“This isn't Arlene.”
For the few hours her mind had been wrapped up in her work, she'd almost forgotten him. Almost. Hearing his voice now, she glanced involuntarily toward the roses. With the sunlight shining on them, the delicate petals were translucent. She couldn't neglect to acknowledge that she'd received them.
“Hello, Josh.”
“Hi. How's your day going?”
“Typically. I've been putting out brush fires.” His deep chuckle stroked her ear and sent a shiver tiptoeing down her spine. “Thank you for the roses.”
“You're welcome.”
“I'll return the vase to you as soon—”
“It's yours,” he said sharply.
“But—”
“We're reviewing the Seascape commercials this afternoon,” he interrupted brusquely. “Terry will be here. He asked that you come over. Ms. Hampson is tied up with another client. He wants your advice on when to air them, etc.”
Megan gnawed her bottom lip. “You can advise him on that as well as I can, Josh.”
“Yes, but he wants you.”
“Then what's he paying you for?” she asked nastily. If it was necessary for her to view the commercials, she would do it gladly, but she had a notion that her being there to voice an opinion was Josh's idea, not Terry's. If Jo Hampson weren't available this afternoon, the preview could be set for another time.
“Do you have an appointment after four o'clock?”
“Yes,” she said, without consulting her calendar.
“Four-thirty?” Josh asked tightly. His tone all but said he knew she was lying.
What was the use? She'd have to go. She didn't want another session with Atherton in which she would feel like she'd been tattled on. “Where?” she asked with a weary sigh.
“Here. Ask the receptionist to direct you to the viewing room. As I recall, you've never been here before.”
“I wouldn't be coming today if I could help it.”
“Four-thirty, Mrs. Lambert,” he said briskly, and hung up, his frustration all too apparent.
It couldn't have exceeded hers.
At least she looked coolly professional and not like a flutter-hearted teenager, which was how she felt as she rode up the elevator to the Bennett Agency's suite of offices on the top three floors of the high-rise office building.
Her dress was a crisp linen navy blue with smart brass military buttons down the front and on the patch pockets over each breast. She wore it with navy-and-white spectator pumps. At the time she'd bought the dress, she lamented that she couldn't wear the red blazer that went with it—it clashed with her hair—so she'd settled for one in canary yellow. It might have been second choice, but the combination with her own unique coloring was stunning.
She'd been told how luxurious the offices of the Bennett Agency were, but she wasn't quite prepared for the sight that greeted her when the stainless-steel doors of the elevator whooshed open.
The carpet was dark hunter green and stretched across the expanse to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Couches and easy chairs covered with peach, ivory, or powder-blue damask were scattered strategically throughout the enormous reception area.
“Hello, Ms. Lambert,” the receptionist said cordially the moment Megan stepped onto the carpet, which sank a full inch beneath her shoe. “Mr. Bennett and Mr. Bishop are waiting for you. This way, please.”
Megan followed her across the room, which was permeated by soft, lilting music coming from invisible speakers. The receptionist, who had the grace, figure, and impeccable grooming of a high-fashion model, opened tall double doors and stood aside to allow Megan to pass through them. “Thank you,” she said before the woman closed the doors quietly behind her.
She hadn't been led to a projection room, but to Josh's office. His desk was gigantic, leather topped, and littered with papers. Storyboards, sketches, scripts, diagrams, magazines, and glossy photographs were strewn across its surface. So his executive image wasn't all for show. He did actually work.
“Megan.” She turned, startled by his voice. Why did it always sound like a caress? “Forgive us for being so casual, but it's close to quittin’ time.”
He was coming toward her from a long, deep leather sofa upholstered in chamois-colored kid. He had taken off his suit jacket, as had Terry Bishop, who also stood up to greet her. Josh took her elbow casually and escorted her toward the intimate arrangement of comfortable furniture that might have been found in someone's den.