More Than a Fling?

by Joss Wood

  FOUR

  ‘No.’

  Ally, who’d finished her presentation, run through the figures and answered Ross’s many questions, wasn’t surprised by his refusal. From the moment she’d met him and decided that he’d be perfect for the campaign she’d known that he’d be a hard sell. He was one of those men who really didn’t need the ego boost the campaign would provide and, honestly, there wasn’t much of an incentive for him to do it.

  Win! was doing stupendously well anyway, unlike celebrities he didn’t need his face on billboards and the small screen to keep his profile up, and he certainly didn’t need the cash they’d pay him.

  To be honest, she wasn’t in the least surprised that he’d turned her down.

  What else could she say? Do? Offer her body again? It was tempting...

  Ally scratched the top of her head with her pen and swivelled her head round when the door to Ross’s office opened and a creature she fervently hoped was a dog entered the room.

  ‘He’s all yours, Ross.’ A young man wearing sunglasses and baggy shorts dropped a leash onto the coffee table next to Ally as the half-dog, half-cow trotted over to her and shoved its snout into her crotch.

  Well, hello there.

  Ross and the young man lunged forward to drag him away but Ally shook her head, grabbed the jowly face and lowered her face to look into the dark mischievous eyes.

  ‘You are a big, big boy and it’s very rude to get that fresh on a first date, mister,’ she crooned, gently rubbing his ears. ‘But you are beautiful—even if you are the size of a spaceship.’

  The dog put a ginormous paw on her thigh and Ross saw Ally’s wince at the pressure. He issued a sharp command and the paw dropped back to the floor. ‘Sorry. He’d climb up into your lap if you let him. He’s a big baby, really.’

  So this was a surprise, Ross thought. Most people—men and women—would have pushed themselves into the back of the chair to get away from sixty-five kilos of muscled, slobbery dog. Ally—supposedly uptight and tense—had just melted as she instantly bonded with his dog.

  Exactly the opposite of what he’d expected her to do.

  Ross watched as she pulled her nails along the front of his chest and was certain that Pic’s eyes rolled back in pleasure.

  ‘Mmm...either you don’t get any love and attention here or you’re a big, fat slut,’ she murmured.

  ‘He’s a slut,’ Ross confirmed. ‘If I’m not around he begs for affection—and snacks—from anyone and everyone in the building.’ Ross glanced up at the young man who was still standing at the door. ‘Thanks, Guy. Can you run him tomorrow same time?’

  ‘Sure,’ Guy agreed.

  Guy’s eyes had widened at the love-fest happening between Pic and Ally and Ross shrugged. They both knew that Pic took his own sweet time warming to people, so this was very unusual behaviour indeed.

  ‘What breed is he? Some sort of mastiff?’ Ally asked as Guy shut the door behind him.

  ‘Neapolitan mastiff,’ Ross answered, impressed. ‘A blue, because his coat has that blue sheen.’

  ‘Does he have a name?’ Ally asked as Pic rested his jowls—and there were many of them—on her bare knee.

  ‘He has many, but the breeders named him Piccolo. I mostly call him Pic.’

  Ally took a moment to make the connection and when she did she laughed out loud, dimples flashing. ‘Piccolo is Italian for small. Somebody’s idea of a joke?’

  ‘He was the runt of the litter,’ Ross explained. ‘They never expected him to be half the size of his siblings, but he’s turned out to be the best of the bunch. The breeders keep hinting that they’d like him back.’

  Ally covered Pic’s ears so that he couldn’t hear his words. ‘Don’t say that in front of him,’ she chided. ‘You’ll make him feel insecure.’

  Ross laughed at her goofiness. ‘He’s a dog, not a child, Jones.’

  Ally stroked his crinkled face and Pic sighed. ‘Ignore him, darling, you and I both know that you are a fur person. You said you mostly call him Pic? What else do you call him?’

  ‘It varies and very much depends on whether he’s eaten another pair of my shoes, the carpet, or the pipes in the pool. Some choice swear words usually spring to mind,’ Ross said on a smile.

  ‘Poor baby.’

  Ross let her words drift over him. ‘Thank you. I’ve got about six left flip-flops at home. Why can’t he eat the flip of a pair if he’s already eaten the flop? Why does he have to start on a new pair?’

  ‘I was actually speaking to Pic, not you,’ Ally said, her hand on Pic’s massive neck.

  ‘Oh.’

  Pic yawned, flopped to the ground at Ally’s feet, rested his massive head on his equally massive paws and closed his eyes. Ally felt like doing the same. Instead, she tossed her pen onto the coffee table between them, stood up and stepped over Pic and looked out through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall, past the walkway that meandered around the four sides of the building and gave access to the offices on this floor and the craziness of the main floor below them.

  To her, his office set-up was utterly bizarre. In the indoor quad below there were couches and huge TV screens playing music videos. Headphoned people played video games in front of another enormous wide TV screen. Very few people worked at desks, laptops seemed to be the popular choice, and his staff lounged in couches or chairs tapping at their keyboards.

  The occasional mini rugby ball sailed across heads from one side of the light-filled room to the other, and weirdly dressed people with bright hair, tattoos and piercings sat at a bar in the corner, drinking coffee and chugging energy drinks.

  A pot-bellied pig snored at the BDSM-booted feet of a girl with bright pink hair and tattoos—she looked about sixteen, with Goth make-up—who was having a ferocious argument with a Sheldon-lookalike nerd.

  It was a crazy set-up and she’d go nuts if she had to work here. It was too busy, too chaotic, but it seemed to suit Ross perfectly.

  ‘How do Pic and the pig get along?’ she asked.

  ‘They’ve learnt to tolerate each other,’ Ross answered.

  ‘I think Pink-Haired Girl is about to stab Sheldon Lookalike with a letter-opener.’

  Ross stood up to see where she was looking and shook his head. ‘No letter-openers. We are mostly a paper-free environment. And Kate and Hardy always argue—that’s why they are really good partners. They bring out the best in each other.’

  Ally shook her head in disbelief. ‘She just threw her can of soda at him.’

  Ross shrugged. ‘He must like it since they’ve been married for three years.’

  ‘Married? You’re kidding me!’

  ‘Nope. They are also two of the most exciting game designers I have ever met. Kate is stunningly creative and she pushes Hardy to get him to translate her visions, characters and stories for a game into code. He says he can’t do it and she nags him until he does.’

  Ross picked up her Bellechier fountain pen and rolled it between his fingers.

  She couldn’t work in an environment like this. She liked quiet, class, structure. This would be too weird—too ‘out there’ for her. The noise, the movement, the fizzing energy would drive her nuts. ‘How do they concentrate?’

  Ross leaned his shoulder into the glass. ‘When I hire new people I find out how they like to work. Some people like privacy and quiet, and some—like these lot—need noise. If I need the skill and they need quiet I make that happen. Next to the refr
eshment bar is a door that leads to another wing of this building where there are a series of offices where quietness and sanity prevail. My second-in-command and my quiet-loving staff, and the accounts people, work out of there. They have their own entrance so that don’t have to deal with the rabble.’

  Ally couldn’t help smiling at the amusement in his voice. ‘You love the craziness, the rabble?’

  Ross lifted a shoulder. ‘I admire anyone who thinks outside the box, who isn’t scared to be themselves—even if that self is a pink-haired, potbellied-pig-loving, tattooed creature with more holes in her skin than a sieve. Everyone just wants a place where they can do what they love to do and be who they are. For these people RBM is that place.’

  Ross’s look heated her skin.

  ‘And you love the corporate world.’

  ‘I do—probably as much as you hate it,’ Ally agreed.

  She walked back to the desk, shut down her laptop and closed the lid. Pulling herself back to the reason she was there, she sucked in her bottom lip and thought she’d try once more.

  ‘Is there anything I can do or say that would get you to change your mind about the campaign?’

  The words danced between them and Ally squeezed her eyes shut when she realised what she’d said.

  She held up her hand as heat spread up her neck and into her face. ‘I cannot believe I said that...again.’

  Ross’s laugh was low and perfectly suited for the bedroom. ‘I try not to repeat past mistakes.’

  ‘Now that you’ve seen what is involved and what we want, any suggestions about who else we can approach?’ Ally slumped back down into a chair. ‘Because if you’re not going to do it then I am utterly stuck. Up the creek without a paddle.’

  ‘C’mon, Ally, there must be tons of people who can be your face.’

  ‘You’d think,’ Ally said glumly. ‘But Luc wants “different” and you were our bad-ass CEO.’

  Ross laughed at that. ‘Seriously? Jeez!’

  He linked his hands across his stomach and watched her with those intense eyes.

  ‘You have a tiny frown that appears between your eyes when you’re stressed or thinking.’ He rubbed the area between his own brows to demonstrate. ‘Why is this one campaign so important? Surely this happens often?’

  Ally took her time answering his question, deciding how much to tell him. ‘It’s the first campaign I’m fully in charge of—the first since my promotion to Brand and Image Director a couple of months ago—and I’d like it to be fabulous. Secondly, this is a brand-new line and it’s crucial that it flies. Bellechier hasn’t launched a new line in years—new products yes; an entire new brand, no. We suspect that we’ve lost our younger clients to trendier labels and this is our way to get them back.’

  ‘So no pressure?’ Ross said, deadpan.

  ‘No pressure.’ Ally, not wanting to leave him just yet, looked for a way to keep their conversation going. ‘Tell me about your think tank.’

  Ross explained how the project worked—that designers and inventors from all over the world submitted their ideas and concepts to a panel of experts and if, after investigation, a project seemed feasible, they were invited to Cape Town to spend some time on the top floor, working on their project. The foundation picked up their salaries and living expenses and provided them with the specialised equipment they needed for a limited time.

  ‘It’s a damn expensive exercise, though; I need to go looking for additional funding as some of the projects I’d like to explore need equipment we don’t have and I can’t fund through RBM,’ he added, wincing. ‘I hate fundraising... I’d rather have my legs waxed.’

  ‘Hmm...’ Ally touched the top of her lip with her tongue as an idea took shape in her mind. His think tank needed money. She knew of a foundation that had money. He just had to do one little thing for her...

  * * *

  ‘So let me get this straight... You will talk to your foster father, who heads up the Bellechier Foundation, and tap him for funding for my think tank if I agree to be the face for your campaign?’ Ross asked, after she’d explained that she had a solution that would work for all of them.

  Ally smiled at his grumpy statement. ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘Blackmail is still blackmail, even if it’s wrapped up in a sparkling bow, Jones.’

  Ally grinned. Blackmail? What a harsh word! ‘I call it scratching each other’s backs,’ she replied.

  Ross looked sceptical. ‘And what chance do I have of getting funding from the Bellechier Foundation?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll tell them it’s a condition of you being the face. Luc wants you; I want you. You want funding and the foundation funds. The foundation is family-run, and if Justin likes the project he’ll fund it. Lucky for you that he loves technology,’ Ally said blithely, feeling like a serene swan on the surface of the water but paddling like hell underneath.

  She was so close—so damn close...

  Ross pushed the pads of all his fingers into his forehead. ‘Are you going to pull any other rabbits out of your hat today?’ he demanded, sounding irate.

  ‘You never know.’ Just say yes, Ross. Come on. Three letters, one syllable...

  ‘You secure the funding. I’ll do it.’

  Ross named a figure and Ally forced herself not to react—not because the figure was sky-high but because it wasn’t. Jeez, that wasn’t even half of what they’d pay him to be the face. Despite his many offers of co-branding it was clear that Ross had never got as far as discussing how much his game and his face were worth...which was far more millions than he thought.

  And if the foundation didn’t cough up, then Bellechier itself would. Ross simply didn’t understand how valuable he was to them. His appeal was enormous: to women because he was hot, to men because he had the cool factor, and to the intellectuals, geeks and nerds because he was so damn smart.

  ‘I’m sure we could push that figure up,’ Ally said to sweeten the pot. ‘Like double or triple it.’

  Ross’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yes. So, do we have a deal?’

  ‘You secure me the funding and then we have a deal.’ Ross glanced at his watch and walked over to his desk. He scribbled something on a piece of paper and picked up his razor-thin laptop. ‘I have a conference call in ten minutes with Japan...in the boardroom. When are you flying out?’

  ‘This evening on the ten o’clock flight.’

  Ross gestured to his office. ‘Stay here and get me a formal offer before you fly. You do that and we’re in business.’

  Ally forced herself not to punch the air in jubilation. She’d done it...holy smoke, she had her face.

  And what a gorgeous, sexy face it was! Whoop!

  Pic, sensing her excitement, stood up and shoved his nose up her skirt. Ally squealed, and then laughed at the cold nose on her inner thigh. Pushing his face away, she dropped into the couch and wrapped her arms around his enormous neck.

  Ross moved towards her and got down on his haunches next to Pic’s head and ran a lazy hand down his dog’s back. ‘I’ve got to go. Get me that offer—and don’t let this hustler con you into giving him any food.’

  ‘I don’t know where his food is,’ Ally pointed out.

  Ross stood up. ‘He does.’ He slapped a bright green sticky note onto her forehead with a crooked smile. ‘Wireless code. I’ll be a couple of hours. If you want anything to eat or drink dial nine and ask Grace for whatever you need. She’ll also take Pic out if
he needs to go. Get me that offer, Jones.’

  * * *

  Ross had always thought that he had a fairly impressive concentration span and an ability to get things done, but he was a rank amateur compared to Alyssa Jones. His conference call with Japan had taken ninety minutes and when he’d returned to his office Ally had been on her mobile, pacing his office and speaking in rapid and very expressive French. She and his damn dog had barely noticed his return, both of them lost in their own little worlds. Pic’s eyes had never left her face and Ally had been utterly absorbed in her own conversation.

  When she’d sat down in his large, comfortable leather chair behind his desk and propped her sexy feet up on his desk, doodling on his desk pad, he’d realised that he’d lost his office and decided to go and check what was happening in the Pit. At least people would talk to him there.

  In the Pit he’d got sucked into a heated discussion about the post-apocalyptic world his designers were creating and had had to mediate a vicious argument around zombies and ghouls. Then he’d brainstormed a storyboard with Kate, ignored Hardy when he’d told them that what they wanted was impossible, and then slipped out of the noisy quad and into the silence of the quiet wing to catch up with Eli.

  It was nearly three hours later now, as he sprinted up the stairs back to his office, and the Pit was all but empty. He looked at his watch and was surprised to see that it was just after six. While it wasn’t unusual for his staff to work late, Friday night was party night and they moved their ‘craziness’, as Ally called it, to the local pub down the road.

  Sometimes he joined them, sometimes not—but especially not when he was negotiating a deal with a sexy, dainty shark in heels. Yesterday there had not been a damn thing she could have said to convince him to be the new Bellechier face and yet here he was, about to look over an offer to do exactly that. She’d found his weak spot, exploited it, and was set to get exactly what she wanted.