Norah just arched a brow.
“Fine, fine. But I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow. I’ve got some concepts kicking around in my head for the Rembrandt job.”
“I look forward to hearing them. To. Mor. Row.”
“Yes, boss.”
As Cecily walked out, Norah’s personal assistant walked in.
“Don’t even start with me, Christoff.”
“Not even back a day and you’re covered up. We aren’t that behind from the holiday.”
As he moved toward her desk, Norah automatically closed the files she’d pulled herself earlier in the day. No reason to alert anyone else to her inquiries until she decided what to do about them.
“I’m just trying to get ahead a bit so I can take New Year’s off.”
He collapsed gracefully into one of the visitor’s chairs and crossed his Ferragamo boots. “Honey, we both know you’re going to bring your fabulous dress and get ready here, before you and Mr. Tall, Dark, and GQ show up fashionably late for whatever It Party is the place to be.”
“Just because it’s what we did last year…”
Christoff shut her up with a Look. He tapped the side of his nose. “I am wise to your ways, milady. You shouldn’t be hitting the ground running this hard until after the first of the year.”
Norah sighed. “I have my reasons. Now go ahead and get out of here. I mean it. Out of the office.”
He crossed his arms. “I don’t like abandoning you while you’re drowning.”
“I am not drowning. Go home and watch your DVR backlog of Project Runway. All this will still be here tomorrow.”
“Only if you promise you’re not going to work half the night. I’m calling up here in an hour to make sure you’ve left.”
“Fair enough. I promise.”
He made an I’m watching you gesture with his fingers. “I’ll know if you just don’t pick up.”
He probably would. Norah had long since stopped wondering how Christoff knew the things he knew. She plastered on an indulgent smile and made shooing motions until he walked out of her office.
As soon as the door shut, Norah wilted, letting go of the Everything’s Okay facade she’d been using all day. Everything was most definitely not okay. Rising, she crossed to the window of her office, staring out at the twinkling lights of the Chicago skyline. She’d worked her ass off for Helios Creative to earn that view, done good work. Exceptional work. She was tenacious and she was thorough. The harder the sell, the more determined she became, rallying to the challenge like a heavyweight going into a title fight. Her honeyed eloquence had produced the highest success rate of anyone in the firm, save her boss, and she’d rocketed through the ranks to Vice President of Sales, getting dubbed The Closer. Together, she and Pierce Vargas were an absolute marketing dream team. Everybody said so.
But what was the price? How many lives had she destroyed in her pursuit of success?
The door behind her opened, but she didn’t turn.
“Finally took the lock off, huh? I was starting to wonder if you were avoiding me.”
“I had a lot of work to do.” She watched Pierce cross the room in the reflection, dispassionately noting the artfully mussed hair, the tailored suit trousers tha
t still held a crease even at this late hour. He always looked like he’d stepped out of the pages of a magazine ad. So did she. It was part and parcel of the job. Perfect. Polished. Professional. As he slid his arms around her waist, they looked every bit the power couple.
Pierce dipped his head to press a kiss to her neck. “Welcome home, babe.”
Norah stiffened and stepped away, wishing viciously for a tumbler of scotch she could drain before hurling the glass at his head.
Not a stupid man, Pierce stayed put, angling his head to study her. “Something wrong?”
“How long have we been partners?”
“In bed or out?” He flashed a glib smile. “Did I miss an anniversary or something?” When she didn’t soften, he sobered. “We’ve been working together for a little over three years. Why?”