baggy suit and her hair in a bun. Maybe. As it was, her shiny hair curled softly over her shoulders, and she wore a deep purple dress that clung to every shapely inch of her. His mind wandered ….
She brought up an image on the big-screen monitor on the wall. “Picture this as a feature article. We might call it ‘Trends,’ or something like that,” Scarlet said. “Ten to twelve photos of the hottest trends for each season, as we generally do. But this is an example of how we would incorporate your clients’ products.”
A hip blond model was seated at a bar in what looked to be a neighborhood pub. She wore an outfit meant to draw the magazine reader’s eye, but in her hand was a bottle of Crystal Crème soda. The juxtaposition of a soft drink being served at a bar would make the reader pay even more attention, he decided. Very clever.
“Product placement,” Scarlet said unnecessarily. “Here are a few more.”
Images flashed across the screen, each photo the superb quality that Charisma was known for, and each including a product of one of his clients, generally a food or drink item, easily integrated into the scene.
Cade pushed a folder toward John. “Price guides. You’ll find it cheaper than a full-page ad, of course, but a fair price, we think, for the value.”
Scarlet handed him a manila envelope. “Here’s a CD of each sample so you can pitch your clients with visuals. These are mock-ups, obviously. We’d have to work closely together, matching our focus for the article with your product for the layout. Some products will lend themselves easily, but some won’t. Some of these products have never been advertised in Charisma, like Crystal Crème. We think it opens a lot of new doors.”
“You know that once you start down this path, you won’t be able to go back,” John said, skimming the price sheets. “And you’ll be accused of selling out.”
“We’ve talked it over,” Cade answered. “Analyzed it. Had a few hearty debates, too. It’s no different from a television program or movie showcasing products.”
“It’s not as if it’s something new in the business,” John said. “But it is new for you. Something you’ve resisted because of the ethics involved.”
“It’s a new day,” Scarlet said. “A time for change.”
She’d parroted what she’d overheard him say to Patrick the past weekend.
“We ask one thing, John,” Fin said. “We want an exclusive. You don’t go to the other EPH magazines—or anyone else—asking for the same thing. Let us run with it first.”
John nodded. “Unless they ask. I can’t pass up reasonable business, either, Fin. And I want an exclusive, as well. You don’t offer this opportunity to anyone else for a few months, either.”
“Fair enough,” Fin said. “I’ve asked Scarlet to be your liaison on this project. Does that work for you?”
He didn’t dare look at Scarlet. “Sure.”
“She came up with a list of your clients whose products might be suitable for us.”
“That’s very competent of her.”
A momentary silence hung over the room, then Fin said coolly, “We’re pleased we found a way to keep your business at Charisma.”
“So am I.” And now he and Scarlet would work together as well as play together, if that was what they could call it. But this business relationship would extend beyond the month.
“If you have time to stay and talk with her now, we would appreciate it.”
“I do.”
“Good.” Finola rose, as did Cade and Bridget. “We’ll be in touch.”
The room emptied except for Scarlet and John, who sat across the wide table from each other.
“Your concept?” he asked her.
“Does it matter?”
“Just curious. I couldn’t figure out why an assistant fashion editor was in on an ad meeting. If you came up with the idea, it makes sense that you would be here. Seems to me, though, that you’d like to take credit for something so daring for Charisma.”
Scarlet sat back in her chair, her arms crossed. “Fin’s a great boss. She’s turned us into a team where credit and blame are shared.”
“I’ve known her for a few years. This is the most on edge I’ve seen her.”
“The competition.” Scarlet shrugged. “Everyone’s feeling the pressure.”
“You think she should be the one to win? The one to become CEO of EPH, over your uncles?”
“I don’t work for them.” She smiled sweetly. “Here’s the list.” She skated it across the table.
He caught it, stood and walked around the table, not taking his eyes off her. She watched him, as well. He sat beside her, close enough that her perfume drifted across the space between them. Her signature scent aroused him instantly.
“Are we still on for Saturday night?” he asked.
The door opened. Jessie shouldered her way in, carrying a tray with bottled water and glasses of ice. “Cade said I should sit in on your meeting.”
“Great,” Scarlet said with a little too much enthusiasm.
Saved by the intern. John could see the thought flash through Scarlet’s mind.
And because he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, he decided to be creative himself.
John had been right about one thing, Scarlet thought a half hour later as they left the conference room and headed to her cubicle. She did want credit for her idea to keep his business at Charisma. Not for the glory—she was a team player—but she wished her grandfather knew what she’d come up with. She wanted him to see that she was valuable to the magazine, not just an Elliott being given a position because of the family name.
As long as she was being honest with herself, she admitted she wanted John to know, too, because she needed him to acknowledge her abilities. It was unlike her to crave approval. What did that say about her? A sign of a new maturity … or insecurity? She wished Summer was home so they could talk about it, at least the part about Granddad. But their phone conversations, frequent but short, never allowed time for deep discussion, plus Summer was living a dream. Scarlet didn’t want to wake her with reality yet.
Scarlet knew John was right behind her as they reached her cubicle, but his footsteps were almost silent. Sneaky. He was sneaky in a lot of ways. Good ways, interesting ways, like his card with the flowers that had only his phone number printed on it. Like luring her to the conference room at the Spring Fling. Like disguising his incredible body with boring suits. Outwardly he needed some flair to match what he was inside, which was fascinating.
The orchids he’d sent were still fresh, the vase overflowing with the wondrous blooms. She saw his gaze land on them.
She thumbed through a stack of papers on her desk, pulling out the one she wanted to give him.
“Thanks,” he said. He stuffed the sheet into his briefcase. “I’ll be in touch as I meet with each client.”
He left. Just like that. Without finalizing plans for Saturday night, even though he’d asked her before.
An assortment of possibilities about how she could do him bodily harm ran through her head. Had he forgotten or was he playing a game with her? Maybe he was unhappy that they would be working together on the same project for an indefinite period of time.
Any other man might—
She stopped. Sat down. Set her elbows on her desk and rested her chin in her hands. John wasn’t like any other man. And that was the problem.
She was used to leading a relationship, had thought she was letting him lead. But