One Night Standards (5 page)

Sophie glanced at Mark. She wondered if he knew what was going on, but he seemed puzzled…and a bit more annoyed, she noted.

She squelched a smug smile.
Not as annoyed as you're going to be when you find out that a tiny company like mine has poached a huge account from a big company like yours!

Sure, she might be in lust with the guy. But business was business.

“I'm glad that so many of you could make it to this announcement, on such short notice,” Mrs. Marion said, in a rich, cultured voice. “I am also glad that the Southwestern Cosmetics Trade Show management let us have the ballroom so we could make this brief statement.”

You could hear a pin drop. Someone coughed in the back of the room, and Sophie could've sworn she felt everyone wince in unison. They were all riveted.

“Marion & Co. has been fortunate enough to have enjoyed significant growth in revenue in the past few years, dealing in exclusive luxury items for the most discerning shoppers,” she said. “We only offer the best products from the absolute, most exclusive providers. We offer several select brands, only the finest. Cosmetics has been one such area.”

Now, Sophie thought she could feel the whole room hold its collective breath. She could barely breathe, herself.

“We would like to partner with a cosmetics company to create a new house cosmetics brand…a partnership brand, if you would. It would still retain the cosmetic company's name, and have a distinct identity. But it would carry the weight of Marion & Co.'s seal of approval. The distinct sub brand would only be available at Marion & Co…but I don't need to tell you all what sort of a boost this would be.”

There was a buzz of frenetic chatter after this, as the thrum of commentary followed. It would be more than a boost—it would be an absolute windfall for whatever lucky cosmetics company M&C partnered with.

Sophie felt her heart beating a staccato rhythm in her chest.
This is it,
she chanted in her mind.
This is it, the chance we've been waiting for…

“After a private, relatively secret search, we have narrowed the field of competitors to two.”

Sophie's eyes widened.

Wait a minute.

Two?

Whatever gossipy buzz had been traveling through the room ceased as all ears pricked up.

“First…Trimera International, headquartered in New York.”

Sophie saw Mark sit up a bit straighter, his eyes gleaming avariciously.

“And second…Diva Nation, from California.”

She could hear people muttering “Who?” after Diva Nation was announced. She suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to crow—and an equally powerful urge to make a break for her room before her incognita status disappeared. She got the feeling that by tonight, every single person at the conference would know exactly who she was and who she represented.

'Bout time!

“Congratulations,” Mark murmured to her, and she nodded, accepting it. His eyes weren't gleaming anymore. Instead, they studied her…appraising, yet wary.

Mrs. Marion smiled at the shock wave she'd sent through the conference. She was obviously a woman who liked to push buttons, and cause a stir. “To these two companies, I am asking for a series of distinct proposal rounds. Your individual headquarters will be receiving the necessary materials by this afternoon. This brand will be rolling out by the end of next year. Thank you, all of you, for your time.”

With that, and with people clamoring out with questions, Sophie felt herself go numb.

“Who the hell is Diva Nation?” a woman next to her asked, sourly. “Mark…heard of them?”

“Yup,” he said, looking at Sophie. “They're a sort of underground urban cosmetics brand, out of L.A.”

She blinked. She hadn't told him that. He'd somehow…

Of course he knew. She grimaced, and quickly snatched up her things, grabbing her phone as almost an afterthought.

“Yeah, but who the hell are they?” the woman persisted.

Sophie didn't wait to hear what his response was. She just made a beeline for the door.

Mark was right behind her, it turned out. She knew because of the cologne he wore…. It wasn't overpowering, but it was really nice, and suited him to a T. “Wait up,” he said.

“I'm sorry, I've got to get going,” she said quickly. “It's now going to be a really chaotic conference for me.”

“You pulled off a coup back there,” he said, and admiration was obvious in his voice. “Did you know they were going to give you a chance at the account? When I gave you a ride?”

She glanced around. People were watching them. More to the point, they were watching
him.
Women couldn't keep their eyes off him, which was hardly a shock. “I thought we weren't going to talk business,” she said in a hushed, reprimanding voice.

“That was last night,” he murmured. “I think things have changed since then, don't you?”

“They have changed,” she said ruefully. “Now, we're direct competitors, not just rivals in the same industry. And we really, really need to not talk anymore.”

He was still following her as she walked toward the elevator bank. After they waited there in silence, he said, “I'm not stalking you. I'm only trying to get to my room.”

She drowned again for a second, wallowing in memories of last night…of the two of them. Of his earlier promise to make love to her all night tonight. “No problem,” she said, glad her voice managed to sound casual.

The two of them rode the elevator in silence, ignoring the gaggle of sales reps who surrounded them as they managed to get off on earlier floors, all of them commenting bitterly on Trimera getting chosen, and all wondering about Diva Nation. Sophie made sure that her arms covered her name badge. Finally, it was her and Mark alone, on the elevator, headed for the twelfth floor.

“What are you doing for dinner tonight?”

She glanced at him. “Sorry?”

“Dinner. Tonight.” He sent her a sidelong glance that practically melted her heart. “I was sort of wondering. I mean, you've got to eat, I've got to eat….”

She stared at him. “Hello. We're up against each other for this account!” Was the man insane?

He stared at the ceiling of the elevator, contemplatively. “And yet, I still crave food. I imagine at some point, you might feel a little nibbly. So what the hell, we run up the white flag and just have a bite?”

“No, Mark.”

“No, you won't be hungry?”

“No, I won't be eating with you!” She couldn't help it, she laughed. “Damn. Either you've got a ton of moxie, or…”

She stopped.
Or he'd reconsidered his stance on sleeping with her.

Of course. Now that she absolutely could not, in good conscience, sleep with him…he'd changed his mind.

“I'm not sleeping with you,” she said bluntly.

Now he smiled back at her, devilishly handsome. “Um…ever?”

She forced herself to keep a straight face. “More than likely. But definitely not as long as we're both in the running for this account.”

“Somehow,” he said, “I can probably manage to share a meal with you without pushing the dishes aside and just taking you on the table.”

The image that conjured up sent shivers of heat along her body. “Don't even joke,” she said, hating the breathless edge her voice took on.

“I wasn't really joking,” he said.

He was dangerous.

“Stay away from me, Mark,” she said. “I really appreciated yesterday…on a couple of levels. And I would've loved to become friends with you. But you've got to see how this won't work.”

He took that in silence for a moment, then the two of them headed to their respective rooms. She noticed her hand shaking slightly as she wrested with the card key.

She'd been so close to sleeping with him, she thought, with regret so keen it was painful. Now, she knew that every single ounce of common sense told her that he was off-limits, for good.

He pulled out his wallet, producing a business card that he quickly scrawled something on. “Here,” he said.

She stared at it. “What's this for?”

“It's my cell-phone number,” he said. “Just in case you change your mind about dinner.” He paused. “Or anything else.”

She watched as he effortlessly opened his room door and shut it behind him. She finally went into her own room…the card burning a hole in her pocket.

You're not going to call him,
she told herself.

Still, she couldn't bring herself to throw the card away.

“A
LL WE HAVE TO DO IS TAKE OUT
one puny competitor, and the house brand for Marion & Co is ours,” Simone said, back at the office in New York. “Now—brainstorm. What do we know about Diva Nation, and how can we knock them the hell out?”

Mark looked at his boss, and then at the VP of marketing, Roger, who was sitting in on the meeting. They were both standing at the head of the large conference-room table, looking puzzled. Well,
puzzled
wasn't the best way to describe it. Simone looked determined, as always, but also somewhat frazzled. Roger looked gob-smacked. The rest of the Trimera team, seated around the broad expanse of table, was somewhere between the two. Except for the resident pit-bull saleswoman, Carol, who looked as if her solution would involve some kind of violent force.

“I cannot believe this. I cannot…frickin'…believe this,” Roger finally said, anger filtering through his obvious surprise.

Simone sighed. “Roger, we've been over this.”

“I don't think you realize what a slap in the face this is,” he countered, obviously eager to discuss in front of the team what he'd already hashed out with Simone in private. “Marion & Co. has always carried Trimera. We've always had a good relationship with them. Now, they're creating an exclusive house brand, and they're going to pit us against some nobody brand from California?” He looked at Mark. “I thought sales were doing well in that channel! Could somebody please tell me how the hell this happened?”

Carol cleared her throat before Mark could respond. “Account management has reported some problems with the Marion & Co. account,” she said, her voice deceptively calm. Her eyes looked fiery and triumphant, though.

“That true, Mark?” Roger snapped.

Mark forced himself not to glare at Carol. “Actually, it's not,” he responded, his voice cool. “At least, we may have lost sales volume, but not market share. We're doing fine.” He paused.
If you'd read my last three reports, you'd know that.

Roger brushed off the comment, as Mark knew he would. “So, if we're doing fine, who the hell is Deviant Nation, anyway? And why are they even in this?”

“Diva Nation,” Mark corrected. “They're a small independent brand out of Los Angeles. They're getting some decent distribution, though, and their products are getting a good deal of buzz. They're not much now, but if their numbers keep up…”

He drifted off when they all looked at him.

“Is there any pulse you don't keep your finger on?” Simone asked with admiration.

He didn't want to think about how many fingers he'd had on the pulse of Diva Nation…or how much closer he would've gotten, if she'd let him.

“I keep an eye out,” Mark said elusively.

“Well. This calls for desperate measures,” Roger said in that finicky, snarky tone of his. “Carol—you're my point person. We've got to make sure that this thing runs smoothly.”

Mark felt his blood pressure raise slightly. He was tired of being passed over. And, frankly, this one was too damned important. He really liked Sophie, but business was business—and since business was the one thing that stood between him and Sophie, he figured she'd probably understand more than anyone.

“Roger,” Mark interrupted, before the man could continue barking out his instructions, “Simone said that she was going to give me the next product launch. You agreed to let me be point on the next proposal. I think that this counts.”

The rest of the team was now openly gaping at him. He had to admit, he was a bit surprised, himself.

Nothing ventured,
he reminded himself nervously.

“A little crappy product launch is one thing,” Roger said dismissively, although he seemed surprised, as well, that Mark had spoken up. “But after all, you didn't report the sales information to me, and that would've been important.”

Mark gritted his teeth.

“Besides, we're going to need more than charm on this,” Roger added. “I need somebody who knows product and figures.”

Mark tried not to let the obvious insult get his temper too high. “I know the product, and I know the background. Most of all, I know Marion & Co.”