever.”
“You seriously need to stop drinking when you start saying goopy things like that. I know you too well.” Gerri crossed her arms. “Let’s go back to my place and I’ll make us some dinner. We’ll trash talk Bill, and you’ll feel better in the morning.”
“No.” Talia pounded the table with her fist, and Gerri, along with the empty martini glasses, jumped. “You don’t get it. This is it. My life is over. I’ve waited ten years to get Fizzola pissola. Ten Years. I’ll be the laughing stock of New York when word of this gets out.”
