The Pitch: City Love 2 (3 page)

How inappropriate would it be to offer Paul Neilsen a job at Grounded Marketing? I wondered.

I was only half-joking. Since arriving at the office this afternoon for our internal pitch meeting, Paul had seriously impressed me. And I wasn’t just talking about his height. Or those eyes.

He’d impressed everyone else too.

My pitch team were experienced in their own right, but Paul was at least ten years older than most of us – and it showed. I’d briefed the team on my rationale for inviting Paul to assist with the pitch earlier. I understood too well the damage broken egos could inflict. Before establishing Grounded Marketing, I’d worked in advertising agency account management roles. Stroking bruised or needy egos had been part of my daily job description. I was determined that my company would be as free from ego as humanly possible. I was pleased to see my team live up to my expectations in the meeting room – there hadn’t been a hint of self-importance.

This included Paul. It was refreshing to discover his experience didn’t equate to ego.

“So how’d I go?”

I looked away from the view of Darling Harbour luxuriating in the spring afternoon that could be seen through the boardroom windows. Paul’s tall form rested on the door frame. I’d been waiting to do a wrap-up with him after the meeting was over, but he’d stepped out to take a phone call first.

I flashed him a broad smile. It was genuine. “Fantastic. I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised by your approach.”

I stood and Paul’s blue eyes glinted curiously at me. I decided I liked how he didn’t always use words to communicate.

“You fit right in. Someone of your experience may not have melded with the team. You did – effortlessly.”

Paul let out a soft, rolling laugh. “Someone of my experience?”

I was painfully aware of a blush creeping up my neck to my face, and hoped my olive skin disguised the worst of it. “Yes,” I replied softly. I hadn’t meant it as an insult. Embarrassed as I was, I wasn’t going to take it back.

Paul took a few steps closer to me and I tried not to swallow as we stared at each other eye to eye.

“I’m an old fart is what you’re saying?”

“No!”

He laughed again while I attempted not to look horrified.

“Come on.” He turned and placed his hand so it barely touched the small of my back.

I exhaled, allowing him to guide me to the door. He was hardly touching me and yet I could feel myself burning up.

Get a grip, Madeleine.

Determined not to be rendered speechless again, I launched into a tour of Grounded Marketing. I showed him the various departments and introduced him to some of my key staff members who hadn’t been at the meeting.

“I guess I should let you get back to work,” I finished when we arrived outside my office door ten minutes later.

Paul angled his head. “Got a minute?”

“Sure.”

I waited while he entered my office and closed the door behind us, curious about what he wanted to discuss. He sat on the double-seater lounge and I opted for the adjacent armchair instead of sitting behind my desk.

“Your pitch team is on the right track,” he began, “and I wouldn’t change anything in that regard. But I think you’re missing a vital component that can’t be won with strategy or good art direction.”

He had my attention now. I wasn’t arrogant enough to think that our pitch was perfect, but I was certainly interested to hear what he thought we needed. Especially if it was something I hadn’t already thought of myself. I waited for him to speak.

“How much do you know about the bank employees you’ll be presenting to?” he asked.

“Only their names.”

He frowned. “That’s what I was afraid of.” He leaned toward me and looked me in the eye. “Pitches are won because of rapport, not because you have a good strategy or design.”

“Are you telling me our pitch doesn’t matter?”

“Not as much as you think it does.”

I sat back and absorbed this information. We’d been killing ourselves to develop this pitch. Working long days and weekends to come up with a unique approach for the client. I knew what Paul was getting at. Building a relationship was an important part of the process, but here he was telling me that it eclipsed our strategy.

“I need the names and positions of who you’ll be dealing with at the bank,” he continued. He grinned slyly. “So I can do some research.”

I went to my computer and then scanned through my emails until I found the one I was after. It was the original pitch request and brief, with the details of the team from the bank.

“Perfect,” Paul said softly.

I jumped. I’d been so involved in searching for the email, I hadn’t noticed he was standing beside me.

He reached out and placed a steadying hand on my arm, which did nothing to settle my rapid heartbeat.

“Sorry. I never learn. I’ve been told I sneak up on people.” He flashed me a wide grin. “Comes in handy for checking up on your employees.”

I inhaled a deep breath and noticed his hand lingered on my arm. He saw the direction of my gaze and removed his hand, then nodded at my computer screen, acting like nothing had happened. “Can you forward me that email?”

“Sure.” With a few quick keystrokes and the click of my mouse, I sent him the email. “Now, do you mind explaining why you plan on stalking – sorry, researching – my potential client?”

Paul stepped back and sat down on the edge of my desk.

“You could present the most well-researched and strategized pitch the client has ever seen, but if it doesn’t speak to them personally, and one of the other pitches does, you’ve lost.”

At my curious gaze, he pointed at me. “What do you like to do outside the office, Madeleine?”

I stared at him blankly.

Another broad grin. “It’s work-related, I promise.”

Well, that’s a relief,
I thought dryly. “I play sports,” I told him.

“Specifically?”

“Netball and swimming mainly.”

“What else aside from sports?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, but obliged. “The usual, I guess. I read, watch movies, go out to restaurants and pubs with my friends.”

“What do you read?”

“Why?”

I must have responded too quickly because the corners of his mouth twitched. “Women’s recreational fiction, huh?”

I flushed. “We like to call it romance.”

“Romance then. Movies?”

“Action,” I shot back proudly.

“And romantic comedy?” He had a knowing look on his face and his blue eyes twinkled.

Bastard
. “Sometimes,” I allowed. “And all of this is relevant, why?”

“Because Madeleine Spencer is more than the sum total of Grounded Marketing, that’s why.”

I sank into my chair thoughtfully.

“Whether we want to admit it or not, we bring our total selves to the office with us – despite what we want the outside world to think. That’s why we need to get to know the client better. At worst, there could be something in your pitch that might offend. At best, we can appeal to something that will hit them here.” He patted a hand to his chest, then studied my expression. I was frowning. His eyes softened. “It took me a few years, and a number of lost pitches, to realize that’s where I was going wrong,” he admitted.

“How do we get that sort of information?” I asked.

“A variety of ways. Online research – also known as Google – and networking. I know a lot of people and they know people, if you get my gist.”

“I know plenty of people, too.”

“Exactly. I’m guessing that’s how you got invited to pitch in the first place. Am I right?”

I nodded. He was spot on. I was something of a networking queen, attending industry events and anything else I thought would benefit Grounded Marketing.

“You need to use your networking for more than business leads. It can be priceless for helping you with business intel, too.”

He was right. “Thank you, Paul,” I said. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.”

“Because you’ve been busy with your team answering the pitch. Like most other agencies.” He leveled his gaze at me. “But you’re not most other agencies, Madeleine.”

“Maddy.” I don’t why I said it, but he’d been asking about my life outside work and it suddenly seemed appropriate.

“Maddy,” he repeated slowly, like he was trying out the word for the first time. “I prefer Madeleine.” He smiled warmly at me. “Maddy is what your friends and family call you?”

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t do you justice. Madeleine does.”

I stared at him, flattered but also annoyed that he could turn me into a serial mute in his presence.

He nodded at my computer screen, oblivious to my silence or perhaps graciously ignoring it. “Sounds like you’ve got an interesting night planned.”

My brow furrowed, trying to understand his meaning.

He pointed at the list of emails showing on my screen, then held up a hand in a parting wave. “My bet is he’ll think you’re pretty exotic too. I can’t speak for willing, though.”

I watched on in confusion while he opened my office door. The way his broad shoulders moved through the material of his suit jacket distracted me momentarily. I heard him say a pleasant goodbye to my mother, then his tall frame retreated from view.

What on earth? My eyes darted to the computer screen and I felt all the blood leave my face. “Oh shit!” I dropped my head into my hands. Thank you very much, Cate.

There at the top of my email list, previewed succinctly for the entire world to see, was the following email from Cate:
Blind date Friday eight pm: hot, exotic, willing … and he’s all yours.

This was going better than expected.

I studied my blind date as he pointed to the menu and spoke to the waiter. Apart from his dietary requirements – gluten free wasn’t uncommon these days – he appeared alarmingly normal. And exotic. My girlfriends had been right. Dillon Singh was an attractive man. He’d explained earlier in the night that his mother was Welsh and his father was Indian. For Dillon, this meant he’d inherited his father’s caramel colored skin, dark eyes and dark hair. I suspected his strong, chiseled profile came from his mother’s side. It was an alluring combination.

After he finished ordering his gluten free meal, Dillon’s eyes settled on me. “Are you ready to order, Maddy?”

I smiled at him. Unlike Paul, Dillon knew me as Maddy and it made me feel relaxed. I caught the waiter’s attention. “Whole cooked barramundi, please.”

“An excellent choice,” the young waiter confirmed, then went to give our order to the kitchen.

“Have you ever been on a blind date before?” Dillon asked.

“No,” I admitted. “You?”

He shook his head, tousling his dark, wavy hair. “I’m glad I waited until now though.”

I smiled. This date with Dillon was far removed from the dismal failure of speed dating last week. I almost wanted to pinch myself. It had only been forty-five minutes, but so far, Dillon had proved articulate, well-read and polite. He’d definitely captured my attention.

My girlfriends had briefed me beforehand so I already knew he worked in IT. I was pleased to see he didn’t fall into the generalization of a socially stunted computer geek. Not that I really believed the stereotype – my brother was in the same industry and he was anything but.

I leaned across the table toward Dillon and his eyes flared with interest. “The truth is, you’re my last hope.”

“A woman like you? I don’t believe that for a moment.”

He really was doing great things for my ego. “No, I’m serious. I was ready to swear off men completely after my girlfriend forced me to go along to a speed dating evening recently.”

He laughed, and I liked the sound of it.

“I bet you were popular.”

“It wasn’t a good thing. But what about you? Where were you when I needed you?” I joked.

“Working probably.”

“Mmm,” I agreed. “Sounds like we’ve both been working too hard then.”

“Do you enjoy running your own business?” Dillon asked. We’d yet to discuss Grounded Marketing but I knew Cate’s friend, Owen, had already filled him in.

“Immensely,” I replied. “I’m not sure I could go back to working for anyone again.”

“Really? Isn’t it stressful?”

I shrugged and I wasn’t being indifferent. “Early on, it was scary. Now it’s just part of my life.”

“Do you ever worry about how you’ll handle it when you start a family?”

I opened my mouth, then chose to have a sip of wine instead while I gathered my thoughts. I tried to ignore the warning bells going off in my head. It was an innocent enough question and he didn’t know this topic was a delicate one for me. “That’s a few years off yet, so I can’t really say. Owning a business has taught me you can’t pre-empt situations. You have to deal with things as they arise.”

“Do you want to keep working full-time once you have a child?”

“Longer term, I’d say yes, although it’s not something I’ve really put a lot of thought to,” I hedged.

Dillon leaned in, his soulful dark eyes serious. “I’ve seen my older sister go through it. It’s impossible to expect things to be as they were before and yet she tries so hard to do everything. It’s exhausting for her.”

I paused, suddenly feeling helpless. All the doubts, frustrations and the bitter sting of the failure of my last long term relationship flared inside me while I attempted to maintain an impassive expression. This, right here, was the reason I rarely dated, I thought. “I imagine motherhood is exhausting,” I managed.

Dillon sat back slightly and swirled his red wine in his glass. “I’ve offended you.”

“No.” I set my own glass back down and looked at him. I was upset, yes, but not offended. “I can see your opinion is based on concern for your sister. I can’t speak for her, but for me, Grounded Marketing is a big part of my life.”

The shrill ring of my mobile phone cut him off. I winced and offered him an apologetic look. I generally kept my phone set to fire alarm volume, so I never missed a call.

I grabbed the mobile from my handbag, secretly thankful for the well-timed distraction. I paused in surprise when I saw the caller ID. “I’m sorry, I need to take this.”

I gave Dillon another apologetic look and stood. I waited until I was on the street to answer. “Hi Paul.” I had no idea why he was calling on a Friday night. I figured whatever it was, it must be important.

“Madeleine.”

Goosebumps made the skin on my arms tingle. That man had a way of saying my name.

“Is everything alright?” I asked.

“Fine. Except I’ve just realized I left one of my folders in your office.”

“Oh, right.” I hadn’t even noticed. “I’ll have someone courier it over to you on Monday, if you like. Will that be okay?”

He paused. “Actually, no. I need it this weekend so I can prepare something for Monday.”

“Oh.” My mind calculated the options. “I’m still in the city at the moment, but I won’t be finished for another hour or two. I could drop by the office and pick it up. Then I can grab a taxi to your place after that, assuming you don’t live miles away.”

“I don’t, but that’s far too much trouble for you. How about I pick you up after you’ve finished your date? I’ll drive you to the office and drop you home after. It’s the least I can do.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. He remembered I was on my date. It struck me as odd, or at least, overly observant. Then again, Cate’s email had been particularly memorable.

“That was presumptuous of me. I hope I’m not ruining anything,” he said after my long pause.

“No. Dillon is just as my friends described.”

It was his turn to pause. “I could be wrong, but you’re not sounding convinced?”

I bit my lip then figured to hell with it. “We might have a difference of opinion when it comes to children.” I had no idea why I was confiding in him.

“Children? Who brings that up on a first date?” I could sense he was smiling into the phone.

“Not me.”

“He brought it up?”

“Unfortunately.”

“And what did you say?”

“I simply informed him that Grounded Marketing was my focus right now.”

“Ah. A modern woman. Gets them every time.”

Was he baiting me? I didn’t care and bit anyway. “Damn right. He suggested I wouldn’t be able to work full-time if I had children.” There was a hell of a lot more to it than he could possibly know, but for some reason it felt good to be telling him about it.

I could hear him chuckling down the phone and found myself smiling.

“Would you like me to come and rescue you sooner?” he asked.

While the thought of Paul rescuing me sounded tempting, I hadn’t quite given up on Dillon yet. Nor did I want to entertain any further inappropriate thoughts of my business advisor.

“No, that’s alright. If I write off every man on the basis of a little difference of opinion, then I probably stand to be single for a long time to come.”

“I doubt that. But I’ll let you decide which difference of opinion is worth fighting for. Shall we say a ten o’clock pick up then?”

I looked at my watch. It was eight thirty now, which sounded like an acceptable amount of time.

“Fine. Now let me go and salvage my blind date.”

“You do that,” he said with a final chuckle, then hung up.

I breathed in the cool spring evening air in an attempt to clear my thoughts. I turned the phone to vibrate, then went back inside to join Dillon.

“I’m really sorry about that,” I apologized, and was relieved to see he didn’t look worried.

“No, I’m sorry,” he said. “About before. I’m afraid I’m rather traditional.”

“Oh?” There were those warning bells again. I
really
didn’t want to be having this conversation. I hadn’t even known the guy two hours.

“I think it’s important a mother be at home with her children.”

The warning bells turned into a warning gong.
Please
, I begged silently,
stop talking.
There’d been a lot of truth to my earlier joke about him being my last hope, and now he was going to ruin everything, wasn’t he?

Scarlett would have a field day with this, I thought. And Cate would tell me to be honest, but I’d only just met the guy for God’s sake. I took a deep breath before replying. “So having a family is very important to you then?”

“Absolutely. Why? Isn’t it important to you?”

I bit my lip, suppressing a sigh. “I’m focusing on my career right now to be honest.”

“So your business is more important than children?”

The warning gong’s clanging intensified. Oh, help! Grounded Marketing was my child, truth be told. Children were nothing but a possibility. Or in my case, a remote possibility, but Dillon wasn’t to know that. How was I supposed to explain to a man I barely knew that a condition called endometriosis had waged war on my reproductive system since my early twenties?

“Of course not,” I replied levelly. “If I had children, they’d be very important to me. It just seems a long way off, that’s all.”

Dillon sat back in his chair, clearly confused by my guarded replies. I was desperate to change the subject. “How about you? Do you work long hours?”

He nodded and, to my relief, started to tell me about his IT role at one of Sydney’s major banks. It wasn’t exactly riveting, but I was so pleased at the change of subject I didn’t care.

My phone vibrated. I glanced discreetly at the message from where my phone sat in my lap, while the waiter set out our meals. It was from Paul.

Not still on the topic of children, I hope? I could pretend to be your father checking up on you …

I shook my head, a small grin playing on my lips. He didn’t do himself justice. I quickly typed a message.

Oh come on, you’re not that old … are you?

I was skirting the bounds of professionalism now, but he’d started it and I was very curious about his age.

Dillon looked at me quizzically once the waiter left. “Everything alright?”

My grin broadened. “Sorry, that was my father checking up on me,” I teased.

Dillon paled. “Seriously?”

I shook my head and smiled. “Just a friend. You can never be too careful on a blind date.”

“I came recommended through a mutual friend.” He looked insulted.

Obviously his sense of humor wasn’t as good as I hoped.

“You’d do the same for your sister, surely?” I asked.

Dillon took a bite of his meal and savored it thoughtfully. “I suppose.”

My phone buzzed again. I ate a mouthful of barramundi then carefully checked the new message from the safety of my lap.

Wouldn’t you like to know. I’ll see you at ten.

Well, well. Paul had a much better sense of humor than Dillon, but he was using it to hide his age. Interesting.