Page 4 of A Hard Sell

“I mean…” she stammered. “We all know that was not usual behavior for you.”

Luka fell into his chair with a groan. “Thomas Badgley does not know that. Thomas Badgley thinks I’m a screw-up who dresses like a sloppy clown, shows up late and doesn’t meet deadlines. Could it be any worse?”

“You, um”—Tawney cringed—“actually have some toothpaste.” She pointed at the corner of her mouth. “Just here.”

“Iwhat?”

Then, the cherry on top, Ilona appeared in his doorway, as immaculate as ever, thick raven hair cascading onto her shoulders.

“You don’t even need to say it,” Luka told her, wanting to weep. He wiped at the toothpaste.

She pursed her perfect plum lips. “Design team meeting after lunch.” She turned to go, then paused to look at him again. “That means one o’clock sharp. And can you change?”

* * * *

Luka marched into the conference room at 12:49, storyboards tucked under his arm. On time—Check. Thankfully, he kept a pale blue dress shirt hanging in his closet at work for occasions such as these. Well, maybe notjustsuch as these. The blue made his eyes pop and went with the burgundy trousers. He had touched up his soft chestnut waves over the lunch break, sweeping his bangs just so over one eye. The sloppy clown was no more. He knew he looked good. Next up—Demonstrating competence.

Luka faltered a step, almost tripping over an errant chair, when he saw Thomas was already in the conference room. His suit jacket was gone and he was bent over the table, sleeves rolled up, arranging some papers. Luka was surprised he was there already, not to mention distracted by the way Thomas’ shirt pulled tight over his shoulders. He fought hard not to let it all show on his face.

“Oh, hello, Thomas,” he said, enjoying the way the two syllables fell off his tongue, hard and soft at the same time.

Thomas looked up with a flash of recognition and took in Luka’s improved appearance. “Luka, I believe?”

“Nice to meet you, officially.” He offered his hand.

Thomas took it, his grip firm, but not excessive. Luka’s hand tingled. Thomas’ cologne, something citrusy, but with a rich, spicy underlayer, sent a dizzying swirl down to his gut. The man was a walking sex pheromone. Every cell in Luka’s body was responding to Thomas at a biological level.

“You too,” Thomas rumbled.

Luka made himself let go of Thomas’ hand and placed the storyboards on the table. He opened his mouth to apologize for his performance that morning, when the door swung open behind them. They both turned and Luka groaned inwardly when Morgan sashayed in.

“Oh, Luka,” Morgan drawled. “You made it on time. And thank God you changed.”

“Morgan,” Luka replied through gritted teeth as the fine-boned blond breezed past him in a cloud of overconfidence and the aftershave that Luka hated.

“Morgan Di Meo,” he announced, thrusting his hand at Thomas. “I have to tell you, Mr. Badgley, I am such a huge fan. The work you did on the U State campaign? I practically enrolled myself.” His laugh was much too loud. He ran the fingers of his free hand over his short hair as they shook.

Thomas nodded politely. “Nice to meet you, Morgan. Please, call me Thomas.”

Luka seethed.

“Anyway,” Morgan continued, “we’re just thrilled to have you here. I know I was in the conference roomat leasttwenty minutes early this morning because I was so excited.”

That motherf—Luka began thinking, when he was interrupted by Finn barging in, telling Tawney the punchline of an inappropriate joke with his usual volume. Ilona and the rest of the design team filed in behind them. They found their places around the table, Luka fiddling with the corners of his storyboards while trying not to stare at Thomas.

“Thanks for gathering again, everyone,” Ilona started, joining Thomas at the head of the table. “Luka?” She wasn’t one for preambles.

Luka took a breath as he spread out his designs. Sartini was a prestigious wine label that had recently expanded into the fine-dining business. They had chosen Breakpoint as their new advertising firm, and the team had been working around the clock getting ready for their first presentation. He had mapped out their ideas for three different commercials, and was feeling pretty good about his work. He liked to keep ads simple—primal even. Strong images and sounds that would connect with something deep inside.

Thomas watched with a blank face, offering a small nod when Luka was finished. Then it was Morgan’s turn. Luka simmered as Morgan played the rough cut of the music for the commercial that Lukahad actually—secretly—written most of. He felt Tawney’s gaze on him as he tried not to squirm.

The tale of Luka’s relationship with Morgan was a sorry one. Morgan had arrived at Breakpoint a few months ago, handsome and charming, with striking cheekbones and wandering hands. Luka had been flattered when it started with some innocent flirting by the photocopier.

“Luka, is it?” The melodious voice came from behind him.

He whirled.Damn. “Sure is. I haven’t had the pleasure?”

“Well, I have,” the new face purred, gray eyes cool and confident. “Morgan Di Meo.” They shook hands, then he reached out and ran a finger down Luka’s sleeve. “I love your shirt.”

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