Songbird

by Syrie James

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll come up with some excuse.”

  “I don’t know. I’d hate to see—”

  “I’ll be fine. Honest.”

  He sighed. “Well, then, so be it.” He paused for a couple of heartbeats, looking into her eyes. “Goodbye, Kelli Ann Harrison.” He held out his hand.

  She placed her hand in his. As she returned his firm handshake, unsteady pulses began to thump in strange places in her body.

  “Thanks again,” he said.

  She had to blink twice to watch him as he turned and wove his way through the crowd. It wasn’t until he’d disappeared from sight that she let out the breath she’d been holding in a long, wistful sigh.

  Well. So much for a brush with destiny—the proverbial chance encounter with a mysterious stranger. She had acted spontaneously, lived a bit dangerously, then duty called and poof! She was right back where she started. Normal, everyday existence.

  She caught herself. What was wrong with normal? Things were shaping up very nicely in her life at the moment, thank you very much. She relished her independence. She wasn’t looking for another entangling relationship; she’d barely recovered from the last one. It was just as well that Grant had walked away.

  Kelli wandered idly through the room for several minutes, observing the party-goers, mulling over a few possible explanations to give Bob. A tuxedoed waiter offered her a glass of champagne—one of her favorite beverages—but she declined, wanting to keep her head clear for the meeting to come. Instead, she crossed to the circular buffet table, where a tiered silver centerpiece spilled over with fresh fruit of every color and description. An attractive arrangement of trays below was filled with plump prawns, stuffed mushrooms, puff pastries, and marinated chicken wings. The mingling aromas made her mouth water.

  She was about to reach for a plate when a laugh caught her attention. Her eyes shot toward a wide doorway into an adjoining room, where she saw Grant shaking hands with a rotund man in a dark-blue suit. Lazar? she wondered hopefully. A giddy sense of elation swept over her, as if she’d just helped perpetrate an undercover scheme of vast magnitude and importance. He couldn’t have done it without me, she thought—and then realized she didn’t know what it was. Was that fair? Couldn’t he at least have told her what business he was in?

  She slipped across the room, through the open doorway. She squeezed between a knot of people and stopped behind a leafy potted palm as tall as the door. I’ll just listen long enough to find out why he’s here, she promised herself, parting the fronds slightly and peering through at Grant’s back a feet away.

  “Don’t be too hard on him, Ted,” Grant was saying. Ted. So it was Ted Lazar. “He was just doing his job.”

  “Job, shmob. I’m gonna give him hell.” Ted was a head shorter than Grant, about the same height as herself, a paternal type with a fringe of white hair and a congenial yet commanding air. “Stupid of me to forget, it’s been a hectic day, but he shouldn’t have turned you away without looking for me.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Grant said. “I managed to get in.” Kelli liked the way his tapered grey suit jacket fit smoothly across the wide expanse of his shoulders and the slope of his back. “I know you’re on a tight deadline so I didn’t want to waste any time. I’ve had my eye on Cassera’s for years, Ted. We’re the people you’re looking for. We can do a hell of a job for you.”

  “Not so fast, Grant.” Ted’s laugh was low and gravelly. “I didn’t promise anything. I just said we’d talk.”

  “If you’re not happy with the people handling you now, I’d think you’d want to do more than just talk.”

  “Maybe.” Ted lifted a cigar to his lips and inhaled deeply, then squinted puffy eyes and blew out a slow column of smoke. “When you called this morning, I agreed to meet you because I’ve seen your work. Damned good. One of the best ad agencies in San Francisco, I’m told, even if you’re not one of the biggest. And your list of clients is impressive.”

  Kelli let the palm fronds flip back into place and froze, her heart pounding in sudden comprehension. Grant Pembroke owned an advertising agency. He was here to try to steal the casino account from Bob Dawson!

  “Kelli! There you are.” A hand touched Kelli’s shoulder and she jumped, repressing a startled scream. “I’ve been looking all over for you,” Bob said.

  He wore a black suit and striped shirt that looked positively dapper, and his thick shock of silvery-blond hair was carefully combed, not a hair out of place.

  “Sorry I’m so late,” he continued. “I got tied up at the office and couldn’t get away. Then traffic was horrendous—it took me five hours to get here.” He elbowed his way back into the main suite, pulling her with him. “The guard told me you came in with someone. Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to bring a friend?”

  “I...ran into him unexpectedly,” Kellie said. That was certainly true, wasn’t it? “He only stayed a few minutes.”

  “Where did he go? You shouldn’t have brought him up here. He wasn’t cleared.” Bob grabbed two champagne glasses from a passing tray and handed one to Kelli. He raised his glass. “To my newest and most attractive creative director. Cheers.” He took a long drink.

  I haven’t accepted the job yet, Kelli wanted to tell him, staring dubiously at her glass. Champagne was for celebrations. Weddings. Christenings. Bon-voyage parties. Romantic evenings for two. Somehow she didn’t feel like celebrating tonight.

  “What do you think about all this?” Bob indicated the crowded room with a nod of his head. “Did you take a look around downstairs? Ever work on an account this size?” He took another drink. “Wait till you meet Lazar. He’s a sweetheart of a guy. Let’s go find him and introduce you.”

  Kelli tensed with anxiety. “No, wait.” Grant would no doubt be talking to Ted Lazar for a while. What would Bob say if he discovered she’d admitted one of his competitors to the party? Somehow she had to keep them apart. “Before I meet him I should know everything that’s going on with the account,” she said, trying to stall for time. “You told me yesterday there’s a big campaign coming up?”

  Bob nodded. “Big is an understatement. The board decided they’re tired of the old logo and the look we’ve been using on all the collateral materials. They want a brand-new print image for the hotel and casino, everything revamped. And a new campaign to go with it.”

  Kelli took a surprised breath. Everything revamped. A hotel and casino this large would use a ton of collateral materials—brochures, menus, coupons, stationery, rate cards—not to mention a whole new ad campaign.

  “The account’s kept us pretty busy for six years,” Bob said, “but we’re talking big bucks now.”

  Kelli felt a rush of excitement. She’d never worked on a project of such magnitude. Dawson Advertising must not be on retainer, or Grant wouldn’t be here trying to steal the account away. “Is anyone else bidding on this?”

  “Just one agency, a small fish out of Reno. Routine stuff, to make sure our prices stay in line. Nothing to worry about.”

  So, he didn’t know about Grant. “Why nothing to worry about?”

  “They don’t have a chance in hell of coming up with a workable campaign,” Bob said with a self-indulgent smirk. “I took a little trip to Reno a few weeks ago. I’ve got three of the guy’s top people working for me now—his head account exec, copy chief, and art director. Wasn’t hard to spirit them away. Even dedicated souls will move on if you offer them the right price.” His chuckle stopped when he saw the expression on her face. “Don’t look so shocked. Everyone does it. It’s a cutthroat business. You don’t stay on top by sitting back and twiddling your thumbs. You’ve got to nip trouble in the bud before it starts.”

  Bob drained his glass. “Take today, for instance. This hot shot from San Francisco tried to move in on my territory. When Ted told me he called—Ted likes to keep me on my toes, it’s a power trip he plays—hell, this account’s been mine for six years. I’m not going to waste my time on a propo
sal of this size while he puts it out to bid to every Tom, Dick, and Harry that comes along. And I’m sure as hell not going to let Pembroke Advertising steal it away.”

  Kelli’s pulse quickened. “What did you do?”

  “Just told Ted a few things I ‘heard’ about Pembroke.” Bob chuckled. “Spread a few rumors.”

  “What did you say?” Kelli asked, her stomach knotting.

  “Who cares, as long as it works? Fifty bucks says Ted won’t give Grant Pembroke the time of day now.”

  Kelli felt sick. She’d been uncomfortable in Bob’s office the day before, and now she knew why. This man’s business tactics turned sleaze into a new art form. How could she even have considered working for him? How could she have considered working for anyone?

  I may not make much money free-lancing, she thought, but at least I have my integrity. She’d only agreed to the interview in a moment of financial despair. Now she realized she’d never wanted the job in the first place. When she got back to Seattle she’d build up her business, make a go of it somehow. And she’d never—no, never—work for anyone else again.

  A weight seemed to lift from her shoulders with this decision, and her gaze slanted back into the adjoining room. She spotted Grant, still talking to Ted Lazar. Did Grant know Bob was bad-mouthing him behind his back? Someone ought to tell him. She wondered if Ted believed the rumors about Grant, whether they might ruin Grant’s chances to bid on the account.

  It would serve Bob right if Grant stole the account out from under his nose, she thought.

  “Bob,” she said, taking his arm and leading him deeper into the crowd, away from the palm plant shielding Grant, “I wonder if you’d excuse me for a minute.” She glanced meaningfully toward the front door and he nodded in understanding.

  “The ladies’ lounge is just down the hall,” he said, pointing. “Look for me around here when you’re through.”

  “I will.” When he’d gone, Kelli made her way back through the crowd into the other room, her heart racing with anticipation. She stopped behind the palm plant again, listening.

  “I appreciate you coming up here,” Ted said. “The thing is, I don’t want to waste your time on this if we’re not right for each other. And there’s so much going on. I’m supposed to propose a toast to the birthday boy in half an hour. Why don’t you call me next week? Give me a few days to check some things out before I give you any details.”

  “Check what out? Ted, I’ll need to get started on this as soon as possible. Let’s go down to your office, where it’s quiet. Five minutes, that’s all I ask.”

  Ted sighed. “Grant, let me be frank with you. I’ve heard nothing but praise for the work you do. But quality isn’t the only thing I’m looking for. I need performance, someone who can meet my schedule, who’s easy to work with. And since I talked to you last, I’ve heard a few things I don’t like. Things that say you don’t fit the bill.”

  “I don’t fit the—what are you talking about? Who’ve you been talking to?”

  “I heard you’re temperamental,” Ted said. “Stubborn. No one wants to work for you. You like to run the whole show. And worse yet, I hear you’re slow. You take forever to finish a job.”

  “That’s absurd. I probably have less staff turnover than any agency in the city. We meet our deadlines, Ted, and then some. Ask any one of my clients. I’ll give you a list. You can call them tomorrow.”

  Kelli fumed inwardly. Bob Dawson’s nasty rumors were working far too well. She had to do something to help.

  Something…

  “I’ll make a few calls tomorrow,” Ted said. “Maybe I’ll talk to someone who’ll change my mind. But right now I don’t want to spend any more—”

  “Excuse me,” Kelli said, brushing past the palm plant to stand at Grant’s side. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him stiffen in surprise. “Don’t believe everything you’ve heard about Grant’s temperament,” she said, fixing Lazar with a dazzling smile. “He’s not really as difficult to work with as you’d imagine. Honestly, he’s a pussycat at heart. And as for the company being slow...ridiculous. Ten minutes in your office and I’ll prove otherwise.”

  Lazar’s bushy brows lifted in fatherly admiration. “Is that right? And who are you, little lady?”

  Kelli grinned at Grant, who was staring at her in wide-eyed astonishment, then turned back to Lazar and extended her hand. “I’m Kelli Ann Harrison, Creative Director for Pembroke Advertising.”