A SURE THING? Read online

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  Contents:

  Prologue

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

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  Prologue

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  Winning a one hundred million dollar ad campaign. Now that would be one hell of a Christmas present.

  Adam Terrell, CEO of Maxximum Advertising, pressed the button to disconnect his call, rose from the chair behind his curved granite desk, and barely refrained from indulging in an undignified end-zone type victory dance.

  The chance for Maxximum to represent ARC Software in its new ad campaign was definitely not a bad way to start off the day. The account wasn't yet in the bag, but as he'd just learned during his phone conversation with Jack Witherspoon, ARC's CEO, Maxximum was one of the agencies on the short list.

  "And it's my job to make sure Maxximum is the only agency left on that list," Adam murmured to himself.

  Unable to remain still, he crossed the wide expanse of pale blue carpet to his huge office windows. From the vantage point of his tenth-floor, Madison Avenue office, he stared down at the busy street below. Pedestrians, their collars pulled up against the blustery winter cold and lingering snow flurries, trudged along the busy Manhattan street, many laden down with colorful holiday shopping bags, vaguely reminding Adam that only ten days remained until Christmas. There was no doubt about what he wanted sitting under his tree—a contract with Jack Witherspoon's signature.

  But since Maxximum wasn't the only firm vying for the account, he needed an edge. Something to make Maxximum stand out. And he didn't have much time. Witherspoon wanted an ad campaign in place before his next shareholders meeting. Adam needed his best and brightest on this.

  Two names instantly popped into his head. Matt Davidson and Jillian Taylor. Both were openly ambitious, exceptionally talented and creative, and able to focus on their jobs with single-minded concentration and determination. And both were highly competitive—especially with each other. They circled each other like two wary fighters in the ring, and had done so since Matt joined Maxximum a year ago and promptly landed the Strattford Furniture account—a company Jilly had been courting for several weeks. The gauntlet had been thrown, and over the past year, Adam had watched with calculated interest how Jilly and Matt constantly tried to outdo each other. Sure, their rivalry brought tension to the office, but who cared? It also brought results, with Maxximum the big winner. If Jilly couldn't bring in a particular client, then Matt could, and visa versa.

  "Jilly and Matt," he mused. "Yeah…" If he sent them both after ARC, no doubt one of them would land the account. And if there was one thing Adam liked, especially where hundred-million-dollar accounts were concerned, it was a sure thing.

  Of course, Jilly and Matt wouldn't like it. Last summer Adam had purposely pitted them against each other for the Lone Star Steaks account, certain that one of them would win it for Maxximum. And Jilly had succeeded, with a brilliant campaign fired by her determination to beat her nemesis.

  Adam had shrugged off their displeasure at his tactics.

  Sure, it was devious. But the only way to survive in the cutthroat world of advertising was to wield a sharper machete than the next guy. He sure as hell hadn't built Maxximum from a start-up company to one of the best ad agencies in New York in under ten years without a little bloodshed. But perhaps the smartest strategy would be to make sure Jilly and Matt didn't realize they'd been squared off against each other again until it was too late…

  One corner of Adam's mouth lifted. After crossing to his desk, he picked up the phone. A little bit more blood was about to be shed.

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  Chapter 1

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  Matt Davidson exited Adam Terrel's office, closed the heavy oak door behind him and awarded himself a mental high-five. Yes! He'd waited a long time for a chance like this, and he had full confidence in his creative ability to land the ARC account. Goodbye, cubicle—hellooo multi-windowed corner office. And hellooo promotion, raise, bonus and perks, too.

  His mind already buzzing with ideas, he made his way toward the desk of Adam's secretary, Debra. Per Adam's instructions, Matt needed to get the number of Maxximum's travel agent from Debra, then book himself a room at Chateau Fontaine for this weekend. Adam had already arranged a suite for Jack Witherspoon at the Chateau—one of Long Island's most exclusive resorts, built on the property of the Fontaine Winery—the perfect place to schmooze wine aficionado Jack. Jack had even cleared his calendar for Monday, affording Matt an extra day to reel in his fish. Between the winery, the five-star restaurant, wine tastings, cigar bar, spa, indoor pool and luxurious rooms, Matt didn't doubt for a minute that ARC would sign with Maxximum.

  When he arrived at her desk, Debra was on a call. She smiled, held up her index finger to indicate she'd only be a minute, then returned her attention to her computer screen. Matt nodded and leaned his back against the white marble pillar near Debra's desk. A cheerful holiday song lauding the joys of a winter wonderland filtered softly from the recessed stereo speakers. Casting his gaze around, Matt noted the blink of twinkling lights adorning the six-foot Christmas tree in the corner near the bank of windows, a colorful reminder that time was running short to complete his Christmas shopping. He still needed to pick up a DVD player for his sister and brother-in-law and a few stocking stuffers, but at least the Barbie Dream Mansion for his niece and the surprise he'd spent weeks planning for Mom and Dad were done deals. God knows his parents deserved something special after what they'd recently weathered. Mom's test results were expected this weekend—he prayed the news would be good and the dark cloud of worry that had hung over the entire family for these past weeks would disappear. He refused to consider any other alternative. Yup, this was going to be a great Christmas. Certainly better than last year…

  "Sorry to keep you waiting." Debra's voice pulled him from his reverie. Her blue-eyed gaze glided over him in a slow, top to bottom ogle—an ogle he pretended not to notice. Probably he should have been flattered by her obvious interest, but in spite of the fact that Debra was attractive and smart, she didn't kindle the least reaction in him, which was just as well. Even if her flirtations had set him on fire, he wouldn't hesitate to douse those flames with a bucket of cold water. He'd learned the hard way not to fish off the company pier, and it was a lesson he had no intention of suffering through again.

  "What can I do for you, Matt?" She pursed her full lips and gave him a look that clearly indicated she'd be happy to do anything he wanted.

  He offered her an easy smile, making sure he was merely polite and not overly friendly. "I need the number for the corporate travel agent."

  "Sure." She flipped through her Rolodex, copied the information onto a sticky note, then handed it to him. "Several of us are going to Little Italy for dinner at Carmine's after work tonight." Her voice held suggestive undertones that made it sound more like they were going to a porn flick. "Would you like to … come?"

  Oh boy. Keeping his expression bland, he shook his head. "Thanks, but I already have plans."

  "A date?"

  Probably he should say yes—with my fiancée and put an end to her interest, but he no longer had a fiancée, and he didn't like to lie. After having been the victim of painful lies, he hated being lied to—and that being the case, his conscience balked at telling untruths. Besides, his dad had always told him if you tell the truth, you don't have to remember what you've lied about.

  "Thanks to a deadline, a date with my computer, working up some new ideas," he said.

  She waggled a glossy-nailed finger at him. "You know what they say about all work and no play, Matt."

  "Yup. That's me. A dull boy. Burning the midnight oil." Which was the gospel truth. Since today was Thurs
day, and he'd be leaving for Chateau Fontaine after work tomorrow, that didn't leave him much time to gather his thoughts and pull together a knockout presentation. He'd probably be pulling an all-nighter. Not that he had anything better to do. Ever since his breakup with Tricia last Christmas, his social life had flatlined. But that was okay by him. Work was a lot safer and a helluva lot less trouble than women.

  A movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye and he turned, then barely suppressed a groan. Speaking of trouble and women, Jillian Taylor, the worst combination of those two things was heading down the hallway in his direction. As usual, her dark hair was pulled back into a severe, neat, reserved chignon. In fact, everything about her screamed severe, neat and reserved. Her hairstyle, her discreet makeup, her tailored suit.

  Today she wore brown pin-striped, double-breasted, with slim pants and shoes that looked like high-heeled tassel loafers. A "don't mess with me" aura surrounded her like a force field. Thanks to his experience with Tricia, he recognized July's type only too well—her reserved exterior hid a cold, competitive, ambitious interior. From his first day at Maxximum, he'd realized she could mess him up the same way Tricia had. From that moment on, he'd pegged Jilly Taylor as the one to beat. Public enemy number one.

  Though he firmly kept himself out of the office gossip loop, he wasn't deaf, and on several occasions in the break room he'd heard male co-workers refer to Jilly as the Freeze Queen—a full rank up from the title of Ice Princess with which he'd mentally dubbed her. The few times he'd found himself wondering if her office nickname was directed at something more personal than her aloof demeanor, he'd banished the thought to the Siberia of his subconscious. What business was it of his whether or not she ever thawed that cool exterior? Been there, done that, have the scars from the knife in my back to prove it.

  An image of Tricia flashed through his mind—Tricia with her sultry blue eyes, come-hither smile and promises of love. Annoyed that he'd allowed his former fiancée to enter his thoughts at all, he firmly pushed aside the memory, relieved that it now only brought irritation rather than the gut-twisting sense of betrayal it once had. But it was hard not to have thoughts of her sneak into his mind whenever Jilly Taylor was around, raising his "Danger Approaching!" radar, since Jilly and Tricia were so clearly cast from the same mold. Oh, they didn't look anything alike—Tricia was blond and petite and favored more feminine styles in contrast to Jilly's dark coloring and tailored suits. But they were both smart and talented—and very, very ambitious. Just the sort of coworker who should come with a warning sign tattooed on their forehead.

  He narrowed his eyes, watching Jilly pause to exchange a brief word with someone. Then she walked toward him once again, her head down as she studied the papers she held. Even from a distance, Matt could see that her lips were pursed in concentration, and that her brows were bunched in a frown. She walked with a brisk, no-nonsense stride, her black, slim rectangular-frame glasses perched on her nose.

  Yes, she was the epitome of professional competence, and as much as he hated to admit it, she was immensely talented. She'd started working at the agency the year before him, and they were both on the fast track to promotion. But after I land ARC, you'll be left in the dust, Jilly.

  Something that felt suspiciously like his conscience pricked him, but he firmly swatted the feeling aside. It was every man for himself in this business.

  As Jillian neared Debra's desk, she glanced up from her papers. Her gaze zeroed in on him, and her steps slowed. Her expression remained coolly professional, but he'd caught that flash in her eyes, the one clearly indicating she wasn't thrilled to see him. He bit back a smile at that slight ruffling of her always-in-place feathers. Some perverse part of him enjoyed rocking her boat, though she had never lost her cool around him. What would it take to really break through that professional veneer and get her fired up and out of sorts?

  He'd expected her to march right on by, but she surprised him by stopping. Matt inhaled and caught a whiff of the elusive scent he'd noticed the first time he'd sat next to her in the conference room. As always, Jillian Taylor smelled fresh and clean—like clothes that had dried outdoors in the spring sunshine. Since it was winter, it couldn't be her clothing that smelled that way. Must be something they used at her dry cleaners. Either that or the Ice Princess had discovered a fragrance called Clean Laundry, which he highly doubted.

  "Debra, Matt," she murmured in a voice that somehow managed to sound both smooth and a bit husky, as though she'd just slipped from between silk bedsheets. She looked at him over the top edge of her glasses. "Nice job with the Heavenly Chocolate account. Very clever, fresh and hip."

  He searched for a sign of insincerity in her expression or voice, but found none. Man, she was good. "Thank you. It was a 'sweet' deal."

  Her lips didn't so much as twitch. "Of course, I would have given you a run for your money if I hadn't been laid low with the flu."

  "I know you would have. But I still would have been the one to bring in the account."

  "I'm sure you like to tell yourself that."

  He smiled. "Well, I'm glad you're feeling better."

  She smiled back. "I'm sure you like to tell yourself that as well. How are you doing on the Fabulous Feline Food account?"

  "Fantastic. But you know me—I'm a creative magnet. I'm like catnip."

  "Hmmm. I think I feel a hairball coming up." She turned to Debra, effectively dismissing him as if she were the Queen of England and he a lowly footman. "Is Adam in?"

  Debra nodded. "He's expecting you."

  With a nod at both of them, she strode down the corridor, then knocked on Adam's door. Seconds later she disappeared into the office, closing the door behind her.

  Matt's competitive and suspicious instincts kicked into gear. What sort of meeting were the two of them having?

  "Well, now I understand," Debra said, pulling his attention back.

  He looked at her, and the speculation gleaming in her eyes made him nervous. "Understand what?"

  "Why you haven't picked up on any of the signals I've sent your way. Your receptors are all clogged up." Her gaze shifted pointedly toward the door where Jilly had just disappeared. "I saw those sparks between you."

  An incredulous laugh escaped him. "You couldn't be more wrong."

  She hiked a skeptical brow. "I know sparks when I see them."

  "Well, if you saw sparks, they definitely weren't those kind of sparks. More like sparks of annoyance."

  "Doesn't matter," Debra said, with a knowing gleam in her eye. "Any kind of sparks can start a fire."

  * * *

  At seven-thirty that evening, Jilly plopped down into a booth across from Kate Montgomery at their favorite Chinatown eatery for their standing Thursday night dinner "date," a weekly tradition since their college graduation six years earlier. Jilly slapped her hands on the Formica table and shot her best friend a broad grin. Kate worked at a law firm on Park Avenue and specialized in tax law. Jilly loved her in spite of the fact that she was gorgeous, brilliant and savvy. Indeed, clad in what Jilly suspected was most likely an Armani suit, her pale blond hair falling softly about her shoulders, Kate reminded Jilly of a young Grace Kelly.

  "Looks like you had a good day," Kate remarked with an answering smile as Jilly slipped her overcoat from her shoulders.

  "You have no idea. I have a chance to bring in a huge new client for Maxximum."

  "Sounds exciting," Kate said, passing her a plastic-coated menu. "Who's the potential client?"

  "ARC Software, to promote their new operating system that's going to be installed in all WellCraft computers." Adrenaline surged just saying the words.

  Kate looked properly impressed. "That is huge. Landing something like that would cement your position at Maxximum."

  "Exactly. There's a promotion, bonus and perks attached." Finally—the financial and career security she'd been striving for. "My boss, Adam, has arranged for me to spend time with ARC's CEO this weekend at—guess where?"
<
br />   "Hmm … obviously somewhere good. Maui?"

  Jilly laughed. "Not quite that good. Chateau Fontaine."

  "Oohh. I'm green with envy. Ben and I spent a weekend there last summer and we loved it."

  Jilly noted how Kate's eyes lit up when she mentioned her fiancé. "I'm hoping I'll have enough down time to squeeze in a facial."

  "Oh, yeah, I'm feeling your pain," Kate said with dry humor. "I just hate it when I have to schmooze clients at Chateau Fontaine. When are you going?"

  "Tomorrow after work. I won't be back until Monday night. As much as I hate to cut our 'date' short, I need to go home right after dinner. I only have tonight to prepare some sort of presentation. Doesn't give me much time to be brilliant."

  "That's fine. I have some briefs to go over for a meeting tomorrow."

  The waiter arrived, and they gave their selections—a no-brainer as they ordered the same thing every week.

  "So, what else is going on?" Kate asked. "How's your social life?"

  "You mean besides my weekly date with you? Nonexistent. What about you?" Her gaze flicked down to the two-carat sparkler adorning Kate's left hand. "Judging from that neon glow emanating from you, things are going well with Ben."

  "Things are going very well with Ben. The wedding plans are progressing nicely. I highly recommend falling in love."

  "Of course you do. That's because you managed to find the last decent, honest, financially secure, emotionally stable, unmarried, heterosexual man in New York."

  "I found him because I was looking."

  "Actually, you weren't looking at all. As I recall, you were totally focused on your career."

  "I was only ninety percent focused on my career," Kate corrected, shifting into lawyer mode. "I kept ten percent of myself open to dating and searching for Mr. Right. Unlike you. You are one hundred percent work, one hundred percent of the time."

  "That's not true. I've jumped on the relationship bandwagon more times than I care to remember. And I've fallen off that wagon every time—with varying degrees of injuries."