That New York Minute (20 page)

JWT wanted to poach her?

“I, uh—” She pressed the phone tight to her ear so Garrett wouldn’t hear Hardy’s booming voice. “Actually, I’m with a colleague right now.”

“Ah, bad timing.” Campese chuckled. “Let me tell you a bit about the job, and if you’re interested, we can meet later this week.”

Later this week. After the Brightwater pitch.

She didn’t want to do this now. Didn’t want to show a lack of confidence in the work she’d done for Brightwater. She arranged to phone Hardy on Thursday.

She half expected Garrett to ask her who was on the phone and was busy trying to think up a suitable lie when she realized he hadn’t asked. For once, his lack of engagement was a good thing.

Rachel tossed the phone back onto the sofa. Right away, it beeped with an incoming message.

Garrett’s beeped, too, on the dining table next to his keys. He got up to check it.

“A text from Tony,” he said.

“I got it, too.” Rachel stared at the screen.

“
Meeting, my office, ASAP
,” Garrett read.

They exchanged glances.

“No idea,” Rachel said in answer to his unspoken question. “I guess I’d better get dressed.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“T
HERE
’
S
BEEN
A
NEW
development,”
Tony announced when Rachel and Garrett had barely crossed the threshold. He paused a second to register the coincidence of their simultaneous arrival, then apparently decided whatever he had to say trumped any connection between the two of them.

Clive was already there. He grinned at them.

Rachel slid into a seat. Garrett took the chair two down from her, when she would have preferred him right next to her.

“Thanks for coming in at such short notice,” Tony began. “I appreciate that the evening is your own time, and you don’t want to—”

“Spit it out, Tony,” Garrett said impatiently.

Rachel bit back a smile. He might have learned something about relating to people under her tuition, but he’d never be a diplomat.

She liked that about him. Liked the strength that let him chart his own course.

“I’ll let Clive tell you,” Tony said, enjoying himself.

Rachel’s heart sank. Could Clive have secretly pitched to Brightwater already, and impressed them so much he—

“I quit,” Clive said.

“You what?” Rachel squawked.

“Why?” Garrett asked.

“I’m going to start my own agency in Harrisburg.”

“Pennsylvania isn’t exactly the hub of the advertising world,” Garrett said.

“My in-laws are there,” Clive said. “Wifey and I want to have at least four kids—we need a decent house with a yard.”

Garrett shuddered.

“So I’m leaving,” Clive said, as if it was that simple.

Rachel felt a twinge of envy. Not that she wanted four kids…but to choose a whole new path and to feel so excited and happy about it…

“My new firm won’t be competing with KBC, so Tony suggested I stay on to do a proper handover,” Clive continued. “I’ll finish at the end of the month.”

“Congratulations.” Garrett stood to shake Clive’s hand.

Rachel followed suit. “I hope it goes brilliantly for you.”

“We need to talk about the implications of this on the Brightwater pitch,” Tony said.

“I won’t be pitching tomorrow,” Clive said. He grinned. “Tony tells me both your pitches are better than mine, anyway.”

Now he tells us,
Rachel thought.

“The implication seems pretty straightforward,” Garrett said. “Rachel and I are head-to-head. It’s a fight to the death between the two of us.”

“That’s a tad dramatic,” Tony said comfortably. Rachel could tell he rather liked the gladiatorial metaphor.

She met Garrett’s gaze…and couldn’t read his expression.
Don’t go distant on me,
she telegraphed with her eyes. To no visible effect. Maybe
go distant
was what they both needed to do, until tomorrow was over.

By removing himself from the equation, Clive had changed the dynamic drastically. She and Garrett had talked about Clive, speculated about his pitch—they’d even raided his office together! A third person’s involvement had provided an outside focus for the intense competition and the hostility that went along with that.

Now, it was Rachel v. Garrett.

Now, they were two.

Now, her only enemy was the man she’d just agreed to a relationship with.

* * *

G
ARRETT
STARED
AT
HIS
bedroom ceiling, washed a ghostly gray by the full moon outside his window.

He felt the relief of a man who’d been spared the noose, courtesy of an eleventh-hour pardon. He felt none of the joy.

Whatever happened, this was going to turn out badly. The only positive thing was that Garrett had figured that out now, rather than later, and could take immediate action.

He would end things with Rachel.

Clive’s resignation had made a murky situation crystal clear.

With Clive in the running, the fact that two of the three of them would be fired had never been personal. But now, it was either Garrett or Rachel. All their energies tomorrow would be focused on defeating each other. The Brightwater pitch was a license to betray. How would they ever get past that?

They wouldn’t. Some obstacles were too insurmountable even for someone like Rachel. And
way
too insurmountable for Garrett.

In the past couple of hours, Garrett had had to face the fact that he didn’t care enough about Rachel. He liked her a lot—a hell of a lot, and he wanted her, too—but she wasn’t as important to him as other things. Like the KBC partnership, which over the past few weeks had come to feel like the culmination of all he’d worked for.

If he really cared about Rachel, he would be contemplating giving up the Brightwater pitch, so she could keep her job. He might not actually
do
it, but he’d think about it before he convinced himself it wasn’t necessary.

It hadn’t even crossed his mind.

And it wasn’t about to.

So. He would tell Rachel the relationship was a nonstarter. Right after their pitches, not before, so he didn’t put her off her stride. She’d be upset, because she had that holding-on thing going, but she’d get over it. She might not be a big fan of that unsettled childhood she’d had, but it had made her resilient.

It had also given her a thirst for adventure. She hadn’t figured that out yet, but it had been obvious to Garrett in her battles with him. In her unpredictable responses.

A new job might be the adventure she needed. She just had to get over her fear, Garrett thought, her belief that adventure had to equal disaster, when really it was all about risk management.

It was a shame she’d never made it to college. If she had a degree she’d have had more choices, then and now. She wouldn’t have been so scared of losing her job at KBC. She’d sure as hell have the confidence to demand a higher salary.

At least he’d guaranteed her a new job to walk into, and a good one. That call she’d taken tonight had been from one of the people he’d contacted on her behalf—Garrett had been on the receiving end of enough poaching phone calls to recognize the signs. Of course, he was way better at handling those calls discreetly than Rachel; she had broadcasted her guilt in the hunch of her shoulders and the pitch of her voice. But what mattered was that another firm had offered her a job. She would be fine.

Garrett turned his thoughts to his pitch. His team had done an excellent job. It was just unfortunate that the creative they’d developed didn’t resonate in his gut the way, say, the Lexus campaign had.

Imagine if Rachel won the Brightwater pitch, rather than him. He’d resent the hell out of her, and that was no basis for a relationship, either. As he knew from his own father.

He thought about Rachel’s family, wondered if her parents had decided on that move yet. His gut told him they were going to go. She’d be upset. He wondered if, in a close family like hers, her getting a college education might have had a positive effect on the rest of the family, too. That was the kind of thing she should be talking about in her pitch to Brightwater, with its focus on lower-income families. But he knew instinctively she wouldn’t. It was too close, too personal.

Shame, because it was a great angle. He wished he’d thought of it himself.

Hang on a minute…he
had
thought of it himself! And now that he had, it was sitting in his consciousness pulsing like a giant neon light, saying “Me first!” Complete with all those gut instincts that had been missing from the pitch he’d showed Tony yesterday.

The meeting at Brightwater was less than twelve hours away. Too late to change pitches now.

It’s never too late.

Hell. Garrett ran a hand through his hair. Did he really want to do this? Scrap the pitch his team had crafted in favor of a half idea?

His gut said yes.

He wouldn’t be scrapping everything—the media strategy would say the same. But with more emphasis on digital—he could call up one of those nerdy programmer guys they used, get some kind of mock-up underway right now. Those kids stayed up all night.

And while twelve hours would ordinarily be nowhere near enough to come up with brilliant creative, he wasn’t starting from scratch. He had a real live example to work from.

Rachel. And her family.

It occurred to him that she would hate to be used as a case study in his pitch.

He wouldn’t use her name, of course. Still, she would see it as a betrayal, being so big on loyalty herself.
If I do this, I’ll kill any chance of a future relationship with her.

Hadn’t he already said the Brightwater pitch was a license to betray? Might as well go the whole hog.

Garrett snapped on his bedside lamp and went to find a pen and paper.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

R
ACHEL
HAD
BEEN
UP
since four-thirty, running through the pitch she already knew by heart. No mistakes allowed today. So she wouldn’t make them. She could rely on herself for that.

She knew this was the best pitch of her life. She’d pushed herself beyond her own limits in terms of creativity. Thanks in no small measure to Garrett, who had alternately embarrassed, provoked and inspired her into raising her game.

At seven, the limo Tony had ordered turned up. Her boss was inside. Garrett was, of course, driving himself. Rachel swallowed at the thought of them going head-to-head today.

She’d built him up in her mind to be this unstoppable creative force. But today, she needed to stop him.

With the added complication that last night, before Clive had removed himself from the equation, she’d agreed to a no-holds-barred relationship with Garrett.

Except, somehow, she didn’t think that was going to be a problem today. Not if she knew Garrett.

“Am I presenting first or second?” she asked Tony, who was watching the breakfast news on the backseat TV.

“We’ll toss a coin when we get there,” he said.

“Okay.” She resisted the urge to pull out her notes and go through them again. She knew this stuff cold.

She also resisted the urge to ask Tony if he thought Garrett’s pitch was better than hers. She knew he was impressed by hers—he’d been effusive in his praise, which was rare. That would have to be enough for now.

When they pulled up outside Brightwater’s office, Garrett was already waiting. Tony walked in ahead to notify the receptionist of their arrival.

“Hi,” she said to Garrett. She was close enough for her to smell his distinctive noncologne, and she couldn’t help smiling. Even though he looked exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept, and even though she could see what was on his mind.

“Hi, Rachel,” he said soberly.

“Just tell me,” she said, “did we stumble at our first obstacle?”

His dark eyes burned into her. “You didn’t,” he said. “I did.”

She’d expected it. Garrett was such a complex, wounded man; she’d known this would never be easy. Still, she ducked her head while she blinked away tears.

“I’m sorry, Rach,” he said, and she realized the contraction of her name had grown on her.

“Mark has asked us to go on up.” Tony returned from the reception desk.

They took the elevator just one floor. Mark and several other Brightwater folk were waiting in the boardroom. Introductions and handshakes all around.

Tony explained why Clive hadn’t come, then got down to business. “In the interest of fair competition,” he said, “we’ll settle the question of who goes first with a coin toss.” With a flourish, he produced a quarter from his pocket. “Loser pitches first. Heads or tails?” he asked Rachel.

“Garrett can choose.” Rachel gave him a small smile. “On your terms.”

“Heads,” he said. He didn’t smile back.

Tony tossed the quarter, caught it, turned it over on the back of his wrist. “Heads it is. You’re up, Rachel.”

She told herself that was a good thing. If she had to wait while Garrett pitched first, she would be second-guessing her own pitch. By the time she walked into that room, she’d be riddled with self-doubt. The client wouldn’t believe in her if she didn’t believe in herself.

“I’ll leave it up to you two to decide if you should sit in on each other’s pitches,” Tony said.

Rachel glanced at Garrett.

“I don’t mind,” he said with a strange doggedness. “Your call.”

She was desperate to see his pitch. But she didn’t want to do hers in front of him. In case he thought it was terrible, and she read that on his face. “No,” she said. “No sitting in.”

Garrett’s shoulders eased a fraction. After he left the room, she unzipped her portfolio and set up her storyboards—she still preferred paper boards to the digital presentations many of her colleagues favored.

“Mark, Bill, Kenton and Margaret—” the clients were impressed she’d remembered their names, she could tell “—it gives me great pleasure to share with you the ideas that my team at KBC has come up with. We believe Brightwater’s colleges can dominate the low-income private college sector…”

Her introduction listed the reasons why Brightwater had potential to do just that and the obstacles that might prevent such a thing happening. Nods around the table told her she’d brought her audience along with her. This was the bit she was good at.

“And now,” she said, “may I present the campaign that will achieve your goals.”

This was the part she wasn’t so good at. Or at least, she wasn’t the best. Garrett was the best.

But she’d outdone herself this time, and the murmur of pleased surprise from two of the clients told her they agreed.

As she gave her presentation, her confidence grew. And there was no mistaking the approval on the clients’ faces. With the exception of Bill Caspar, the CEO, who sat silent, his face inscrutable, flipping a pen between his fingers.

When Rachel sat down, she actually got a round of applause. That didn’t happen every day. At least, not to her.

“That was excellent, Rachel,” Mark Van de Kamp said.

Tony confined himself to a nod.

She shook hands all around, and then it was time to give over to her rival. Tony escorted her out of the room.

Garrett, sitting with his elbows on his knees, hands lightly clasped, stood. “How’d it go?”

“She was brilliant,” Tony said. “You’ll have to be damn good to beat her.”

Really? Some of her worry eased.

“Well done.” The dark cloud hanging over Garrett lifted, and he grinned at her. Rachel saw something proprietorial, like pride, in his face.

“Let’s go, Garrett,” Tony said.

“Good luck,” she said.

She had to assume Garrett had taken a completely different approach from her. Whatever he’d come up with would be amazing; that was a given. But was it more amazing than her work?

As Rachel waited, her mind drifted over the past few weeks, over the time she’d spent with Garrett. She realized she’d loved every minute of it, even the times when she’d been so angry she could have slapped him.

She’d laughed more in those weeks than she had in a year. She’d woken each morning with a sense of excitement, of anticipation for what the day might bring. His kisses had driven her to intensely pleasurable distraction. And when everything had gone wrong—the CLIO nominations, her screwup with LeeAnne—Garrett Calder, the least reliable man in the world, had been there for her. Had made it better.

Oh, help. I love him.

Rachel realized her mouth had sagged open in that way Garrett liked to draw attention to. She snapped it shut. How could she have fallen in love with him? Easily, it seemed. And now, he’d given up at the first hurdle.

“I expected that,” she said aloud. Her voice echoed in the empty hallway. She knew he wasn’t good at relationships and that he was wounded. That he’d rather let go than be hurt. But she also knew him to be capable of great loyalty, great passion. Garrett just needed to trust that he was capable of giving those things to her. And to trust that she would give them to him.

I’ll fight for him.
No begging, no manipulation, no clinging…she would just do her utmost to show Garrett she wasn’t about to give up on him. When he trusted that, he might trust enough to love her back.

It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be worth it.

* * *

I
T
FELT
LIKE
HOURS
before Rachel heard the sound of clapping from the boardroom, though her watch told her it had been a mere thirty-three minutes. It was another five minutes before the door opened and Tony and Garrett emerged. Tony looked slightly dazed.

Rachel swallowed. “How’d you do?” She echoed Garrett’s earlier question.

“Good, I think.” Did she imagine it, or was he not meeting her eyes?

“Better than good,” Tony said, without the smug smile Rachel would have expected.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

Tony threw Garrett a pointed look.

“I changed my pitch,” he muttered.

Rachel tensed, mainly because everyone else seemed so tense. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said with an impatience that used to bug her, which she recognized as defensiveness, “I came up with a better idea after Clive quit, and I worked through the night to turn it into a pitch for this morning.”

Obviously without telling Tony, who’d approved both their pitches in private showings last week.

What could Garrett have thought of, that was so good it justified throwing out weeks of his team’s work?

“When will we know the client’s decision?” Rachel asked Tony, trying to sound unruffled.

“Mark said the pitches will receive immediate consideration. I’d say we’ll hear in the next day or so. Maybe even this afternoon.”

And then, either she or Garrett would be out of a job.

She turned to him. “What made you—?”

His cell phone rang. “I need to take this,” he said, without even looking at the display.

Whoever it was, he wasn’t pleased to hear from them.

“What do
you
want?” he said impatiently into the phone. Charming as ever. Then he cursed. “I’m on my way.” He pressed the off button. “I’ve got to go,” he told Rachel and Tony.

“Is it Stephanie?” she asked, alarmed.

But he was striding away, ignoring the elevator in favor of taking the stairs two at a time. It was a safe bet that by the time Rachel and Tony reached the parking lot, Garrett’s BMW would be long gone.

“What the hell?” Tony said impatiently.

Rachel said, “I guess we’re taking the train.”

They had half a carriage to themselves on the train, so Rachel took the opportunity to talk to Tony about the pitches.

“Was Garrett brilliant?” she asked.

He nodded. Rachel forced a smile. “That’s great. Another CLIO coming up, huh?”

“Maybe.” Tony scrolled through the messages on his mobile phone without reading them. “Rachel, did Garrett tell you anything about his new pitch?”

“Not a thing,” she said. “Why?”

Tony grimaced. “Sometimes that guy is more trouble than he’s worth.”

Tony wouldn’t be saying that come CLIO night next week, she suspected.

“That’s the price of brilliance,” she said. “I know Garrett’s not easy, but creatively he seems to leapfrog over everyone else.”

“He does.”

Rachel cleared her throat. “Tony, now that Clive has gone, I’d like to ask KBC to reconsider the plan to fire an executive account director. Both Garrett and I have made a significant contribution. You’re sending a very negative message to the rest of the staff when you show you’re willing to ignore that.”

He nodded. “I agree, it doesn’t look good, but financially…” He sighed. “Rachel, I’ll ask the partners to look at the numbers again, okay?”

“Great,” she said. “Thanks, Tony.”

* * *

G
ARRETT
TOOK
THE
STAIRS
to his condo two at a time. His key was halfway into the lock when Stephanie opened the door.

“Oh, Garrett.” She took him into her arms, hugged him.

Instinctively, he hugged her back. “Any news?”

“Not yet.” His father spoke from the living area. Hell, Dwight had aged ten years. His face was gray, his cheeks sagging. His normally square shoulders had a distinct slump. “I’ve got calls in all over the Pentagon.”

Garrett walked over and shook his father’s hand. Which seemed totally inadequate, but it was more than he’d done in a long time. His father held the clasp a moment longer than natural.

“Tell me what happened,” Garrett said.

Stephanie sank down onto the sofa. Dwight joined her there, while Garrett took the leather armchair.

“Your brother was flying a routine reconnaissance mission along with two other choppers at 0800 local time this morning,” Dwight said. “On their way back, Lucas and his copilot saw a pursuing aircraft and tried to make contact. The other guy opened fire—we’re not quite sure who they were yet. Two of the choppers made it back. Lucas’s chopper was hit and went down.” He dug his fingers into his knees. “It didn’t go into the sea—we’re fairly sure of that. They were the last in the formation. They were still over land.”

Garrett was relieved to let go of a vision he’d had of his brother’s helicopter sinking beneath the waves of the Persian Gulf.

“Best outcome,” his father said with a staunch determination that raised Garrett’s hackles, “is that both men bailed out and are awaiting rescue. We have no reason to think that’s not the case at this stage. A crew will go in under cover of darkness to look for them.”

“They must have had signaling devices,” Garrett said. “Beacons. Radios.”

His father’s lips pressed together.