Hostile Makeover (16 page)

She looked down to check her watch, surprised at how quickly the morning had flown. “Just as soon as Judy and I finish our ‘tahr’ research.”

Hurrying to the door, she stopped at the last minute and turned to face the creative director. “Let’s not mention this to Ross Morgan just yet. When it comes to landing a new account, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt me.”

An hour later, she and Judy were in a Tire World restroom looking around in dismay.

“They really need to do something about their ladies’ rooms.” Judy eyed the two metal stalls.

“You are so right,” Shelley said as she studied the stark nondescript walls and cracked concrete floor. “If we actually get more women into these places, they’ll be afraid to go to the bathroom.” She remembered her unease buying cold drinks during the meeting with Wiley Haynes. “And the drink and snack machines need to come out of the garage area and into the showroom or waiting area.”

Judy did a 360-degree turn, her brow furrowed in thought. “What if we got the bathrooms redone?”

“What?”

“Not overly elegant, but funky stylish—maybe with faux finishing and a few nice touches?”

Shelley could just imagine Ross Morgan and Wiley Haynes’s reaction to that line item on the budget.

“You know, it might be enough of an oddity to get a feature of some kind in the Style section.”

Shelley looked at her older sister. “That’s a good idea.” Her mind raced ahead. “Didn’t you go to school with the Home and Garden editor at
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
?”

“Mm-hmm. And speaking of getting press, what if we asked different decorators to do them, like they do for the symphony show houses?” Judy squinted one eye at the big yellow stain in the white porcelain sink. “Can’t you just picture bringing Claude Gilbert or Jacques Dumas in to do a Tire World bathroom?”

As they washed their hands, Shelley looked at her sister, the one with the glow in her cheeks and the fabulous ideas spilling out of her mouth.

“Yes,” Shelley said, her own enthusiasm growing, “I can. But first we need to extract the words ‘little lady’ from Wiley Haynes’s vocabulary and find a female mechanic to present the workshops.”

“You know,” Judy said, digging up into the paper towel receptacle in search of a towel, “maybe the presenter doesn’t have to be female. Maybe it just needs to be someone attractive to females.”

“Yeah,” Shelley deadpanned, trying her own hand at the paper towel dispenser when Judy came up empty, “I’m definitely going to call Brad Pitt and Antonio Banderas’s agents to see if they want to come to Atlanta and teach tire classes.”

They shared a laugh over that one.

“Well,” Judy asked, “what about local celebrities or sports figures? Or, I know, why don’t we worry less about the presenter and have female radio personalities participate in the classes. Let them give away a free class to female listeners?”

“Wow.” Shelley grasped a piece of paper toweling and tried to yank it down. “I don’t know where all this great stuff is coming from, but I am so glad you’re a part of this team.”

“You are?”

“I am.”

Judy shook her hands dry while Shelley tried to use the sliver of paper towel she’d torn from the dispenser. “I’m glad someone thinks my working makes sense. Craig and the boys are giving me such grief about the hours I’m putting in.” She checked her watch. “In fact, I’ve got to get going. I promised them an actual meal; something that doesn’t come wrapped in plastic.”

Shelley studied her sister’s reflection in the mirror, but her expression was hard to decipher. “Why didn’t you say something? You can work less if you need to.”

“No, I don’t want to do that. I’m having a ball. They’re just not used to having to pick up after themselves, or, as it turns out, actually do
anything
for themselves. You’d think I was the only one capable of operating a washing machine; it’s as if they think women are born with some sort of genetic predisposition to separate whites from colors.”

Shelley laughed, wondering why it had taken her so long to notice what good company her sister was. How could she have missed that?

“I just wish someone had told me how great this working thing was sooner,” Judy said, leaving the mirror and moving to Shelley’s side. “I would have tried it a long time ago.”

“Yeah.” Shelley smiled at her sister as they used their forearms to push open the bathroom door. “That makes two of us.”

It was Friday afternoon and time for Shelley to leave for her appointment with Howard Mellnick when the shit hit the fan.

She’d already packed up her things and was sprinting for the door when the intercom on her desk buzzed. Standing just shy of the open doorway—and freedom—she debated whether to make a break for it. It was the hesitation that did her in.

“Shelley?” Mia’s voice squawked in the silent room.

Shelley looked longingly toward the door. She was tired and irritable and she wanted to be out of there.

“If you’re there, please respond.”

With a groan she went back to her desk and mashed her finger on the speak button. “Yes?”

“Mr. Morgan would like to see you.”

Shelley checked her watch. It was four
P.M.
; her appointment was for four-thirty. She needed to talk to Howard Mellnick; she did NOT need to talk to Ross Morgan. “I’m just on my way out the door for an appointment, Mia. Can I see him on Monday?”

“Uh, hold on.” There was a squawk and a brief silence. “Sorry,” Mia came back. “He says it won’t take long.”

Damn right it won’t
. She stomped down the hallway and took the elevator up to the big windowed office of the president. She’d avoided coming in here since Ross had moved into it because she hadn’t wanted to see anyone else—especially not Ross Morgan—sitting behind her father’s hand-carved cherry desk, but there was no help for it now.

In the outer office, Shelley swept by Mia, strode through the double doors, and came to a stop in front of Morgan. “You buzzed?”

Papers were piled in front of him. She recognized her presentation notes and the accompanying storyboards as well as the budgets and requisition forms she’d prepared. He looked up at her and ran a hand through his already tousled hair. “Did you do all of this on your own?”

She couldn’t tell whether he was impressed at the amount of work she’d accomplished or appalled by what she’d done. Which made it especially difficult to tailor an appropriate response.

“Well . . . I’ve been working with Luke and the creative team. Judy assisted with some of the research.” She raised her chin. “But the majority of it is pretty much me.”

He nodded as if he’d expected as much. “That would explain the bathroom redecorating expenses at Tire World locations across Atlanta. And the proposed
Tire Talk
radio show. The tire as art charity auction is an interesting touch.”

She started to relax a little. OK, there was some sarcasm in his tone, but even he couldn’t ignore the fact that she’d generated activity in so many of the dormant accounts he’d dumped on her.

“Of course, the cost of those things is chump change in comparison to the weeklong shoot you’ve booked in L.A. for Furniture Forum. The one that includes,” he paged through the reports until he found what he was looking for, “first-class travel and accommodations at the Four Seasons Hotel for all of Simms’s people as well as our own.”

She’d known he’d react to the expense, but she wasn’t going to give up the opportunity to make contact with Selena Moore, nor was she going to tell him about the account until after she’d won the right to pitch it. If she told him too soon, he’d assign someone else or, God forbid, take it himself. She reined in her temper and ordered herself to stay calm.

“Do you have any idea what that’s going to cost?”

“Why, yes,” she said carefully, “I believe I detailed that in my budget report.” She looked him in the eye and offered the only explanation she’d been able to come up with. “It’s imperative that Simms know we think that highly of him. The contrast between what he’s done for himself and what
we
can do for him has to be significant.”

“We DON’T think that highly of him,” Ross ground out. “I don’t think that highly of anyone.”

Shelley blanched at the capitalization, recognizing it as the yelling that it was.

“You cannot possibly justify that kind of money for production. This man’s NEPHEW has been shooting his commercials with the equivalent of a family video camera. He’ll never spend this kind of money on a commercial shoot.”

“But don’t you see?” She was determined to stay calm and professional—at least on the outside. “It
has
to cost a lot more. If we’re just going to do what he’s been doing and charge him more money, he’ll never agree. I promised him a giant leap and this is it. Plus I got his nephew the coolest production gig in the world.”

Ross shook his head. “You know, I keep telling myself that your enthusiasm is a good sign, that it makes up for your lack of experience and spotty work history. You’ve put in long hours and Luke seems impressed with some of your ideas.” The last was offered reluctantly. “But you have NO CONCEPTION OF MONEY. You can’t go throwing it around this way.” He held up the budget reports and actually shook them at her. “I’m not your father and I’m not going to approve a shopping spree.”

Being treated like a child who’d asked for an unwarranted increase in her allowance made her blood begin to boil. Really. She could feel the heat coursing through her veins. She had to clamp her lips together to keep them from opening. Her brain formed arguments, all of them beginning with “Listen, you big jerk,” and escalating from there.

She bit back the words, swallowed them whole. Nothing she wanted to say right now would help her achieve her goal.

“Has Brian Simms seen this proposal?” he asked.

“I’m not sure if he’s seen it yet, but it was sent to him at the same time it came to you.”

“I told you I wanted to see everything first.”

She shrugged and tried to look regretful. She’d thought out how to handle this, too, and in the end had decided to take her chances with Brian Simms. Ross might be pissed off for a while—well, OK, there was no
might
about it—but what was he going to do, fire her?

“Sorry,” she said. “It was an accident.”

“You’ll have to call him first thing Monday morning and tell him this was a mistake. That it was just a preliminary and that you did NOT have approval to send it out and that you are going to rework the budget.”

“I can’t do that. He’ll lose all faith in me. It’s vitally important that we do this the way I’ve laid it out.”

“No. You’ll call Brian Monday and explain the situation.” He picked up the Simms budget, the one he’d shaken at her, and dropped it in the trash can.

She stared at him, mute, while the blood rushed to her brain and made her light-headed. She closed her eyes and began to count to ten, but abandoned the idea when she got to twelve and couldn’t remember what number came next. She was too far gone to count herself back to normal.

“Talk to him, Shelley. Do it first thing Monday morning. Or I will.”

Ross’s phone rang and with a curt nod of dismissal, he reached for the receiver.

She wanted to scream at him. Or punch a hole in the wall with her bare fist. Or find a quiet place to cry. She was tempted, so tempted, to shove her anger in his face and quit right there on the spot.

But that was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

His eyes slid over her as he brought the receiver to his ear and without so much as a return nod, she left. Her heart was pounding and her legs were shaking. The picture of him sitting behind her father’s desk was now embedded in her brain forever. She hoped like hell Howard Mellnick could help her dislodge it.

chapter
16

F
rom the hallway, Shelley called Howard Mellnick’s office to say that she was running late, then called Nina from the car to let her know she couldn’t pick her up as planned. They agreed to meet in the psychiatrist’s waiting room instead.

Nina sounded a little strange on the phone, but Shelley was too upset herself and in too big a hurry to get into it. Plus it was really hard to hear over the grinding of her teeth.

She was supposed to be at dinner at her parents’ at seven, but she should be able to fit in a drink with Nina beforehand. After the day she’d had, she needed a psychiatrist AND alcohol before she had to deal with her mother.

Ten minutes late, Shelley raced into the empty waiting room. Finding the reception area empty as well, she knocked on Dr. Mellnick’s office door and was ushered inside.

Where she immediately burst into tears—great honking sobs that came from somewhere deep down inside.

Helping her to her usual seat, he plucked a tissue from the box on his desk and pressed it into her hands. Then he waited quietly while she cried, handing her a new tissue when the one she had grew soggy, making it clear through his silence that there was no rush.

Shelley sobbed loudly and thoroughly, slightly surprised at the racket she was making. She avoided his gaze as the tears streamed down her face and the sounds of her jagged breathing filled the room. Finally the pressure in her chest and behind her eyelids began to ease, and she licked the salt from the corner of her lips.

Dabbing ineffectually at her wet cheeks, she drew in a shaky breath and let an even bigger one out. Her heartbeat began to slow. Drained, she dashed away the remaining tears and looked beyond the psychiatrist to the clock on the wall. Unbidden, her brain registered the time elapsed and began to convert it into dollars. If her math was correct, she’d just blown thirty-five dollars crying. She could do that on her own time for free.

For a long moment, she and Howard Mellnick contemplated each other in the now-silent room.

“Let me guess,” he finally said in a teasing tone, “they didn’t have your size at the Saks trunk show?”

Shelley shook her head.

“Somebody else required a birthday orgasm at an inappropriate time.”

Another no, but she felt a smile tugging at her lips.

“Things aren’t going so well at work.”