Melina stood up straighter. “Not a problem for us. And, you know, it wouldn’t be bad if the reporter knew about that angle—off the record, of course.”
“I don’t know for sure if it’s true about the affair,” Holly frowned, “and even if it was true, there’s no way Angela Travis or her editors would publish it. She’s at the Seattle Times, not the National Enquirer.”
Melina shook her head. “Holly. Use your imagination.”
The brunette slung her copper bag over the back of her chair and leaned forward eagerly. “Why would Angela care if anyone at Graystone is sleeping around? Doesn’t that hurt your new client’s reputation?”
Melina smirked. “It’s not about Graystone. Holly’s one hundred percent right, Angela wouldn’t print a word about a rumored affair. But that’s not the point. The issue is Decker Communications, the old PR firm.”
Melina sipped her drink and explained. “We plant the seed about the affair and suddenly Angela’s going to wonder how trustworthy Decker really is. I mean, there’s no way they told her the truth about why Graystone Bank switched to Pursuit Marketing.”
Holly nodded. “Angela won’t care about the reasons because her editors won’t print them. But she’ll go ballistic if she thinks she’s been lied to, even on background. If Decker sold her some other story already, they just burned a major bridge.”
“But how does that help you two?” asked the fourth woman, who was splitting her time between listening to the exchange and making eyes at a man at the bar. “Even if Decker burns that bridge, can’t they just go to another reporter?”
Holly’s lips curled into a smile as she answered. “Lauren, that’s the beauty of Melina’s idea,” she said. “There’s only one big newspaper in Seattle. The reporters divide up assignments by beats, so somebody covers city government, somebody covers crime, and so on. Their business staff only has a handful of reporters, and Angela Travis covers finance and professional services. So now Decker is screwed if they want to pitch stories connected to any of that.”
“Angela might not believe them, and more importantly, she’ll ignore their positive fluff stories to punish them for lying to her,” Melina added. “That’s good news for you, Taylor. We’ll be ahead of the game pitching stories on behalf of any of our service sector clients.”
“Including Generation Title.” Taylor nodded. “That’s great. We could use some more media magic from you, Holly.” Holly threw up a mock salute.
Melina swirled the last of her cocktail, victory in her eyes. “Angela’s a bitch, but she’s a useful bitch.”
***
Andrea heard every word while pretending to be absorbed in a mobile phone app. She drained her glass of wine and officially gave up on the idiot she’d planned to meet.
Now for the embarrassing part: doing the I-got-stood-up walk of shame out of the bar. Andrea wondered what the women at the table next to her would think, especially since she’d already confessed she was waiting for someone. She called for the check.
Holly and Taylor were engrossed in a side conversation and the fourth woman, Lauren, had drifted over to chat with the man at the bar. Andrea caught Melina’s eye.
“It turns out he’s not able to come, after all,” Andrea said with forced cheerfulness. “Sorry to keep you standing—you’re welcome to this chair.”
“Not able to come, or stood you up?” Melina asked. It was more of a statement than a question.
Andrea dropped her gaze. “We must have gotten our wires crossed. I was meeting him here, I thought.”
“No call.” Another statement. “A date?”
“A first date,” Andrea admitted. “I’m really over this whole blind date thing. I can’t believe I wasted my time waiting for him. I should have called him a long time ago.”
“No—you shouldn’t call,” Melina insisted. “That’s rule number one. If he has any intention of meeting you—ever—he would have called you. Men who are interested always call.”
Andrea’s face fell. “If I’d called him I wouldn’t have wasted my time waiting for him.”
“I doubt it,” Melina countered. “Men will do anything to avoid telling the truth about not being interested. He would have either given you a lame, last-minute excuse or not answered his phone at all.”
Andrea looked hurt. Melina’s expression softened. “Trust me. I’ve got some experience in this area.”
The server brought the check and Andrea dropped her credit card in the folder. She wasn’t sure if this conversation was making her feel better or worse.
“OK, I feel like an idiot. I can bill my clients for a couple of hours if they no-show, but I can’t do anything to this guy,” Andrea said ruefully.
Melina smiled. “I can think of a few ways to get even, but probably the best way to get over it is to just have another drink. Do you want to join us?”
Andrea eyed her platinum credit card sticking out of the restaurant bill folder. It was still early. She plucked her card from the folder and tucked it back into her leather portfolio case as the server approached.
“I’ve decided to leave my tab open for a bit longer,” Andrea told the waitress. “May I have another?” She gestured to her empty wine glass.
Melina hooked her peacock blue purse over the chair intended for Andrea’s date and artfully crossed her legs, putting them in clear view of several men in suits at the bar.
“This is one of our favorite spots,” Melina confided, inclining her head toward the bar. Lauren was there, standing close to a tall man in a well-cut suit, presumably so she could hear him better over the happy hour crowd. “It’s like they put out a memo for hot, rich guys.”
“Makes sense,” Andrea smiled. “Brooks Gimbel and a bunch of other law and finance firms are in this building. You should see the restaurant side at lunch—you can keep tabs on who’s got which client by watching the power lunches.”
“I know,” Melina said. “I have three clients in this building.”
Andrea and Melina exchanged a little bit about their respective careers, then Melina introduced Holly and Taylor, who’d emerged from their side conversation. The wine warmed a path down Andrea’s throat as she talked with these accomplished, sharp-edged women. They seemed to live for the thrill of the chase—whether it was business, a man or a fashion accessory.
Lauren breezed by their table to flutter her fingers before gliding away on the arm of the tall man.
“I don’t know him well, but I see him in the elevator sometimes,” Andrea said, pleased she could offer some insider information. “He works for a criminal law firm, private defense.” She looked wistful, envious of Lauren’s luck while she had no luck of her own.
“She’s too eager,” Melina dismissed the pair. “She never holds their attention for long.”
“Andrea, meet our pessimist,” Holly said, giving Melina a nudge. “Her rules for dating would put those Mars and Venus books to shame.”
Melina grunted, looking comically annoyed.
“It’s true!” Taylor chimed in. “Melina will go out once or twice with a guy, then ditch him because he doesn’t quite live up to her standards.” She paused and patted Melina affectionately, to ensure no offense was taken. “I know you’re only holding out for the best.”
“And why settle for less?” Melina asked imperiously. A sly smile crept onto her face. “Look, Andrea, you’re welcome to join us on our little ‘hunting’ expeditions. It’s happy hour in whatever restaurant or bar is the place to be at the moment. We like to look, but more importantly, we’re here to be seen.”
Andrea hesitated. “Business or pleasure?”
Taylor laughed. “Both! I’ve met some horrid boyfriend candidates who turned out to be great clients,” she said, explaining her role at a title insurance company. “Either way, you can’t lose.”
“I’m in,” Andrea said. “Thanks for the invite.”
Holly dipped into her mint green bag, withdrawing a filigreed business card holder. A flurry of cards
crossed the table.
“There’s one thing you might want to think about,” Melina said, lowering her voice to reach Andrea’s ears only. “Loosen up a bit. You don’t have to dress like a lawyer,” she said, eyeing Andrea’s conservative navy suit.
Andrea was again off-balance, not sure whether to be offended or thankful for the tip. Melina—cunning and clearly in control—seemed completely undaunted by this singles scene, so Andrea decided to trust her judgment.
“Thanks for the invitation,” Andrea said again to the three women, raising her glass. “Here’s to hunting.”
EIGHT
Five days. Five. Are you kidding? The rule is two or three. Two if you’re eager, three if you’re playing hard to get. Four if your house catches fire.
They went out on a Thursday, so Melina expected the call Saturday afternoon. Joshua seemed keen. Sunday came and went with no messages. Monday found Melina distracted at happy hour, and by Tuesday she was plugging his name into a search engine to see if her mind was playing tricks on her.
There he was, Joshua Danford. She scanned his LinkedIn profile, complete with a photo—looking a bit geekier than he did in person, but still Joshua.
He was who he said he was. University of Washington graduate with honors. Cross-country team. Master’s degree in mechanical engineering, thesis in medical device fluid transport, whatever that meant. Engineer at Imitech Labs for three years, working on implant devices such as pacemakers.
Basically, a perfectly good guy, and now a criminal in Melina’s book. He said he’d call. He didn’t.
But he didn’t say when, the voice of hope in the back of her head said.
But he never gave you his number, the pessimistic, opposing voice argued.
But you wouldn’t have called it if he did, the hopeful voice chided.
It was true. It was one of Melina’s rules.
On Wednesday, for the tenth time that day, Melina stifled the urge to ask Eric what was up with his neighbor. He started this, the voice of hope reasoned, so it’s only right to ask Eric what’s going on. Maybe he’ll give Joshua the push to call.
But Melina held to her “walk through fire” rule.
Eric came to her office just before the end of business hours with two proposed ad layouts for their newest client.
“I took the creative brief you gave me and went two different directions with it,” Eric started, showing her two large color concepts side by side. “For this first one, I emphasized the purity of the product, leveraging the whole trend toward naturals and organics. In the second one, I positioned it against the leader in that category, trying to show how our soap offers a subtle scent, instead of a heavy-handed industrial fragrance.”
Melina compared the visuals to the strategy sessions she’d held with her account team and client. They were attacking the market leader in premium-priced liquid laundry detergent for the gentle cycle—not a sexy product, but the Robbins-Steen Company also manufactured fragrances and cosmetics, so it had the potential to elevate Melina’s image and her business.
“Yes,” Melina tapped the second layout. “We’re saying mass-market soaps give you a big chemical smell, not a sophisticated perfume.” As the senior account exec, Melina was the lead strategist for the product’s marketing. Eric’s role, as graphic designer, was to make the whole package sizzle.
“The organic angle looks too generic,” Melina added. “Those earth tones look like every other natural product on the market. Plus, it’s not certified organic, so we really can’t own that niche.
“This other ad is more inspired. I like the art deco machine feel you’re using to represent industrial soaps—that’s a good treatment, because we’re not asking people to think their detergent smells bad. They might like it. We’re just trying to show them that the soap that washes your delicates should have a more delicate touch,” Melina looked up. “Go with that. Give it a cooler color palette. Make the machines feel sweaty, so our detergent feels like the fresh air.”
“Works for me. I’ll get you the new version tomorrow.” Eric took back the draft sketches and stood.
“So Eric, just curious—” Melina stopped him at her office door. “About your neighbor, Joshua. He called me, you know.”
“Yes,” Eric balked. “I hope it’s OK I gave him your number. He’s a good guy.”
Melina waved her hand. “Oh, no big deal. We went out. I was just wondering if you’ve seen him this week.” What could she say? We went out and he never called. We went out and he practically convinced me to say yes to another date. And then he never called. Why hasn’t he called?
“No, I haven’t,” Eric shifted his feet. “Guess he’s been busy.” He closed Melina’s office door behind him and she exhaled in frustration.
***
“Hey, it’s Josh. I can’t answer my phone right now, so leave a message.”
“Josh, check it out,” Eric said. “She asked about you, but don’t get a big head about it. I think the suspense is killing her. Say hey to Juan at basketball tonight—I’m going to be out late.”
***
“Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail for Melina Avgerakis. I’m on another line or meeting with a client at the moment, but your call is important to me. Please leave a message and I will return your call as quickly as possible. If this call is from a reporter on deadline, please press star-four to be transferred to our on-call media point person. And thanks for working with Pursuit Marketing.”
“Melina. Hi, it’s Josh. I wanted to find out if you’re still boycotting dinner. If not, call me back, and I will be happy to impress you with my knowledge of Washington shellfish. Do you like razor clams?”
***
“Hey, it’s Josh. I can’t answer my phone right now, so leave a message.”
“Hello Joshua, Melina here. If you’re asking me out for dinner, then please name the time and place. I can’t guarantee I’ll be free on short notice. And I’m not sure about razor clams, but I like regular clams. Thanks for calling.”
***
“Hi, Melina’s voicemail. It’s Josh again. Sorry I didn’t pick up—basketball last night. I was thinking of the Sea Shack down on the water south of Alki Point. Have you been there? It was one of the first places I went when I started going to the U—Monday night is all-you-can-eat fish and chips. Don’t worry. We won’t go on a Monday. It gets kind of rowdy in there with all the students. Anyway, how about Saturday night? Or Sunday? Seven is probably a good time. And don’t worry, you’ll dig razor clams.”
***
“Hello Joshua. It looks like we’re having trouble connecting. Of course I’m not free on Saturday, it’s just too late of notice, but Sunday we could get together. Maybe we should go over there earlier, since it’s a school night.” Melina let out a nervous laugh, then silently cursed herself for it.
“So, let’s meet at six at the Sea Shack, although I should tell you as a general rule I never dine anywhere with the word ‘shack’ in the name. But if you say it’s good, I’m willing to trust your judgment, since you were right about the wine. One more question—what did you say about digging clams? We’re not going to actually dig them, right? What should I wear to that?”
***
“Hi Melina. I guess I should tell you the truth: I’m having an affair. With your voicemail. She sounds hot, and we’ve been speaking on a regular basis and I’m calling her for dates. She’s going to meet me Sunday at six at the Sea Shack. If you want to break up this budding romance and get a little Josh for yourself, I suggest you meet us there, too. I promise to choose a flesh-and-blood woman over a recorded voice, but only if you promise to show up in jeans. You need to be ready to fight for your man.”
***
“Joshua. Ha-ha, very funny. I can’t figure out why I can’t get through to a real, live person, but I guess I’ll take it on faith that you’re the guy I met at Next last week and that you had a momentary flirtation with my voicemail. For the record, you are not my man, but you may be my date
for Sunday evening. I will wear jeans. So long as you comb your hair.”
***
“What’s wrong with my hair?”
***
“Nothing. You let it flop in your face, sometimes, but I think you mean to. What’s wrong with a skirt?”
***
“In terms of me concentrating, everything is wrong with a skirt. But mostly I thought you’d appreciate wearing jeans because we’ll be sitting on these rough wood benches and I didn’t want you to snag something. See? I’m a sensitive guy who’s in touch with your feminine needs.”
***
“You think you are so smart—”
“Melina?”
“Joshua?”
“Yes, that’s me. You called my number. Why, were you trying to call someone else?
“Um, no, er, I—was just calling you back.”
“You mean you were flirting back,” Joshua chuckled. “That’s OK. I can take it.”
“I was not flirting back. I was just confirming we were on for Sunday.”
“Right. Melina, you confirmed that, like, three voicemails ago. But you can tell yourself whatever you want.” Joshua was silent for a beat. “Anyway, nice talking to you. Do you want me to hang up so you can call my voicemail?”
“No, and now you’re just trying to rub it in. The fact that I thought I’d reached your voicemail instead of a real person.”
“Well, I did answer the phone to sound like my voicemail greeting, just to see what would happen,” Joshua said. “That probably wasn’t playing fair, but it was funny. So, I’ll see you on Sunday. Have a great day.”
“You, too,” Melina said weakly.
She was never, ever called out like that by a date. Friends, maybe—they could put her on for a while. But a just-met-you guy? A second date? His easy confidence caught her off guard.
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