Underfoot

All that had changed as a result of her temporary insanity fifteen months ago. As she rushed into her office late brushing food particles from her suit, she prayed no surprises would greet her.

“Good morning, Dora,” she said to the PR group’s assistant. “How are you? Any pressing messages?”

Dora, who Trina was convinced was determined to replace her, took a casual sip from her latte. “Yup. There’s a meeting with marketing for the new season that started five minutes ago.”

Trina began to sweat. She stared at Dora. “This wasn’t on my schedule. Why did they start without me?”

Dora shot her a faux sympathetic glance. “Because Alfredo Bellagio called the meeting.”

“Crap. Is he actually on site or just speakerphone?”

“On site.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I offered to take notes for you during the meeting.”

I’ll bet you did. She felt her stomach tighten with pressure. The beginning of a panic attack. She’d never had panic attacks until fifteen months ago.

“Where are they meeting?” Trina asked.

“Umm, let me see,” Dora said, slowly perusing the few papers on her desk.

Trina resisted the urge to give Dora’s hair a strong yank. She was convinced that beneath Dora’s silky black locks lay a pair of horns. “I guess I can call Marc Waterson’s assistant. She would know.”

Dora immediately lifted a piece of paper and offered it to Trina. “No need. Here’s the message Ben left for you.”

Executive room, she read and rushed into her office to pull her laptop from the case then checked her desk for any further messages that Dora the devil may have delayed delivering. Nothing.

Mentally reassuring herself that her tardiness was no big deal, she took the elevator up to the executive floor and gave a nod to the gatekeeper.

She turned the doorknob as quietly as possible and entered the conference room that held at first glance about a dozen Bellagio executives and key employees who all looked at her.

Trina gave a falsely confident smile and murmured, “Good morning.”

She despised being late, especially for business meetings. It immediately put you behind the game, and Trina had always tried to stay on top of her game.

Bellagio was predominantly dominated by men of Italian descent with years of chauvinistic conditioning. She’d known from the beginning she would be putting herself in an uphill battle to get where she wanted to go. The chemistry of the people at the company, and the fact that they took innovative, even ballsey measures to increase their market share had been irresistible. Plus, she loved the product. Great shoes. Bellagio shoes did amazing things for a woman’s legs, rear end and her self-confidence, and for her, they were free.

Taking a seat at the large table next to her PR chief, she opened her laptop and booted it up. A cute peppy blond woman resumed speaking, pointing to a Power-Point presentation with pie charts indicating public opinion polls, studies and demographic profiles.

She typed a few notes as the woman began to display proposed ads for Fall and Winter shoes. After concentrating on the ads, she suddenly noticed the ad company’s logo in the corner of the screen.

Her stomach immediately drew into a tight knot of panic. Eager to get the attention away from her tardy entrance, she’d only taken a cursory glance around the room. She looked more thoroughly, her gaze taking in each person.

Leaning forward, she looked past her PR chief, past two marketing execs to VP Marc Waterson as he cocked his head to one side and there he was.

Trina’s breath stopped in her chest. Panic roared through her. Oh, my God, please help! She had known that eventually she would see him again. She’d prepared for a hundred scenarios, even this one, but her brain locked up.

Walker Gordon rose to his feet beside perky girl wearing his confident, reassuring half smile. His shoulders were broad and his black suit fit his lean, muscular body well. He was obviously still working out, she observed sourly. He was so well-groomed he almost could have been a model, but Trina knew that the sexiest thing about Walker wasn’t his body. It was the way his mind worked.

He was a fascinating mix of conservative and risk-taker. He came across as both solid and innovative and he didn’t rely on his charm to get a deal.

“We’re excited about this ad campaign, and about the prospect of working more with Bellagio,” Walker said. “Thank you for letting us bid for your business again. We’d love to have your feedback.”

He gave a nod of respect to Alfredo Bellagio and glanced around the room. His gaze lingered on her for a long moment and she suddenly felt self-conscious. She knew what he saw. Her hair had grown past her shoulders and was in dire need of a cut and style. Despite early mornings and nonstop days that sent her crawling to bed by 10:00 p.m., she still hadn’t quite gotten rid of fifteen pounds she’d gained. Feeling his scrutiny, she wondered if he saw the dark circles she tried to hide. Had she put on concealer this morning? Everything had been a blur.

“What is the model wearing underneath her trench coat and how can I get her number?” a guy from marketing cracked, breaking the silence.

Trina felt light-headed. She wondered how long a person could go without breathing. She had to get out of here. Just for a moment. A week would be better. But she would take a moment.

Her oxygen-deprived brain quickly provided an option. She pressed a button on her cell phone, casually placed it on the cherry table and seconds later it vibrated.

She picked it up. “Looks like someone from the Atlanta Constitution,” she whispered to her supervisor, Ben. “I’d better take it. Excuse me,” she said, and darted out of the room.

Heading straight for the restroom, she locked the door behind her and covered her face with her trembling hands. “Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. What am I going to do?”

When Walker had left for Paris and hadn’t returned for over a year, she’d told herself the fairy tale that she would never have to talk with him again.

The memory of what had happened between them the night of his nonwedding bombarded her. Exhausted from handling the press, maximizing exposure opportunities at the same time she performed damage control, she’d slipped into a bar close to her apartment for a mojito.

And that had been the beginning of when her pity had gotten her into mojito trouble, Trina thought as she stared into the ladies’ room mirror. She needed to pull herself out of Memoryville and get back to that meeting. Yanking a towel from the dispenser, she dampened it with cool water and pressed it against her forehead and throat.

She could do this. She could return to this meeting and pretend that she was okay-fine for a maximum of forty-five minutes. She could pretend. Pretending was what PR was all about.

Trina wasn’t pretending, however, that she didn’t want Bellagio to renew the advertising contract with Walker’s company. She’d strongly advocated putting the contract out for bid and the board had decided to give Walker’s group first shot. If they didn’t pan out, then Bellagio would accept other bids.

Reentering the room, she gave a businesslike nod and returned to her seat next to her supervisor.

“I like the sophistication of this campaign,” Walker said. “The models we have in mind will portray wealth and beauty. They’ll be the kind of person your customer wants to be.”

“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.”

CHAPTER FOUR

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.”

“Okay,” he said, wondering at her lack of friendliness. “You’re not upset about that night we—”

“No,” she said before he could finish. “It was just one of those strange things that happen. Like a meteor dropping in the desert. Or an airplane dropping frozen water on a house.”

He wrinkled his brow at the comparisons she chose for the night they’d spent together. He wasn’t sure he liked the second one. “I don’t really remember that much about—”

“Neither do I because we were both smashed. So there’s really no need to discuss it.”

He nodded. “I hope it won’t affect our working relationship.”

“If we work together, I’m sure it won’t be a problem. Long time ago.”

“We will be working together,” Walker said, determined to remove any doubt. “I’ll do what it takes to keep the Bellagio account.”

She didn’t jump for joy at his words, making him wonder. Trina had always been friendly toward him. Not seductive, but nice. Why the change?

“You do want me for this account, don’t you?”

“I want the very best for Bellagio,” she said. “How can we be sure you won’t head back to France?”

“Because I said I’m staying here. It’s not just for business reasons,” he told her. “My uncle just had heart surgery. He needs someone to live with while he recovers. I’ve been elected.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Wow. I never saw you as the nurturing type.”

“I’m not,” he said. “But this is different. He showed up for my graduations, gave my sister and brother and me money every now and then. He didn’t ever have any kids of his own, but he kept an eye on us after my father cut and ran.”

“Gordon curse,” she murmured.

“What?”

“Oh, it was something you mentioned about why you didn’t want to have children. Some sort of curse, long line of fathers…”

“Yeah,” he said, surprised that she recalled. “I didn’t remember telling you that. I don’t talk about my father much.”

She shrugged. “It was a very strange night.” She glanced at her watch again. “I need to run. I’m glad you’re doing well.”

“Same,” he said. “I’ll be seeing you soon and often.”

“Take care,” she said and slid into her chair, opening her laptop.

TRINA WATCHED the very fine backside of Walker as he left her office, and told herself to breathe. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of her baby daughter Maddie’s picture and held it in her lap. Her fingers began to tremble.

She hadn’t counted on him returning to Atlanta, let alone to Bellagio. Walker had plenty of accounts. He didn’t need Bellagio. And why put himself in a position where he had to respond to gossip and bad jokes about his failed wedding?

But she hadn’t counted on his pride. Trina had convinced herself that she wouldn’t meet him face-to-face again until she was on her death bed, or at least until Maddie, her daughter, graduated from high school.

She swore under her breath.

Dora burst through her doorway. “That was Walker Gordon. He’s so hot. Why did Brooke dump him?”

Trina’s hands continued to shake and she closed them around each other over the photo in her lap. “I couldn’t say,” she managed.

“But he seems like he’s so over her.” Dora twirled her finger around her hair. “You worked with him before. What do you know about him? He obviously works out. Do you know which club he belongs to? Where does he hang out?”

Trina stared at Dora in exasperation. “How would I know? He’s been hanging out in Paris for the last year.”

“Chill out. I was just asking. I’m single. He’s single. I wouldn’t mind a chance to help rebuild his—” She paused and smiled like a female devil. “Ego.”

“I don’t think his ego needs rebuilding,” Trina muttered.

“Oh really?” Dora asked, her face lighting up. “What makes you say that? Did he say anything about me? He gave me the look, you know, like he liked what he saw.”

“I’m sure he did,” Trina said, hoping her agreement would shoo Dora away. “You’re a pretty girl.”

Dora gave a coy smile. “Well, what a sweet thing to say. Thank you,” she drawled. “I’m so lucky I’ve never had a weight problem. I can eat anything I want.”

Before she’d gotten pregnant, Trina had been able to eat anything she wanted. Not so now. She gritted her teeth and smiled.

“You know, if you would lose ten pounds and cut your hair, I bet you would get out a lot more.”

“I don’t really want to get out a lot more right now,” Trina said.

Dora appeared not to have heard her. “I’m not sure you could get Walker’s attention but—”

Trina blinked at the insult. She should have seen it coming. The way Dora pulled a knife out in her sweetest tone reminded Trina of her mother. She took a deep breath. “Dora, trust me. I couldn’t be less interested in getting Walker Gordon’s attention.”

Dora fell silent and stared at Trina for a long moment. She narrowed her eyes. “You know something. What’s wrong with him?”

Gross miscalculation to reassure Dora of her lack of interest in Walker. Her second or third miscalculation of the day.

Trina spent the rest of the day unsuccessfully dodging Dora’s questions.

“Does he have a mental condition? Is he a secret sicko?” Dora asked an hour later.

“Not to my knowledge,” Trina said and left for a meeting.

When she returned, Dora followed her into her office. “Is he emotionally or physically abusive?”

“No,” Trina said in horror. “At least, I haven’t heard that he is.”

Dora sighed in obvious frustration. “Then maybe it’s something super personal.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Does he have a forked—” She stopped. “You know. Down there?”

“A forked wha—” She broke off as realization hit. “Absolutely not,” she said, then quickly added, “Not from what I’ve heard.”

Dora frowned. “Then why don’t you want him? He’s gorgeous. He’s loaded. He’s smart.”

“It’s probably hormonal,” Trina manufactured. “Since I had Maddie, I’m not interested in anyone. I’m much more interested in a good night’s sleep.”

“Oh,” Dora said with a nod of sympathy. “And that’s probably why you’ve let yourself go.”

Trina blinked. She should have seen that insult coming. Counting to ten, she gritted her teeth. “How kind of you to notice.”

Dora’s eyes widened. “Oh, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It’s just obvious you’re not putting a lot of effort into your appearance. I could help you if you’d like.”

“That’s okay, Dora. What I’d like is for you to print the press releases for Jenny Prillaman’s new designs along with the accompanying letters. I’d like to give them a quick once-over before they’re sent out. Thanks,” she said in a dismissive tone.

Trina took her quick lunch break at the company day-care center. Due to a bumper crop of pregnancies and babies, Bellagio had joined with another company close by to provide service for the children of their employees.

After going through three nannies, Trina had brought Maddie to the day-care center with a few reservations. She preferred one-on-one care for her daughter and also worried about infections, but she loved the proximity and the convenience of visiting Maddie when she could squeeze in a break during her workday.

She walked into the room for babies where her six-month-old daughter was being fed oatmeal by an assistant teacher. “How has she been today?”

“Sweet, but active. I think she may be an early crawler. Good luck,” the teacher said with a rueful smile.

Just then, Maddie glanced up and caught sight of Trina. She let out an earsplitting shriek and banged her fists on her high chair.

“Looks like she’s happy to see you,” the teacher said.

A thrill shot through Trina. Her child’s adoration for her never failed to give her heart a squeeze. “How’s my little carrot cake?”

Maddie gave a wide oatmeal-lined smile and Trina walked over to take over the feeding duty. She brushed a kiss over her daughter’s soft head where her carrot-red topknot tilted to the right.

“And how has your day been?” Trina asked Maddie as she lifted the spoon to her daughter’s rosebud mouth.

Maddie swallowed the oatmeal and made a gurgling sound and other sounds in an unintelligible language as if she were making conversation.

“Gramma Aubrey would not approve of talking with your mouth full, but we’ll wait on that one. Okay?” Trina said with a nod.

Maddie nodded and opened her mouth for another bite. Trina finished feeding Maddie then cleaned her face and hands despite her baby’s protests.

After changing her diaper, Trina carried Maddie to a rocking chair in a quiet corner of the room and began to rock. After a morning that had shaken every nerve in her body, the weight of her little daughter in her arms felt so reassuring.

As Maddie relaxed, Trina felt her own heart rate and her breathing slow. The muscles in the back of her neck loosened. She would have never predicted it, but in her arms, Trina felt as if she were holding the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.