A deal? He knew her well enough to know she wasn’t talking sexual favors. He stopped but continued to stare at the door for several moments. “What kind of deal?”
“I could put in a good word for you with the boss.” Her faltering voice indicated she wasn’t a particularly adept negotiator.
Did she know why he hadn’t been named principal yet? He turned, faced her, one eyebrow raised. “You think I need it?
“No, of course, not. You’re top of the heap around here.”
Whew! In other words, though, an empty promise. “What else do you have to offer?”
“The graphic art for your next project? I’m the one who picks the vendor. I’ll get you the best around.”
Was she deliberately trying to talk him out of it? “I’m already getting the best.”
She bit a lip, rose. “C’mon, Jack. Just for a few weeks.”
He started to decline, but the time frame she proposed caught his attention. His parents were coming back to town soon. Their first question would be if he was seeing someone. A pretend girlfriend might be the answer. Besides, if his gut instincts about Lacey Rogers were on target, another love interest, even a fake one, might help keep his hormones in check. “A few weeks?”
“Six.”
“Four.”
“Okay, four.”
They shook on it. “One more thing,” he added. “This is just between the two of us. Everyone has to think this is the real thing.” Especially their boss, who was sure to leak this to his parents once he heard Jack was seeing Celia. And Lacey. He wanted her to think his relationship with Celia was genuine, so she wouldn’t encourage him otherwise.
Celia started to say something then merely smiled. “I won’t tell another soul. We’ll start at noon by lunching at Brian’s favorite spot.”
He opened the door and noted one of the other women in the business office coming toward Celia’s office. Might as well get this show underway now. “It’s a date, then. See you at noon.”
****
Around one, Lacey’s cell phone rang. With Jack out socializing, she was using her time to get ahead of him researching their project. With regret, she put her hamburger aside and answered the call.
“Who is Celia lunching with today?” Brian. A somewhat flustered Brian. Her plan seemed to be working.
“You must be talking about Jack Dalton, the company star. I heard through the grapevine they left together.”
“A business lunch?” The curiosity coming through the wire was palpable.
She almost felt sorry for her brother. Almost. But he needed this wake-up call. “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a business lunch. My sources say he took hold of her hand as they left.”
The other end of the line went silent.
“Brian? You still there?”
He returned a begrudging “Yeah.”
Slang? From Brian? “Aren’t you pleased to hear she’s doing exactly what you told her to do? Getting out and enjoying herself.”
“Not with a hotshot architect. Celia’s talked about him before. Said he stopped by and chatted on occasion. Said his ego only slightly outdistanced his charisma with the ladies. I had no idea there was more to their acquaintance. Celia is a very trusting woman. He’d better not take advantage of her.”
“Although his first name is Jack, his last name isn’t The Ripper.” Brian’s comment dispelled any doubts about his still loving Celia. “I’m sure she’d be pleased to know you still care about her, in a protective, brotherly way, of course. But she’s also a grown woman, Brian. Nothing gets by her as office manager. She’ll be on to Jack Dalton quite soon, if not already.”
“Weeell…”
“How’s this? I’ll keep an eye on the two of them, at least around the office. If it looks like things are getting out of hand—” She paused for effect. “What do you want me to do then, Brian? Call you, so you can come charging in on your white horse? You gave up the role. Willingly.”
“Just let me know. Okay?”
“Yes, brother dear. Anything else?”
“Keep me posted.”
Lacey hung up, shaking her head at her brother’s idiocy. Her idea had caught fire. She’d be maid of honor at Celia and Brian’s wedding before the year was out.
Chapter Five
Lacey managed to walk into Jack’s office unaccompanied the next morning. Jean was nowhere to be seen, although her desk lights were on. The watchdog must have made herself scarce at Lacey’s appointed arrival time so she wouldn’t have to acknowledge the fact Lacey could come and go as she pleased.
Engrossed studying a group of sketches fanned across his desk, Jack eventually glanced up to acknowledge her. “Got the concept nailed down.” He shoved the top drawing toward her. “Shared communal areas for every four or five houses. Gardens, walkways, barbecue pits, anything for entertaining that’s only used occasionally.”
Lacey pretended to study the drawing, but she could barely concentrate. He’d done it again. So much for waiting to consult with her. She attempted to keep her voice level and noncommittal. “This is, uh, interesting. Where’s the research?”
“Research?”
She offered a frosty smile, although it pained her to lift the corners of her mouth. Her fingertips actually prickled because she itched to reach across the desk and grab him by the neck. “No, I meant, what information have you gathered on the target population indicating this group of retirees wants shared communal space?”
He tipped his head to the side, scrunched his eyebrows, like she’d spoken a foreign language. He pointed to his forehead, presumably where his brain, what there was of it, resided. “My research is all up here.”
She tried not to snicker. “Thought as much.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a shoot-from-the-hip creative type whose hits outweigh your misses.” She waited until the predictable self-serving smile claimed his scowl before proceeding. “But your success rate could increase considerably if you did your homework first.”
The smile immediately disappeared. “I studied the project files. All the homework I needed.”
She untied the folder she’d brought with her, having stayed up late surfing her computer to do her own research. “I found a few articles about baby boomers on the Internet that provide a better clue about what they want in a retirement home.”
Jack rolled his eyes.
“Born between 1946 and 1964, most have only recently started to retire or are just beginning to think about it. Like every generation before them, they don’t want to age. Unlike their predecessors, however, technology and science are on their side, helping them maintain a youthful lifestyle.”
Jack yawned.
“Which means, by calling it a retirement community, we may be limiting ourselves.”
“What’s your point? The name’s up to Marketing, not the design team.”
The man’s attention span was smaller than a gnat’s. He was already fidgeting. Time to wrap up. “Recent studies indicate only a small percent of this age group plan to spend their retirement years in what’s euphemistically referred to as an active adult community. So if we concentrate our efforts solely on this demographic, we may find ourselves with an investment that’s undersubscribed.”
The economics got him. She could see it in his eyes. “Still not our problem. We’re just to come up with the design concept.”
“When the development goes bust, do you think we’ll be exonerated when we claim we just developed the design concept? No, everyone involved will be tainted.”
He slumped lower in his chair. “Even if I were to agree with you, how do you propose to convince Cam and his client there’s a problem?”
“In Cam’s case, I need more data. He’s appears to be a bottom line man. If the numbers aren’t there, he’ll be convinced. The client is a different story. Without knowing who we’re dealing with, it’s impossible to know what’s driving him.”
Jack appeared to consider her argument
s, then scratched his head again. “Cam’s harder to call than you think.”
“How?”
“Though he’s motivated by the bottom line, his first task is to please the client.”
Hunching forward, palms on thighs, he said, “As he reminded us the other day, we’re not his partners on the project. We’re highly paid talent. We do what we’re paid to do.”
Burning pools of liquid mahogany bored into her. Despite the fact he was once again lecturing her, he was mesmerizing. Commanding.
She couldn’t think of an immediate response. She could barely remember her own name.
The phone rang. He gave her one last penetrating look, as if to put a period on his statement. “Jack Dalton,” he said into the phone. “Yes, Celia, I remember.” He screwed up his face in a frown but then seemed to catch himself, molding his mouth into what appeared to be a fake smile. “Okay, pick you up at seven.”
Right on time, Cee. Tonight was the fiftieth birthday party Marianne Mackenzie, Cam’s wife, was throwing for their boss. Fortunately for their plan, Jack hadn’t lined up his own date yet when Celia asked him to be her escort.
Since this call was for her benefit, Lacey played along. She raised a brow. “Celia Fairchild? You’re taking her to Cam’s party tonight?” She kept her tone ingenuous.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Lunch yesterday, now Cam’s party.”
“You heard? The office grapevine is faster than Cam’s new sports car.”
Deflecting. Next, he changed the subject. “What happened to yesterday’s great possibilities?”
“Haven’t changed my mind about the property. But now we’re talking concept. My research suggests we’re limiting our options if we come right out and call it a retirement community or say it’s aimed at boomers, even though that’s what we’d actually be doing. I thought you were opposed to it too. You couldn’t wait to tick off everything wrong with it as we drove back.”
“I still don’t like the whole idea of this project, but to borrow your expression, we’re just the foot soldiers.”
She played with her pen. Lacey wasn’t naïve and she knew her place. But she felt a responsibility to the client’s best interests, whoever the client was. “Foot soldiers protect the main flanks behind them. Sometimes protecting them means reporting the dangers that lay ahead before plowing into battle.”
He could stay seated no longer. “Where are you getting these metaphors? Were you in ROTC?” He lifted a restraining hand to prevent her from answering. “You realize you could be ruining your career chances around here if you try to talk Cam out of this?”
“That realization hasn’t escaped me. But I have to give the boss my best professional opinion.” Stupid, Lacey. Talk about cutting her own throat. She steeled her resolve for his reaction.
But he surprised her. He shrugged and settled back in his chair. “When I consider my concerns about the property and yours about the concept, I have to agree with you. However, my career can probably recover from Cam’s wrath, if he feels we’ve turned against him. Just want to make sure you know what could happen to you.”
She released the breath she’d been holding. “You’re not telling me to forget it?” Would she ever figure him out?
He sighed, as if she’d depleted his patience. “No. Just wanted to make sure you wore your Big Girl shoes today.”
She sat back, relieved. “I’ll draft a memo right—”
“Not so fast, newbie. We need solid, indisputable evidence to even have a chance of convincing Cam. I can’t believe I’m going to ask this, but what else did your research uncover?”
She handed him the pages she printed the night before. As he read over them, she cited the high points.
“Good start,” he said when he finished.
“Good start? That’s great stuff.”
“You got names and dates, but we need the original source before moving ahead. Plus, the studies are over two years old. You need to find something newer or confirm what you’ve got still holds true.”
“Okay.”
“This stuff about home offices, computer labs, and lifelong learning will be great for add-ons.”
“Terrific! Then we’ve got ourselves a profile to work from.”
“Not exactly.”
“What else do we need? I thought I had more than enough.”
He gestured toward her stack of printouts. “For me to really get into design mode, I need to know my client. Since we don’t currently have such information, and the only thing we know our client wants is a retirement community for baby boomers, words which you say we can’t use, we have to focus on who baby boomers are, the whole ever-lovin’ demographic.”
Was he playing her? Outresearching her for sport? She had no choice but to play along. “How do you propose we obtain such info?”
“Probably’ll take at least a week, maybe ten workdays, to do the plan itself, leaving us a week or two for research.
“Us? Research?”
His brow furrowed like he’d been insulted. “Yeah, field research. We need to get up close and personal. Follow the lives of real people, not just search the Internet. My parents are in their fifties, but they’re so unlike everyone else, I can’t go by them. How about you? Do you know anyone in their fifties or early sixties?”
She shook her head. “Not really. My parents are no longer alive.”
He must have sensed her discomfort talking about her parents, because he quickly added, “Oh. Sorry.”
“I don’t talk about them much. My brother Brian’s my only family now.”
“No uncles? Aunts? Friends of the family? Teachers?”
She did a brief mental run-through of all the people she knew, then shook her head. “How about here at work? Cam! He’s turning fifty.”
“Cam isn’t your typical boomer. He’s in a category by himself.”
She chuckled. “We finally agree on something.” Maybe he was actually serious about conducting research.
“But his birthday party tonight gives me an idea.” He smiled. “Marianne, his wife, will probably include some of his cronies on the guest list. Why don’t we study them? Might make the party a little less boring.”
“Study them?”
“Talk to them. Find out their retirement plans.”
“Great idea.” Then she remembered he wouldn’t be a free agent for such reconnaissance. “What about Celia?”
“What about Celia?” He seemed mystified by her question.
“Since she’s your date, won’t you have to tell her what we’re up to?”
“Won’t be a problem. She’ll probably be helping Marianne run the show.”
“Then it’s settled.” In her enthusiasm, she spilled her papers on the floor. Jack reached to retrieve them at the same time she did. Their hands barely touched, but it seemed as if she’d come in contact with a live wire as the shock of his touch coursed through her.
Jack jerked away and Lacey came to her feet. “I’ll…I’ll spend some time…following up on those reports…this, uh, afternoon.” She breathed deeply and tried to make light of the situation to conceal how his mere touch affected her. “Tonight I become Lacey Rogers, Special Investigator.”
“We’ll compare notes first thing tomorrow.”
“That’s it? That’s our work plan, we spend half our time stalking people over fifty and the other half writing up our findings and turning them into a design concept?”
“Works for me.”
Of course it worked for him. These few action steps were probably more structure than he’d ever worked with. But the nebulous nature of his proposed approach made her knees buckle. Or was their accidental contact responsible for her lack of balance? “I need more detail.”
“There, there, newbie. You sure you’re up to this? Cam’ll understand if you ask to be excused from the project. But do it soon, so I have enough time to do your work as well.”
“Look, Jack, you may have more years’ experience on me, but you don
’t know anything about timelines and action steps. Apparently you think you can just throw something together and the client will be forever grateful to have benefited from your creative genius.”
He shoved back that intransigent lock of hair that had once again sought his forehead. “Hey, I’ve already agreed to do the research, but I’m not about to tie myself down with a to-do list. If you need that kind of crutch, be my guest. But do it on your own time.”
“Fine.”
“Fine. Now, go tell Lacey Rogers, Special Investigator she’s needed. Her over-organized alter ego is giving me a headache.”
****
Once Lacey left for her own office, Jack summoned Jean. He could have sworn she saluted as she approached. Must’ve have been his imagination. A thought planted the day before by Lacey.
“I need to do some computer research, Jean. I’m, uh, sorta hard-pressed for time with this new project and could really use the assist.”
The woman studied him before replying. “Certainly, Mr. Dalton, although I assumed Ms. Rogers would handle those details.”
“Uh, yes, she is. But just certain aspects. After I volunteered to split the work with her, I realized I’d overcommitted.” He leaned closer. “Okay, I don’t know the first thing about research. I’m great with Computer Aided Design, but search engines, not so much.”
“You don’t want Ms. Rogers to find out.” It wasn’t even a question. The woman knew him better than he knew himself sometimes. No need to concede the point, though.
“Find me everything you can about baby boomers, especially the oldest in the group, and what their plans are for retirement.”
“No problem. I’ll have something for you by the end of the day.”
“Thanks.” Didn’t want Jean to think she was indispensable, although she was. Jean he could deal with. She just wanted to be acknowledged and appreciated. Flowers should do it.
His sentence as Celia’s beau was only for four weeks. All he had to do was live through the next twenty-eight days when it came to dealing with her.
Lacey was the real problem. Keeping up with her was proving harder than he thought it would be. How much younger was she? Three-four years? Enough to label it a generation gap? Internet research. He’d been so quick to mock her, until she laid those numbers square in his face. Who could dispute the logic of her findings? But as with Jean, no way was he letting her know.
Saved by the Salsa Page 5
