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“Well, thank you for trusting me with the campaign,” I say. “I hope you’re happy with how it’s going so far.”
“I do trust you, but Amanda will also be at the meeting with Mason, their coach Paul Hartley, and Mr. Talman today, and I’m going to give her the opportunity to pitch her own ideas as well. It’s only fair.”
I rear back in my seat, feeling a sharp sting of hurt.
“I don’t understand,” I protest. “You just agreed that my campaign has been going really well. Is there a reason that you want to replace me in the middle of it? Have there been complaints?” Has Mason complained? The idea is surprisingly hurtful. I know I forced the clown costume on him, but it ended up going so well, and I proved right in the end. Can he not see that making the kids happy is the most important thing?
“No complaints.” There is a hint of steel to Cecelia’s voice. Cecelia, unlike Amanda, believes in playing fair, and she never lets personal feelings get in the way of business. She always does what is best for the client. “Amanda is also very talented, and I would like the Rovers to have the opportunity to hear her ideas.”
“Of course,” I say, trying and failing to hide my disappointment.
She turns to go, then pauses and glances back at me. “Listen, the campaign comes first. And it’s ultimately up to the Rovers who they want to choose. If they like Amanda’s pitch, then there’s no reason she shouldn’t be able to work with Mason on the next assignment. And then we can just evaluate it meeting by meeting.”
I think of Amanda, giggling and cooing at Mason, agreeing with whatever he said, and definitely not making him wear any goofy costumes.
Cecelia turns to go. I slide open my desk drawer and pull out a box of Rovers ganache. Unhappily, I grab one and take a bite, not even bothering to see which hockey hottie I’m devouring.
“I smell chocolate.” She spins around and frowns at me, jabbing an accusing finger in my direction. “You promised you had no chocolate in here.”
“I had my fingers crossed when I said that,” I say, trying not to sniffle.
“It’s only business, darling. Don’t make it personal.” She gives me a sympathetic smile and leaves the room.
I quickly go over my notes again. I’ve memorized all of my selling points and my gaze is staring to blur.
Sighing, I get up and head to the bathroom so that I can stand in front of the mirror and practice my pitch. I need to be able to deal with competition. And the owner of the Rovers cannot possibly argue with my results, which are obvious in the reports I’ve emailed to him. The numbers are there in black and white. I even pulled out quotes from social media, and of course included clippings of all the stories about Mason.
A stall door bangs open, and I jump, letting out a squeak of alarm. I should have checked to see if anyone was in here—what if Amanda had been spying on me while I rehearsed my pitch?
Mason walks out of the stall, a huge grin stretching across his face when his eyes alight on me. His hair has that perfectly rumpled look, and his eyes gleam with humor. He’s close enough that I catch a whiff of his cologne mixed with his earthy, masculine aroma.
He arches one eyebrow, shaking his head at me. “Rowan, Rowan, Rowan. You are stalking me. Just admit it. There’s no shame in it, I’m irresistible.”
“This is the ladies’ room.” I protest.
“It’s unisex.”
True, unfortunately.
I shoot him a narrow-eyed look. “I got your gift.”
“What gift?” He’s all wide-eyed innocence.
“The one addressed to ...” I trail off. Mrs. Mason Raker.
His mouth curves up in a wicked grin. “The one addressed to who, now?”
“Me.”
“Well, no, I did not send the gift, but I’m very jealous.” He shakes his head. “I should have known there’d be a long line of admirers standing between us.”
“Okay then.” I start to turn away.
“You’re talking to the mirror,” he observes. “Let me guess. ‘Mirror, mirror, on the wall’ ...”
I stifle a laugh, then remember the coconut balls and try to make myself look serious. “Listen, bud, it’s hard for me to cast my magic spells with you watching. And there’s a certain over-confident Homo sapien who needs to be turned into a toad.”
He doesn’t budge. “But seriously, though.”
