Ship of Dreams (Dreams Come True Series Book 2) (18 page)

“Imperial’s got ambitious goals,” Nathan returned.

“And I think you’ll exceed their goals with this campaign.” Hawk strode out the door.

Nathan released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Having worked on her presentation
until the wee hours of the morning, Laura was confident in her proposal to the group. Incorporating the goals and objectives of Imperial based on the pre-pitch meeting, along with the ideas she’d noted on her trip, Laura sat down with her teams, and laid out her proposal.

“Let’s begin with my vacation slide show.” Laura clicked the button on her laptop and the selfie of her on her balcony flashed on the projector screen, followed by a few chuckles.

“But seriously, while the décor of the
Nave dei Sogni
was gorgeous, it was a bit over the top.” Laura clicked to the next slide with photos of the ship’s dining room, lounge, and other public areas. There were lots of
wow’s
and
oh my’s
, along with some confused looks.

“Where’s Fred and Ginger?” Claudia asked.

She clicked to a collage of photos from her stateroom.

“Holy shit!” Havi said.

“Exactly. This is more like it.” The photos showed her penthouse stateroom from various angles. “Elegant. Comfortable. Welcoming.” She clicked again, showing a photo of La Presse du Vin. “Quiet, warm, relaxing. A place of respite, with all the creature comforts.”

“You heard the CEO. The new ship will be designed to feel like your own private yacht. This is what the demographic wants. Unobtrusive pampering. Champagne upon boarding. Their luggage picked up at their home and delivered right to their stateroom. No schlepping luggage to the airport, no hassles with customs. The line will offer no fuss travel.”

She continued, “But even with that warm, welcoming atmosphere, our target doesn’t want to completely disconnect, right? We still want our Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram. We want up-to-the-minute updates. Information at our fingertips. So, the experience will appeal to the digital demographic, a demographic who doesn’t want to unplug from social media on vacation, but prefers to share their experiences in real-time via social media.”

“As we know, Imperial’s social media is currently dying on the vine. I propose we revive it. Big time. With real-time Twitter updates. Docking in Portofino today? We’ve got you covered with the weather report, recommended restaurants, not-to-be-missed sites, and sites that may be closed for repairs. Shopping on the Ponte Vecchio and don’t know where to grab lunch? Send a tweet with a specific hashtag. The social media experts will send links and directions to the recommended restaurants in your area. Instead of the environmentally unfriendly daily paper ship’s bulletins, which usually hit the trashcan shortly after delivery, you can sign up to receive them via email.

“And speaking of digital media, I went on some pretty boring city tours. Stuck one out, bagged another one.” She didn’t want to think about what happened on the one in Naples. “The problem with organized tours is we all take things in at our own pace. Some of us like to read every placard in the museum. Stand in front of
David
until the docent’s escort us out. Others of us prefer to get the highlights and move on. It’s difficult to please both types of tourists.

“That’s where the Concierge Tours App comes in. Created exclusively for Imperial, the app will be an interactive tour guide for ports-of-call and their surrounding areas, complete with subway maps. You select the sites you want to visit. You decide how much information you want at those sites. Then you move on.

“Those are my initial thoughts. I’m open to any suggestions, comments, or questions. Oh, one more thing. The ship has yet to be named. That’s where we come in. The name should symbolize what it has to offer.”

Celeste slapped her hands on the table and said, “Let’s do this.”

The following Monday, Laura’s phone rang and reaching
for it she saw Jack’s name on the screen.

“Hi, Jack.”

“Wednesday. You. Me. A benefit.”

“Ooh, you really know how to show a girl a good time.”

“Come on, it’s for The Skills Project, and you’ll know just about everyone there. Plus, I could really use your help fending off the cougars.”

Laura laughed. Jack’s Ralph-Lauren-model-looks, warm engaging smile, and rumored net worth made him a favorite among the unattached ‘mature women’ crowd. Laura wasn’t the only one that hadn’t had a clue about Jack’s sexual orientation. “Keep up your sweet-talk and you’ll have me eating out of your hands.”

“Great. I’ll make sure to wash my hands before I pick you up at seven.”

Hitting ‘end,’ Laura opened her calendar app and entered the event.

Even with all the hours she was putting in at the office, Nathan still managed to creep into her thoughts on a regular basis. She found herself wondering what he was doing. And even more pathetic, wondering if she ever crossed his mind. She relived her cruise with every meeting on the pitch and every task in support of that pitch.

Maybe a night out would take her mind off the frustratingly charming and great-in-bed Nathan. Even if her escort was gay.

Late Wednesday afternoon, Nathan made some notes as he conversed wi
th the owner of a local bookstore who’d scored a book signing with a hot new best-selling author. They needed a quick and dirty campaign to advertise the event. He was just finishing up the call when Hawk stuck his head in the door. Nathan gave him the ‘hold-on’ sign, then said his goodbyes to the woman and hung up.

“What’s up?” he asked as Hawk sauntered in and lowered his six-foot four-inch frame into a chair across from Nathan’s desk, legs splayed out.

They were back on solid ground after his confession.

“Was that Mia on the phone?”

“Yes. She’s desperate for our help.”

“She’s a good friend, so let’s make it happen. She really pulled off a coup getting Sam Workman for a book signing. People are saying he’s the next Stephen King.”

“If the other teams are too busy, I’ll take care of it myself,” Nathan assured his boss. “I still remember a few things from my days working in the trenches.”

“I know it’s short notice, but do you have plans tonight?”

“You mean other than your friend’s ad campaign? No, why?”

“I’ve got a ticket to The Skills Project benefit, but Michael is sick, so I need to go home and relieve Melissa.” Nathan must have made a face because Hawk continued, “It’s Jack Jeffries’ pet project. It’ll give you an opportunity to schmooze him.”

“Sure. Where and what time?”

Hawk handed him the ticket. “It’s all on there.” Hawk rose and headed for the door before turning back. “Thanks, Nathan. I appreciate it. And you’ll meet some interesting people.”

Laura stepped off the elevator to see Jack waiting in the lobby of her high-rise. He
looked very
GQ
in a black suit, black dress shirt, and hot-pink tie—Hermès no doubt.

“Damn, woman. You look good enough to eat.” He took her hands and gave her the once over. “You might have me swinging in the other direction.” That infectious grin had melted many a girl’s heart.

“You look pretty edible yourself.”

He took her elbow and guided her to the glass doors at the front of the lobby.

“You’re making my job tonight very difficult.” At his confused expression, she continued, “You know—fending off the cougars.”

“The way you look tonight, I think I’ll be the one who’s busy. I’ll be beating the men off you with a stick.”

“And who asked you to?”

He laughed. “Right.”

The warehouse-sized loft in a trendy section of SoHo buzzed with the kind of conversation on
ly heard at events attended by the top one percent. Nathan had no point of reference for the topics under discussion, everything from tedious renovations on an Aspen vacation home, to adding on to a five-car garage to house the latest purchase of an Aston Martin special edition Vanquish, to the latest dining sensation, edible air, whatever the hell that was.

With no sign of Jack Jeffries, Nathan sipped his scotch and tried to appear interested in one of the sculptures up for auction that evening—a concoction of rusted and twisted metal that resembled the mangled wreckage from a multi-car pile-up rather than a six-figure-priced work of art. Whoever buys that has more money than sense, he thought, good cause or not. Just make a donation and leave the pile of metal for the scrap heap.

Circling back to the room at large, his step faltered when he spotted Laura standing in the entrance. She looked stunning, especially in a Jezebel-red dress that hugged every curve, and those damned erotic stilettos—some kind of snake this time.

But then again when didn’t she look stunning? Even at first morning light, eyes blurred with sleep, hair mussed, a feline smile of satisfaction on her lips, she dazzled. Before the pre-coffee grumpiness set in, that is.

She turned to speak to someone behind her, then Jack Jeffries moved to her side.

Nathan’s jaw clenched. Right. Talk about throwing a bucket of ice water over his head.

Taking his arm, Laura let him escort her into the crowd, where she appeared perfectly at home playing kiss-kiss with the
hoi polloi
. The daughter of one of the world’s wealthiest families would no doubt attend such functions on a regular basis. She probably cut her teeth on the backbiting that goes on when those at the top of the wealth food chain gathered.

But what rankled even more was the lengths she would go to, to get the Imperial Cruise account, including sleeping with the founder and CEO’s son and the company’s Vice President of Customer Relations. It wasn’t enough that her father and Jackson were best friends.

He heard the hammer hit the last nail in the coffin.

Jack and Laura made the rounds before heading over to the bar for a drink. Well, he’d promised Hawk he’d schmooze with Jack and schmooze he would. And as for Laura, the gloves were off.

Laura ordered a martini and drummed her fingers on the bar. She dreaded these events like a shopaholic
dreaded the words, ‘Your credit card has been declined.’ Not that the event wasn’t for a good cause, but all the glad-handing and ass-kissing that went on made her long for a shower. She glanced around the room. Jack was right. She knew most of the people there, and couldn’t count a genuine one among them. She felt a hand on the small of her back. Jack was the exception. Like his father, money hadn’t tainted him.

She winced at her hypocritical thoughts. What was that saying,
People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones
?

“Jack.”

Her hand froze in the process of reaching for her drink. She knew that voice all too well. The voice that had whispered delicious naughty phrases in her ear on so many occasions she’d lost count.
What the hell was Nathan doing here?

“Nathan.” Jack reached out his hand to give Nathan’s a shake. “How are you?”

“I’m good. Quite the event you have here,” he said, indicating the throng. He’d yet to look Laura’s way.

“Thanks. It’s our fifth year, and we’re set to break another fundraising record. Nathan Maxwell, you remember Laura Armstrong. Laura, Nathan Maxwell.” He gestured between them.

“I remember.” Nathan’s eyes glittered like two hard stones, so different from the warmth she’d grown used to seeing there. “But when we met, you had a different last name.”

She winced, and slid Jack a glance. “Yes.” She played down the nerves, played up cool, taking a sip from her drink, even though she burned inside.

He looked as urbane as usual in his well-tailored black suit, white shirt, and royal-blue tie. Where Jack appeared every inch the metrosexual, Nathan appeared every inch the testosterone-loaded male. Why she ever thought Nathan wasn’t her type, she’d never know.

Jack laughed. “Well, this must be awkward.”

“Not really,” Laura said. “What’s a little competition between friends?” She lifted an insolent shoulder.

“Especially when that friend will stop at nothing to win.”

“Every weapon in the arsenal, right, Nathan?” She lifted her glass, as if in a toast. She relished a challenge. Like facing a well-skilled opponent in a chess match, it only made the victory that much sweeter.

Jack slipped his arm around Laura’s waist. Nathan’s eyes cut to Jack’s arm and then narrowed.
Proprietary much? So Nathan was a little territorial, was he?
She didn’t know how she felt about that.

Part of her wanted to express her outrage at being considered an object to be possessed. Another part of her wanted to make him jealous. And yet another part of her . . .
liked
it.

“And maybe some that aren’t.” Nathan turned his attention to Jack. “Hawk sends his regards. He had a conflict and couldn’t make it tonight.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but glad you could make it instead. Come, let me introduce you around.” With his possessive hand still at her waist, Jack guided Laura along while he shepherded Nathan through the gauntlet of New York’s doyen and doyenne.

She had to admit Nathan’s Southern charm disarmed even the most hardened hedgefunders and corporate raiders. It had worked on her, hadn’t it? And as charming as he was out of bed, he raised it to the tenth power in bed.

She recalled one moment in particular, hands cuffed in his above her head, his body joined with hers. She felt an irresistible urge to fan herself.
Was the air-conditioning on the fritz?

“Laura? How about you?” Jack interrupted her torrid little walk down memory lane.

“Hmm?”

Jack chuckled. “Where were you?”

“Oh. I’m sorry. What did I miss?”

Nathan’s gaze said he knew exactly where she’d gone.

Jack shook his head at the other men in the circle, as if to say,
women.
“We were talking about a game of golf this Saturday at Manhattan Woods. Nathan here hasn’t played since he left Atlanta. What do you say? Want to join?”

Her first inclination was to decline, but then on second thought, did she really want Nathan and Jack palling around without her? “Sure. What time?”

“I’ll see about a nine a.m. tee time. Anyone else care to join? Fill out the foursome?” Jack asked the others in the group, including a state senator who’d just recently been accused of sexting his children’s nanny.
Ick.