Third Time's a Charm (13 page)

That made sense. And he did have a few basic marketing courses under his belt, though he’d have to pull out his notes and go over them. Not a bad piece of advice. He tossed the rolled-up receipt in the trashcan and eyed Allie suspiciously. “Does Tori know you’re here?”

The blue-green eyes went round. “No, and I don’t think you should tell her.”

“Why not?”

The baby was working herself up into a major tantrum. Her little face turned red under the thin blonde hair as she wailed and stretched her chubby hands toward the rack of batteries now out of reach. “Because Tori has a mind of her own, and I don’t want her to think she’s being manipulated. Otherwise she’ll drop you like you’ve got a contagious disease, and she’ll be furious enough with me and Joan to make family gatherings a living nightmare.” She flashed an apologetic smile as she struggled to keep hold of the squirming child in her arms. “I’ve got to get her home and put her down for a nap. But I’m glad things are progressing according to plan.”

Plan? Whose plan?

She whirled to leave. As she reached the automatic doors, Ryan thought of a question.

“Hey, Allie.” She turned. “Should I take her flowers?”

She grinned. “Now you’re thinking! But not roses. It’s too early for roses. She likes Gerbera daisies.”

The baby’s cries were silenced by the closing of the doors.

No roses, huh? Well, that was good. He couldn’t afford roses anyway. He’d never heard of Gerbera—was that a color, like fuchsia, or what? Well, whatever, daisies had to be cheaper than roses. Surely he could afford a few daisies.

The long, wooden runway glowed like a landing strip at
night, the crowd beyond the bright stage lights nothing but
a blur. Tori hovered behind the curtain and watched Kate, in
the wings on the opposite side, for the signal that her turn had
arrived. The skirt and blouse Tori had selected was ultra-chic,
ultra-professional, and the Bournes on her feet a classy accompaniment
to the ensemble. Her makeup was impeccable, the
shiny pink lipstick the perfect shade to complement both the
pale pink silk of the blouse and the bright blue of her eyes. She
looked her best, and she knew it. This trip down the runway
would be a piece of cake, and then she’d become the next AE
and get to wear a crown besides.

Across the stage, Kate gestured impatiently. Tori inhaled,
drawing courage into her lungs, and stepped out from behind
the cover of the curtains. She catwalked smoothly to the center
of the stage, stopped, and executed a perfect half turn.
The unseen crowd gasped with pleasure as they caught sight
of her. Cameras flashed from the darkness. Exhilarated, Tori
extended one elegantly clad foot and headed forward, down
the runway—

And stopped. The sleek, slender Bournes had become clunky
combat boots. Horror spread like a stain in her chest as she realized
the skirt she’d donned was now a pair of—
gasp!
—striped
Bermuda shorts. The pink blouse had become a horrible cocoa
brown with an orange tie that didn’t even match! Where had her
beautiful outfit gone? A snicker from the darkness multiplied as
the crowd caught sight of her humiliating ensemble. Soon their
laughter filled the vast auditorium, an assault on her eardrums.
Fire burned in her face as she whirled to run to the safety of the
stage curtains, only to find her way blocked.

Mitch stood watching her humiliation with that smug look
plastered on his face. “You are such a fraud,” he said, shaking
his head.

She started to protest, to say there’d been a terrible mistake,
she wouldn’t dare go out in public looking like this. But when she
saw what he held in his hand, the words stuck in her throat.
She stood, frozen, as he pulled the lid off of the cup and slung
the coffee straight at—

Tori sat straight up in bed, her heart pounding. She put her hands on each side of her head and squeezed, gulping huge draughts of air. What a horrible nightmare! She peeked beneath the covers, just to assure herself that her satiny pink pajamas hadn’t morphed into a fashion disaster while she slept. Reassured, she collapsed backward onto her pillow, willing her pulse to slow.

She hadn’t had a dream like that in years, not since college when she used to have nightmares about showing up for class and realizing she had no clothes on. Those dreams had produced the same explosion of heart-pounding horror and deep panic. This one was perfectly explainable, though. They’d uncovered those horrible shorts in one of the boxes of Grandpa’s clothes up in the attic yesterday, along with the brownie uniform and the crown. The coffee . . . well, the origin of that was obvious. And her anxiety over the pictures locked in the trunk of her car, not to mention the competition with Mitch for the Maguire account, was very real. Mitch’s words in the dream resounded in her ear.
You
are such a fraud.

She heaved a sigh and tried to expel the lingering feelings of disquiet with the breath. It wasn’t real. Just a bad dream, the result of a stressful day topped off by hours of work. What time had she finally gone to bed? Sometime after four. She turned her head toward the nightstand and opened a bleary eye to check the time—

And jerked upright for a second time. Eight fifteen! She’d overslept.

Her watch read nearly nine thirty when Tori stepped off the elevator with her handbag dangling from one shoulder and her laptop case from the other. Fran, the firm’s receptionist, looked up from the computer monitor resting on the corner of her reception desk. She lifted her arm and made a show of looking at her watch.

“You’re late.” Her pencil-etched eyebrows rose. “Kate’s called twice.”

Tori stopped mid-step. “She’s supposed to be on a flight to Chicago.”

Fran planted both elbows on the desk and rested her chin on her palms, her acrylic nails sparkling in the fluorescent light. “Her plane was delayed. She’s sitting in the Lexington airport.”

Great.
She’d taken her time getting dressed, counting on the fact that she’d be in the office by the time Kate landed in Chicago. If her boss had opted out of leaving a message and dialed the receptionist to find her, she must be irritated. “Why didn’t she call my cell phone?”

“She tried. It went straight to voice mail.”

Tori’s shoulders sagged. The battery had probably died again. When was the last time she charged it? She couldn’t remember. “Did she say what she wanted?”

Fran shook her head. “But the second time she asked to speak to Mitch.”

Terrific.
She let out a loud sigh and headed around the desk. Fran stopped her with a lifted finger. The pink acrylic, flecked with metallic sparkles, looked more like weapons than nails, a female version of Edward Scissorhands.

“You got another call too. Your sister, Allie. About fifteen minutes ago.”

Probably calling to yell at her for leaving without saying goodbye yesterday. That was a call she could wait before returning. “Thanks, Fran.”

She went to her cubicle and fished her cell phone out of her purse. Sure enough, the battery was completely dead. She bent over to rummage beneath the desk, where a mass of tangled wires sprouted from the power strip on the floor.

A familiar, insolent voice sounded from behind. “Looking good this morning, Sanderson.”

Tori straightened in a hurry and whirled around to find Mitch staring at her backside. His expression managed to look charming and wolfish at the same time. If he wasn’t so nice looking, she’d fire back an appropriately scathing response, but that little boy grin disarmed her every time. She smoothed her skirt with nervous fingers and tried to forget his taunting words in the dream.

His grin widened. “Or should I say you’re looking good this
afternoon
?”

She fought her instinct to stiffen, and instead forced an unconcerned smile as she stooped—facing him, this time—to grasp the phone charger’s cord. “I was up late getting some projects off my plate so I can focus on my new one.” Her mouth snapped shut. She didn’t owe Mitch an explanation. He was a co-worker, not her boss.

Not yet, anyway.

She banished that thought and hid any trace of worry from her tone. “I hear you’ve been covering for me this morning.”

He wandered in and sank into the single guest chair, elbows wide, hands cupped behind his head. “Not really. Kate had some questions about that report you gave her yesterday. I couldn’t answer them. You might want to check your voice mail.” His face took on a carefully nonchalant expression. “So, you haven’t started on your plan for the Maguire account yet?”

Tori hid a triumphant grin. He was worried. Good. The more effort he spent worrying about what she was coming up with, the less he had to come up with some brilliant plan she couldn’t top. She tugged on the charger cord and stepped over the muscular legs that stretched into the center of her cubicle.

“Not yet.” She plugged the charger into her cell phone and set it on the edge of her desk, then unzipped her case and slid the laptop out. “But I’ve got a few ideas.”

Totally untrue, because she’d been too distracted thinking about Daddy and that stupid shoebox still in the trunk of her car while she worked on the other projects. But it couldn’t hurt for Mitch to think she was well on the path of a dazzling campaign. She slid her laptop into the docking station and pressed the power button before giving Mitch a politely inquisitive look. “What about you? Have you started yet?”

His habitual smirk deepened. “I’ve got a few ideas myself.”

Worry shot through Tori like a spear. What had he managed to come up with in the twenty-four hours since they’d gotten their assignment? Behind that overly confident exterior, Mitch really was a smart guy. Smarter than her? She snatched up her purse and looked away as she stored it in the desk drawer so he wouldn’t see the worry in her face. It was entirely possible he’d come up with a better campaign than hers.

But she was not about to let him see even a hint of insecurity in her. If he got a whiff of her worries, he’d find a way to use it to his advantage.

She picked up her cell phone, tethered by the cord, and schooled her features into a mirror image of his confident smirk. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to check my voice mail now.”

He rose slowly, then stepped around the desk to stand beside her. She had to tilt her head slightly to look up at him, which set her teeth on edge. He smiled down into her face, obviously enjoying the advantage his height gave him. “Have a good day, Sanderson.”

He sauntered toward his own cubicle without a backward glance. Tori found her hands had clenched into fists. What was up with him calling her by her last name all of a sudden? He had always called her either Tori, like everyone else, or occasionally Victoria when he wanted to be really unctuous. Calling her Sanderson felt like an acknowledgment of the competition between them. Almost like a challenge being issued.

She forced herself to relax her grip on the cell phone. If that’s the way he wanted to play it, fine. She would give this project her best shot either way.

Even though she didn’t have the faintest idea how to begin.