Leanne Banks: Underfoot

“Anyone mention the bar ads yet?” she whispered to her boss, Ben.

He glanced at her and shook his head. “No. Good point.” He turned toward Walker. “One of the things we want to achieve with this campaign is appealing to a younger demographic. I believe we discussed via e-mail that we wanted to see an ad in a bar featuring a well-dressed woman with men surrounding her offering her drinks. And of course, she would be wearing Bellagio shoes. To target younger men, we also suggested an ad of a man watching a sports game with beautiful women on either side.”

Walker shot a quick glance at perky girl.

Perky girl cleared her throat. “We’d already put together the proposal when we received that memo, but we can have something for you by the end of the week.”

Uh-oh. Busted. Trina saw just a hint of tension in Walker’s jaw, but she’d bet Miss Perky would do well to get her resume ready for some serious faxing.

“We can have it for you later this week,” Walker corrected in a crisp voice. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

“Who’s going to cover for Walker when he’s in Paris?” Trina whispered to her supervisor.

Her supervisor nodded. Ben cleared his throat. “We also need to know who will be covering Bellagio. If you’re handling international accounts in Paris, we need to know who our point person will be.”

Expectant silence descended over the room. Trina glanced at the board members and saw that Ben had asked the question on everyone’s mind. The question that would open the door for Bellagio to work with another advertising agency.

Walker’s answer and subsequent absence from her life would provide her with a peace of mind that money couldn’t buy.

She turned her attention to Walker.

His jaw was set and the expression in his eyes reminded her of a gladiator going into a fight. The expression made her uneasy.

“I’ll be your point man,” he said. “I’m not going back to Paris.”

AS SOON AS HE ANNOUNCED himself as the point man, that he wouldn’t be returning to Paris, Walker felt the level of tension in the room drop at least sixty percent. The knowledge boosted his confidence and would ultimately boost earnings for his company.

Brooke Tarantino might have dumped him at the altar on live television. She might have stomped his ego into the ground and made him look like a joke. She might have succeeded in motivating him to leave Atlanta in order to get his mojo back.

But Walker was hell-bent and determined on keeping the Bellagio account. He’d nurtured this account from the beginning and it was growing bigger every year. Atlanta would burn again before he would let another agency raid his account and take the spoils.

“That’s good to know,” Alfredo Bellagio said. “So you’ll give us some more ads on Friday and we’ll think some more.”

Walker nodded, feeling a shot of adrenaline. He would need to hustle to pull it together, but he could do it. He’d done it before. Everyone in the room stood, taking Alfredo’s words as a signal that the meeting was adjourned.

Walker shook hands with Alfredo and one of the VPs sitting next to him. He caught sight of Trina Roberts moving toward the door and he remembered that one hot night….

Her gaze slid away from his. Curious, he thought. They’d parted on good terms. It had been a one-night stand. Damn good one from what he could remember. Unfortunately he couldn’t remember much because he’d been loaded.

He sure didn’t want awkwardness between them now. Not now when he needed every Bellagio insider backing him. He made a mental list of who he should contact personally. Marc Waterson would be inclined to back him. After all, his fiancée, Jenny Prillaman, had been fired as a result of the Brooke wedding debacle. Fortunately she’d been rehired. He made another mental note to contact the marketing VP.

And Trina, he thought. He may as well catch her in her office now. Turning to the assistant that had been assigned to him, he motioned toward the presentation materials. “Please go ahead and pack everything up, Stephanie. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

He left the conference room and made his way toward Trina’s office, waving at people he hadn’t seen in over a year. With a nonchalance no longer feigned, he’d prepared himself for discomfort, pity, even lame jokes. A year away from Brooke Tarantino had cured him. Hell, a month away from her had cured him.

Truth was, Brooke hadn’t crushed his heart. She’d just blasted his ego and temporarily disrupted some of his business plans. After a year spent developing the European market and enjoying the attention of more than one creative, attentive mademoiselle, he was as good as new.

He punched the elevator button and nodded at the receptionist. “How’s it going, Thelma? I meant to ask, are your kids doing okay?”

The woman blinked. “Oh. I wouldn’t have expected you to remember. It’s been a long time since you’ve been—” She broke off and cleared her throat as if she didn’t know what to say.

“And a lot has happened. All water under the bridge, now,” he said cheerfully. “And your kids?”

“Good,” she said, clearly relieved. “Benjamin is playing Little League this year.”

He shook his head. “They grow so fast. It seems like just yesterday you were talking about his first steps.”

“You’re so right,” she said as the elevator door slid open. “You have a good day. It’s good to see you again, Mr. Gordon.”

“Walker,” he corrected. “You’ll be seeing me a lot more often now.” He took the elevator down two floors and headed for the PR suite of offices.

A dark-haired woman sitting at the receptionist’s desk gave him a thorough once-over and smiled. “How can I help you?”

Her voice oozed invitation. He smiled in return. “I just wanted to speak to Trina Roberts for a minute. Is she in her office?”

“Sure. She just returned from a meeting. You can go on in…Mr.…?”

“Gordon. Walker Gordon.” He saw the moment the woman registered who he was.

“Oh, Brooke’s—” She covered her mouth in horror.

“No problem. That’s ancient history,” he said, and headed for Trina’s office. The door was open. She was standing in front of the window, gazing outside as if she were lost in thought. Her hair was longer than he remembered, darker blond. The style was more casual. He remembered Trina as chicly manicured from her head to her toenails. She filled out the suit she was wearing differently. She’d been model slim the last time he’d seen her.

He watched her bite her lip and wondered what else was different. “Hey. Better not let Ben see you staring out the window on company time,” he joked.

She jerked around and gaped at him, her chocolate-brown eyes wide with surprise. Almost shock. “Um, hi. What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you, too,” he said and laughed.

“Sorry,” she said, pushing her hair behind her ear and moving toward her desk. “How was Paris?”

“Healing,” he said. “But I’m ready to be back. I’d like to know you’re on my side with keeping the Bellagio account. Can we get together for dinner tonight? Tomorrow night?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

She refused him so quickly he blinked. “Hmm.” He picked up her left hand. “I don’t see signs of engagement or marriage.”

“I have other commitments. Sorry.” She shot him a quick glance. “Looks like things are going well for you.”

“Except I’m going to need a new assistant,” he said, referring to the gaffe during the presentation.

“Not a bad idea,” she said with a smile and glanced at her watch. “I wish I could talk, but my schedule’s packed today.”