The Man Behind the Mask

by Barbara Wallace

  Watching the pair pour from the different varieties, she also got the feeling they enjoyed the opportunity to indulge whenever possible.

  “They’re definitely passionate about their product,” she whispered to Simon over her rim.

  “Yes, they are. Something we’ll need to keep in mind when we nail the account.” In a louder voice, he said, “You’ve got some impressive facilities here.”

  “I’d never say so outside this room, but Boston will always be my favorite location,” Jim added. “It’s where the company started. Remembering how small we used to be keeps me humble.”

  “And proud. It’s obvious your dedication to tradition isn’t just talk. Delilah and I were just saying how passionate you both are about your product. Hopefully we’ll be able to do that passion justice.”

  “You mean if you get the account.”

  “Time will tell, won’t it?” Simon replied with a confident smile.

  “Yes, it will,” Jim said, couching his words, as usual. Although his eyes held a little more sparkle than they did last night. Maybe it was the beer, but Delilah didn’t think so. The CEO had just gotten a dose of Simon Cartwright confidence, and as she knew only too well, the draw was hard to resist.

  The two executives fell into a conversation regarding the company’s other facilities. Delilah was listening when she felt a light tap on her arm. Josh motioned for her to join him near the bar.

  “Did you enjoy the tour?” he asked.

  “I did. I was telling Simon you’re a great guide. I definitely have a new appreciation for what I’m drinking.”

  “That’s the plan.” He set his glass down. “I was wondering, since you’re staying through to Sunday, it looks like you’ll have some time to see Boston. If you’d like, I—”

  “Unfortunately, Delilah isn’t going to have as much time as she thinks.” Simon had returned to his place by her shoulder. “We’re going to be stuck working. We have the Javacle account review to prepare for. So, unfortunately, while I’d love to spare her...”

  “Work comes first, naturally,” Josh replied. “No rest for the wicked.”

  “Apparently not.” Although in this case, Delilah wondered who exactly the wicked one was. “Thank you for the invitation, though. Sounded fun.”

  As she took a sip of beer, she swore Simon flashed a disapproving frown.

  * * *

  “Is there a problem?” She waited until they’d left the building before asking.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You told Josh we had to work on the Javacle account this afternoon.”

  “I know.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean ‘why’? We still have to work whether we’re in Boston or New York.” Hands in his pocket, he headed down the brewery steps to the sidewalk. “I’m sorry if that disrupts your sightseeing plans. You can always come back another weekend.”

  Her sightseeing plans weren’t the problem. She was more than willing to work. It was his project choice that confused her.

  “I mean why did you pick the Javacle account? The review isn’t for another month.” She knew because she marked the date on his calendar herself. “We don’t even have the materials pulled together or the rest of the creative team present.” Meaning they couldn’t work on the account if they wanted to. “Meanwhile, you just sabotaged an excellent opportunity to score points with the Bartletts.”

  If she didn’t know better, she’d think he had an ulterior motive. Picking up her pace, she scrambled down the last few stairs to block his path at the bottom. “What gives?”

  Simon looked down at her hand. She hadn’t realized, but in speaking she had moved her hand so it pressed against his chest. Another attempt to stop his progress. To her surprise, he made no move to break away.

  Instead, he squared his shoulders and returned his attention to her face. “Very well. I don’t think your spending the day with him is a good idea.”

  What? “I thought the whole point of this trip was to win favor with the Bartletts. Spending the day with Josh was—is—a great opportunity to do exactly that, isn’t it?”

  “On the surface, maybe. But looking deeper, you’d be making a mistake.”

  “I see.” Delilah let her hand fall away. As far as she could tell, his argument made zero sense. How on earth would she be making a mistake?

  And who was he to decide anyway? Folding her arms across her chest, she decided to ask him exactly that. After all, he had told her to speak her mind. “No offense, Simon, but if Josh is interested...” Which she seriously doubted. “Whether or not I date him isn’t your decision.”

  “Do you?” he asked her. “Want to date him?”

  Delilah took a step back. She should want to. From all appearances, Josh Bartlett was a decent guy. Who knows? If she spent time with him, she might develop an attraction. If she was going to get over Simon, she had to start somewhere. “Whether or not I want to date him is not the point. What matters is that I’m the one to decide. This isn’t a work matter.”

  “Ahh, but that’s where you’re wrong. When your social life crosses with my business, it’s very much a work matter. I won’t have people saying I pimped out my assistant to get an account.”

  Pimped her...? “No one is going to say that.”

  “Really?” At some point they’d resumed walking. Now he stopped to give her a hard look. “You don’t think the good people from Mediatopia would be interested in hearing how you spent your Friday afternoon? Especially seeing as how they’re flying into Boston themselves?”

  “I—” Delilah couldn’t think of a counter argument.

  “Exactly. Look,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “the advertising world is a lot smaller than you think. A juicy rumor takes hold and it can dog our agency for years.”

  Unfortunately, he had a point there. She’d been in the industry long enough to witness how gleefully negative gossip got spread. “In other words, you’re protecting your reputation.”

  “No, I’m protecting yours,” he replied.

  “How thoughtful of you.”

  “I’m serious. Who do you think would come out looking better if a rumor got started. The head of the agency or the assistant who didn’t say no?”

  She weighed his words. She supposed she should appreciate the gesture. Problem was, she was too disappointed to feel grateful. Fool that she was, she had allowed herself to think that maybe he had a more personal reason for not wanting Josh to ask her out.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SIMON SUGGESTED THEY cancel the car service and take the water taxi back to the hotel. “After three hours in a brewery, I could use the fresh air,” he told her.

  Delilah refrained from comment. Interesting though, that his desire for fresh air came right after putting the kibosh on her sightseeing plans with Josh—and that his solution involved a scenic boat trip.

  Not that she would complain. Sitting down on a nearby concrete slab, she raised her face to the cool sea breeze. The two of them had walked from the brewery to the Navy Yard where the water shuttle docked. A few yards away the USS Constitution stood guard, the pitch on her masts glistening black in the sun.

  “So if we aren’t working on the Javacle account, what are we working on?” she asked, unable to resist bringing up his excuse.

  Simon was frowning at his phone screen. “I’m sure there’s some crisis waiting in my inbox. Assuming I can get service, that is. I swear the smaller the ad budgets get, the more demanding the clients become.”

  “By that logic, shouldn’t Jim Bartlett be a piece of cake?”

  Chuckling, he sat down across from her. “Bartlett is clearly the exception to the rule.”

  That he was. “Have you ever had a client like him before?”

&nb
sp; “He’s not a client yet.”

  “Still hedging your bets, I see.”

  “Always.” His face twisted into a grimace as he rubbed his neck. It made him look so uncomfortable, her muscles tightened in sympathy.

  “Don’t tell me you have another headache.”

  “A little one. I’ll live.”

  Maybe he did need the fresh air after all. She hadn’t noticed earlier, but he did look tired. His complexion lacked its usual vigor.

  The water taxi arrived and Simon found them a spot by the bow rail where they would have a prime view of the approaching skyline. Unfortunately, all the other passengers had the same idea and crowded the rail. They found themselves wedged between two groups of campers, the crowd pushing them close enough their arms pressed together. Naturally the kids next to her began pushing each other. Delilah immediately turned so she was stood sideways to give Simon extra room. When he turned his own body sideways she saw from the tension in his jaw just how much he disliked being jostled.

  “Will there really be layoffs if we don’t land the Bartlett account?” Feeling that kind of added pressure would certainly explain why he looked so weary.

  “Naturally, nothing’s carved in stone,” he replied. “Although I know the board asked our California and Chicago offices to put together potential restructuring plans.”

  “What about our office?”

  “Worried about your job?”

  “Mine. My friends.” With all the strangeness of the past twenty-four hours, she hadn’t given the big picture as much thought as she should have.

  “Well, you can breathe easy. At the moment, our office appears to be safe.”

  As well it should be, thought Delilah. Simon brought in more new business than the other offices combined. They couldn’t afford staff cuts.

  “But,” he added, quickly dampening her relief, “things can change on a dime. The board likes to have their ducks in a row before bringing me into the conversation.”

  “Really?” Did that mean his father as well? “I would have thought your father would keep you apprised of what’s going on.”

  “You’d think, but my father is very careful to avoid any semblance of nepotism. He doesn’t want to treat me any differently than any of his other senior managers.”

  “Does that mean he’d fire you if you screwed up?” To her surprise, Simon shrugged. “He would?” She’d been joking.

  “What can I say, he’s old school. CMT is his baby. He doesn’t want its reputation tarnished.”

  “But...” She bit her lip only to get a sternly arched brow in return. He didn’t really expect her to finish her sentence, did he? After all, there was speaking her mind and there was biting the hand that feeds you.

  “He must be proud of you,” she said. A better comment than “you’re his baby, too” which was what she had been about to say.

  “Says he is. That’s half the battle, right?” As though realizing how flippant his answer sounded, he grew serious. “You’ve met my father, haven’t you?”

  “A couple times, at the holiday parties.” Around the agency, William Cartwright was more legend than real person.

  “Then you know he’s kind of larger than life.”

  Like father, like son. “Now that you say it, the picture of him in the lobby does remind me a little of Ernest Hemingway. Like he should be wearing khakis and holding an elephant gun.”

  “In a different time and place, I bet he would have,” Simon said with a smirk.

  But what did that have to do with being proud of Simon?

  “My father tends to reserve his respect for men like him. Winners, movers, shakers.” He boomed the three words. Imitating his father no doubt.

  “Well, then he must be proud of you,” she replied. Simon was all those things and more. “Look at everything you’ve accomplished.”

  “Maybe I should send you into his office as my cheerleader. I’m not sure he’s nearly as big a fan as you are,” he replied with a smile.

  Her blush went all the way to her toes. “I didn’t mean to gush.”

  “Don’t apologize. Told you, you’re good for my ego.”

  Sure. He wasn’t the one who felt like an idiot. The skyline suddenly became ten times more interesting and she turned to the rail. “I doubt your ego needs much fluffing,” she murmured.

  “You’d be surprised.” His softly spoken answer poked a hole in her heart. Surely, he didn’t have doubts as to how wonderful he was? She turned her head in time to catch a troubled look flit across his face.

  Before she could speak, he shifted positions, and the conversation. “What about you? Midwest girl conquering the Big Apple. What do your parents think of where you’ve ended up?”

  Delilah would rather have kept talking about him than bring up anything about her parents. “My mom says she’s happy for me.”

  “Just says?”

  “I think she would have preferred if I stayed closer to home, being a single mother and all. My mom, not me,” she quickly corrected.

  Simon grinned. “I was afraid you were hiding a secret.”

  “No secrets,” she replied. Only her feelings. “What you see is what you get.”

  “Nothing wrong with being true to yourself.”

  “Unless yourself is dull as toast.”

  “You’re not dull,” Simon told her. “And even if you were, being dull and true is a lot better than being a fraud.”

  Only right now she felt very much like one. Everything she really wanted to say she had to bite back. Their proximity made the feelings worse. She swore she could feel Simon’s stare peeling back her skin. Discovering the emotions she didn’t want seen.

  Unable to withstand the scrutiny, she turned to the approaching landscape. “Guess luck is in the eye of the beholder. Anyone who reads the gossip pages would say you’re the lucky one—not that I read them very often” She could feel her cheeks growing warm.

  Thankfully, Simon either didn’t notice her verbal misstep or he didn’t care. He turned to rest his forearms on the rail. “What would we do without the gossip columns? It’s too bad visibility is so important to keeping CMT relevant.”

  She was confused. “Are you saying going out is part of some personal marketing strategy?”

  “Networking’s a lot easier if people already know your name.”

  “So you go to all these openings and parties so people will recognize you later.”

  Amazing. She never realized there was so much strategy behind his actions. Now if she could only tell her subconscious not to get excited about the news. Lest she forget he brought dates to all these events. He might attend for business purposes, but she’d bet Finland and her predecessors definitely fell on the pleasure side.

  “And here I thought you just liked cocktail parties.”

  “Nope. Just really good at working a room.”

  “I know. I’ve watched you with prospective clients. It’s impressive.”

  “You mean my ability to fake sincerity?” He held up his hand. “It’s okay, I’m only half kidding.”

  “Only half?”

  “Well, you do realize two hundred years ago people would call me a snake-oil salesman, don’t you?”

  She had to laugh at the analogy. “Overstating things a bit, aren’t you? I thought snake-oil salesmen sold customers a bill of goods.”

  “And selling paper towel and soft drinks is different? Sales is sales, sweetheart. Paper towels, snake oil, people. Doesn’t matter what you’re selling so long as you put on a good act.”

  Even though he wore a smile, his answer disturbed her. There was an odd tone to his voice. Reproachful, heartrending. Gave her the feeling he was talking about more than simple business. She wished she could see his full expression to see for sure. Sadly though,
his face remained locked on the skyline.

  The blaring of the boat horn broke her thoughts and Delilah saw the wharf’s pyramid-shaped buildings looming close. A soft bump told her they’d docked. “You’ll be able to check your email now,” she said.

  “I will,” Simon replied, though he didn’t move to take out his phone. Instead the two of them lingered in silence while the passengers around them disembarked. Delilah wondered what he was thinking. She was sad to see the trip end. The past ten minutes had shown her a different side of her boss, a deeper version of the side she glimpsed last night and she wasn’t quite ready for it to disappear.

  Looking over the railing, she watched as tourists milled around the landing. There were kids running with balloons and ice cream cones, adults looking at walking maps. From the way shorts outnumbered business suits, you’d think it was a weekend. Then again, in summer, Friday afternoon always felt that way. “It’s too bad we have to go back to work,” she said with a sigh.

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I don’t?”

  Simon still hadn’t moved. “There’s no reason both of us should be forced to spend a beautiful day stuck inside. You might as well do some sightseeing. Just don’t let Josh Bartlett know.”

  “Well, I do need to find something to wear for tomorrow.” It had dawned on her this morning that none of the small amount of clothes she’d packed were suitable for a day on the beach. “Unless you think black pants work for a clambake.”

  “Only if you want to look like a fish out of water.”

  “Or clam, as the case may be,” she joked. Remembering how out of place she felt at last night’s dinner, she definitely didn’t want to repeat the feeling a second time. “If you don’t mind...”

  “Not at all. After all the work you’ve put into this account proposal the past few weeks, you’ve earned a few hours. Go. Shop. Enjoy your day.”

  “Thank you.” Excited by her unexpected bonus time, she pushed away from the railing and prepared to disembark. In the middle of shouldering her purse, a question popped into her head. “What exactly is an authentic New England clambake, anyway?”