One Mad Night (7 page)

“So
that's
where you got the skills for the wad of cash they are paying you,” she said, and she dipped down again, reemerging with two highball glasses.

Ian slanted her a look as he poured some vodka into two glasses. “How long are you going to be mad about that?”

“For a while,” she said with an easy smile.

She was a funny woman. “Chelsea, look—”

“Ah!” she said, instantly putting up her hand. “I would strongly advise that you not feed me some meaningless platitudes,” she quickly interjected. “It's not right or fair, and you know it.”

He really couldn't play devil's advocate on this one. She was right; it wasn't fair. If they weren't paying her as much as him, that was bad enough. But they were going to have her pitch on an account she'd worked hard to get, even after deciding who they'd give the account to. It wasn't right, and it made him angry and uncomfortable. Frankly, he didn't get it—Chelsea was smart and clever and she did good work.

“What?” she said.

Ian realized he'd stopped mixing the drinks.

“I was just thinking…I hope you don't hate me for it, because I like you, Chelsea. And you're right, it's not fair.”

She smiled with surprise. “Wow.
Thank
you, Ian. And for what it's worth, I don't hate you.” She paused as if rethinking that and then shrugged a little. “Okay, maybe I hated you a bit when you started getting the accounts that should have been mine,” she said, holding up a thumb and finger to show him just how little. “But really? I hate Jason. I hate him passionately right now.” She took a bigger sip of her drink. “If he were here right now, I'd have to kill him, and it would be very messy. A lot of stomping and kicking.” With her glass in hand, she began to walk around the conference room. “But you know what I
really
hate?” she said over her shoulder. “That it's my own fault. That's what makes me so mad, you know? I have let Jason use me and I know it. I've let him take my best ideas without thinking twice about what they were worth.”

That, Ian knew, was a hard lesson to learn. Creative thinking was so hard to assign a value to, and yet it was one of the hardest jobs there was. Chelsea wasn't the first person to have misjudged the value of her ideas. Ian could guess that there had been times she should have asked for raises and didn't. Times she should have made Jason spell out her worth to this company and didn't do that, either.

He was starting to feel sick about how she would take the news when she found out that they had given him the Tesla account, and he downed his drink to push that away.

“You know my problem?” she asked rhetorically. “I am too trusting of men. It affects all my relationships.” She laughed at that. “But you know how men are,” she added with a sigh.

“Careful,” Ian said. “No broad swipes at the entire male race, Crawford.”

“Don't take it personally,” she said cheerfully.

“How does your boyfriend take it?” he asked, suddenly very curious if she had one. He was even a bit surprised by how much he was hoping she did not.

“
Anh
,” she said with a flick of her wrist. “We've kind of called it off. Wasn't working out.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, very curious now. “What's his name?”

“Brody.”

Ian scowled. “Sounds like an actor.”

Chelsea grinned. “Worse—he's a senator's aide.”

“Wow,” Ian said. “My sincerest condolences.”

Chelsea laughed, unoffended. He realized that was something else about her he really liked—she was not easily offended.

“Well, that's why we're off. He's in DC all the time, and he says I work too many hours. He wants me to drop everything when he comes up from Washington, which, you know, he hasn't done in a while. I think because the last time he was here, I told him that he seemed to think his job was more important than mine. Apparently, I was right.” She winked at Ian as she sipped from her glass. “You make a great vodka martini, by the way.”

“It's a vodka tonic,” he said.

“Whatever. I'm not really much of a drinker. I don't really even know if it's good or not. Okay, your turn, Rafferty. Girlfriend?”

Ian considered how best to answer that question. He didn't think the truth was going to do him any favors, the truth being that he was basically a dog, preferring to play the field rather than settle down with one woman. And then again, what difference did it make? It wasn't like he was trying to impress Chelsea. Was it?

“I am between girlfriends,” he said, making quote marks with his fingers.

“Interesting. I think Nadia thinks it is more than that.”

He'd forgotten about Nadia, a short, curly-blond-haired woman who worked in production. He'd run into her twice outside of work, and both times they had “hung out” in a very adult and ill-advised way at her apartment. “You're keeping up with me. I'm flattered,” he said.

“I can't help but keep up with you. People talk. A
lot
. Especially about you.”

“Why?” he asked curiously.

“
Why?
Because you're good at your job, and you're a flirt, and you're super cute.”

He was surprisingly flattered that she'd said he was cute.

Chelsea sat on the conference table and leaned across it, sliding her glass to him. “But a friendly word of advice? Steer clear of Nadia. The last guy she dated broke it off and she started following him around town.”

That startled Ian; Chelsea laughed at his expression, clearly enjoying the strike of fear.

“Thanks for the warning,” he said. He picked up her glass and started back to the bar. “I don't have anything going on with Nadia, by the way. Never did. I hung out with her a couple of times, but I can spot crazy a mile away. We had a mutual understanding that it was just a friendly sort of thing.”

“Famous last words,” Chelsea said. “Funny thing about those mutual understandings,” she continued as Ian poured them another round. “They're rarely truly mutual. Like this thing with Tesla. I thought Jason and I had a mutual understanding.”

Ian was sure that was true. Jason was pretty good about making things sound definite when they weren't. He brought the drinks out and sat on the conference table next to Chelsea. When she took the glass from him, her fingers grazed his, and he felt a dozen little sparks fire in his skin. Which, for some inexplicable reason, made him think of how her mouth would taste.

Ian shifted his attention to the window and away from temptation.

A long moment passed in which they remained sitting next to each other, staring out at a silent snowy night, each with their own thoughts. Ian was thinking about Chelsea and how she had surprised him tonight. She wasn't as uptight as he'd believed her to be. She was actually a lot of fun. He could honestly say that if he was ever stuck in a snowstorm, he would like to have her along. Actually, he wouldn't mind having her along on other adventures.
Whoa
…was he really thinking that?

But he looked at Chelsea now, and he could picture it. The two of them, on a beach, in the mountains, sitting at a little table for two in a diner and arguing about the Knicks or the meaning of the movie they'd just seen. Strolling arm in arm around Central Park.

Chelsea, however, was apparently thinking of tomorrow, because she said wistfully, “My new office is going to have this same view.”

That effectively ruined the pleasant vignettes, because Chelsea would probably never speak to him again after tomorrow.

Chelsea playfully nudged him with her shoulder when he didn't respond. “The office goes with the Tesla account. Didn't Jason tell you?”

“Yes, he told me.” He hid the twinge of guilt he felt beneath a sip of his drink.

“Hey…” Chelsea put her glass aside. “Listen, I feel like I should tell you something while we're here, and, you know, being friends.”

“Tell me what?”

“Just that Jason told me up front this was my account to lose. I mean, yes, he's a douchebag for the most part. But I don't think he'd lie about this.” She nervously chewed her bottom lip. “Do you?”

Ian could feel the guilt, the regret, all of it, sliding over him like a blanket, weighing him down. He hadn't even done anything but take a phone call, and yet, he felt as if what he was doing right now was technically lying to her. He debated what he should do in this moment, and in his hesitation, she leaned forward to peer at him. “There it is again. That look—like you're a big fat cat who just ate the canary. Come on, Ian. I know Jason told you something. Did he tell you the same thing? Because that would not surprise me.”

“No,” he said quickly, and as Chelsea's gaze narrowed suspiciously, he said, “I promise you, Jason Sung has not said anything to me about you. Nor did he tell me this was my account to lose.”

“Hmm,” she said skeptically.

Damn it, this woman had a way of looking at him that made him feel as if she could see every thought in his head. “Why Tesla, Chelsea?” he blurted. “I mean, do you like cars?”

“What a weird question, coming from an ad man,” she said with a wry smile. “Do I have to like cars? Tesla is a huge account. It's the natural progression of my work.”

“Car accounts are the natural progression of your portfolio?”

“Big accounts are the natural progression of my portfolio.”

“But I mean, do you
like
cars?”

Chelsea laughed. “I don't know. I've never owned one.”

Ian put his drink aside. He had the crazy thought that if he made her see she didn't care that much about cars anyway, somehow she'd be all right when the truth came down. He realized he was grasping at ideas, but it was the only one he had. He didn't want to ruin this thing between them. He'd told Brad he wouldn't say a word. What was he supposed to do? He needed more than a few moments to think it through and decide. So he kept babbling. “So why not a big food account? Or pharmaceuticals? Or insurance?”

Chelsea looked at him as if he were talking gibberish. “Why not cars?” She smiled and swayed into him a little, almost as if the force of her smile had made her teeter off balance. “I believe in my abilities, in what it takes to reach an American audience. The product doesn't matter, because I will learn it and I will figure out what consumers want from it.”

Ian nodded and polished off his drink. He knew what she was saying; he felt the same way. That's what made him good at advertising, and it was the same thing that made her good. Which meant there was no way to soften the blow of what was coming.

“What's the matter now, Rafferty?” she teased him. “You're not worried about the competition, are you?”

He smiled and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

She held out her hand to him. “Okay, I won't tease you. May the best man win.”

Ian looked at her hand. He wove his fingers in through hers. He felt like a jerk. He wished there wasn't a Tesla account. He wished Grabber-Paulson had never come to him, because he did not want to be the guy who was going to crush her.

Chelsea squeezed his fingers lightly. “You're still holding my hand.”

“I am, aren't I?” he said absently.

“So…what are we doing?” Chelsea asked, her voice softer.

“I don't know,” Ian admitted. He didn't know anything other than he was feeling a strangely intoxicating mix of guilt and desire and affection. He felt off center, out of control.

“I'm not an office hookup, you know,” she said, her fingers still curling around his.

He arched a brow at her. “Did I make a pass?”

“No.” She smiled sheepishly. “You know, I'm starting to wonder if maybe I misjudged you.”

That brought a rush of heat to his neck. He touched her hair, feeling the heft of it between his finger and thumb. “How so?”

Her gaze settled on his mouth. “All this time I thought you were an arrogant player, with no redeeming qualities.”

“Guilty,” he said with a grin, and he shifted closer, touching his nose to her hair. “And now?”

“Now, I think there is more to you than that. You're a nice guy, Ian. And you're…”

“Talented? Brilliant?”

She laughed softly. “Cute.”

“Ah,” he said and nibbled her earlobe. “I'm also a sucker for an attractive woman.”

She sighed and angled her head a little as he moved down to nuzzle her neck. “I bet you've said that five times this week alone.”

“Not true,” he said and kissed her neck. He liked the way she tasted. He liked the way she smelled. “I don't generally have to say anything.”

Chelsea's head came around at that, and Ian laughed. “Kidding.”

She touched her finger to his lips. “Are we flirting?” she asked.

“Are we?”

“I think so. In the interest of fair play, I think you should know that I will take any advantage of anything I can tomorrow. I really, really hate to lose.”

“I've noticed. You must believe I have a soft spot to tell me that,” Ian said, and he touched his lips to hers. “But I don't. I hate losing too. But I've been strangely attracted to you since the moment I met you. I took one look in your cubicle, with all the papers stacked just so and the pictures of your family tacked to the walls, and I thought, here is a woman who cares about what she's doing. I can get into that.” He kissed her again, light and easy, a prelude to what he really wanted, to the craving beating in his chest and pounding in his veins.

“You looked at my cube?” she asked with a smile of delight.

“I looked at your cube, I looked at your body, and I looked at your hair…” He pushed her hair back and nibbled her earlobe. “I even smelled you.”

“
Weird
,” she said. But she did not sound put off by it.