“Hunter feels so secure in this he’s been calling in favors to get us the best sizzle reel possible,” I pointed out. “And last time I checked, he was the client, not Chuck.”
This was venturing dangerously close to sass territory that normally would have earned me a reprimand, but today I just got an indulgent chuckle of the ‘I’m about to impart some wisdom to this innocent na?ve sweet summer child’ variety.
“That he is. For now.”
I felt my hackles rise. “What are you saying?”
“Read the changes in the sky, Ally,” he said, sounding especially pleased with himself for the touch of metaphor. “Stormy weather’s coming, and if we want to keep this contract we can’t afford to back the wrong horse.”
I resisted pointing out that he’d changed metaphors mid-race. “Sir, with all due respect, the direction they want to take this in is completely antithetical to—”
“Allison, I’ve made my decision and that’s final.”
His voice had lost all its fake cheerfulness, and was grim and final and set in stone. And there was nothing I could do.
“At least talk to them,” he went on, his voice going back to its normal tone as he returned to pretending that I had a choice in the matter. “They’ll all be at that liquor industry event in the city, you know, the awards one?”
Message received. Fine. I would play nice as long as they did. Which meant that science would probably need to invent a new, shorter unit of time.
Especially since my temper was already going to be on a hair-trigger—Hunter was bringing Paige to that event. I’d planned to skip it for precisely that reason, but now it seemed I had no choice.
“All right, sir.” I tried not to sound as sour as a lemon. “I’ll chat them up for sure.”
“Glad to hear you’re still a team player,” he said, and after a few more minutes of polite chit-chat—essential both to politeness and to maintaining the fiction that he hadn’t just railroaded me—we said our goodbyes.
I stared at the phone, the full implications just starting to sink in.
Fuck.
#
“Martha!”
Martha jumped, and tried to hide the book she was reading under a pillow, though not before I got a good look at the cover: some kind of steamy sci-fi romance, with muscular Amazonians in space-suits surrounded by lithe, oiled, barely-clad men.
Well, that was one fetish.
“Ally Bo-Bally!” Martha said, trying to hide her flush. “What can a lady of the world such as myself do for you?”
“A huge favor,” I admitted. “My boss just steam-rollered me into attending this big social function—”
“And you need to check a boy-toy out of my man-harem to accompany you? Good thing for you I keep a Rolodex for these very occasions.”
It was actually kind of tempting. That was certainly one way to make Hunter jealous—but no, no, I wasn’t going to be that petty. I was going to rise above such things.
Well, a little way above such things.
No harm in making him see what he was missing, after all.
“Actually, I need a different Rolodex,” I said. “Got any recommendations for a place to get a nice outfit and hairdo, short notice?”
Martha’s eyes lit up. “Do I ever!” She stood, grabbing my arm. “Come on, let’s go snag the Rolls!”
“You said that was for emergencies,” I pointed out as she pulled me along like a fish on the line.
Martha cast a look back at me and my ensemble and shook her head with a pitying grin. “Ally, by any definition, this is an emergency.”
#
It was an hour since we’d pulled into the swanky store parking lot with a screech of tires that would have made an action hero envious, and we were only now all the way to the dressing room stage of the proceedings.
“Show me what you got!” Martha’s impatient voice called out from the other side of the doors.
“Give me a sec!” I pulled the hem to straighten it and stepped out.
“Oh, honey, no, no, no,” Martha said immediately.
My face fell.
“The A-line is a good cut for you!” she added quickly. “Really emphasizes your good points. And the silk? Thailand-sourced, top notch, points for that. It’s just the color. Saffron yellow? Who do you think you are, Viola Davis?”
I looked in the mirror again and conceded that she had a point. The yellow made my skin look like I was a jaundice victim.
“How do you know all this stuff?” I asked, retreating back into the changing room.
Martha snorted. “What, I can’t know things?”
“Of course you can,” I said, slightly muffled as I pulled the dress over my head. “I just expect you to know, like, car stuff, and secret tips for getting a few dozen guys mooning over you.”
“Oh, I got that too.” I could hear the grin in her voice. “But just ‘cause I go with the comfortable and sexually intimidating wardrobe of tank tops, dungarees, and combat boots these days doesn’t mean I didn’t have a fashionista past.”
“Did you?” I asked, trying for the life of me to picture it.
“No,” she admitted. “But hey, you don’t have to eat a pie to know how to roll the crust.”