That New York Minute. Abby GainesЧитать онлайн книгу.
TOOK A TRAIN to Princeton, New Jersey, where Brightwater had its headquarters, presumably so some of the luster associated with Princeton University might reflect on its private colleges. Smart strategy.
She arrived in plenty of time for the meeting. Before her colleagues. If punctuality was a deciding factor for the KBC partnership, she would ace the promotion.
Since the morning was sunny but not too hot, she stood outside to wait. Tony and Clive were next to arrive. They’d caught the same train and shared a cab from the station. Coincidence, or clever planning by Clive? She didn’t think of him as a schemer—six foot four, slow-moving and good-natured, he was the epitome of a gentle giant.
There was no sign of Garrett. Dared she hope that he’d thrown in the towel?
“Good weekend?” Rachel asked Clive, trying to gauge how much time he’d spent reading up about private colleges.
“I had my in-laws staying,” he said. “They’re helping us paint the apartment.”
“How nice.” Didn’t sound like he’d been able to work. She checked her watch … oops, she wasn’t supposed to be doing that so often. Three minutes past nine. Garrett couldn’t be coming; even he wouldn’t dare to be late today. “Shall we go in?” she said cheerfully.
Tony scanned the parking lot. “Any idea how Garrett’s getting here?”
He’d barely finished speaking when a black BMW M5 roared into the lot.
“I think,” Rachel said, “he’s driving.”
Garrett parked right in front of them, in a space that wasn’t strictly a space. He got out of the car empty-handed. No briefcase. No notepad.
Rachel felt suddenly weighed down by her tools of the trade. Un-nimble. At least I was here on time. She waited for him to apologize for keeping them waiting.
“Hi,” he said to Tony.
Tony nodded and glanced at his watch.
“Is that peanut butter on your tie?” Garrett asked Clive.
“Probably,” Clive said equably.
Garrett’s gaze skimmed over Rachel’s black silk blouse and dropped to the hem of the Pick me, I’m the best cerise skirt that ended just above her knees.
“Love the pink, Rach,” he said, his voice deepening. “Your legs aren’t bad, either.”
Good grief, the guy had a career death wish!
That was fine by Rachel. Tony opened his mouth to object to Garrett’s comment, but she held up a hand to tell him she could deal with it.
“Cerise,” she corrected Garrett coolly. “And it’s Rachel. I don’t expect my legs to affect the outcome of this meeting.”
How pathetic did he think she was, to fall for another attempt to disconcert her?
He peered closer. “Don’t underestimate yourself—they’re damn good.”
“That’s enough, Garrett,” Tony snapped.
Garrett shrugged. A twinge of envy surprised Rachel. When she’d let herself think about it, KBC’s decision to fire two creative directors filled her with fear and anger. Consequently, she was on her best behavior. Garrett’s don’t-give-a-damn attitude spoke of a courage she didn’t have.
In their meeting, Mark Van de Kamp, Brightwater’s marketing director, seemed excited about the level of creative talent he was being offered. He gave them a more in-depth briefing about the new colleges—actually a bunch of existing colleges the group had acquired—and their target market. Rachel managed to slip in a couple of what she considered insightful comments.
“Any questions?” Mark asked at the conclusion of his presentation.
Clive jumped in, showing a good grasp of the issues. Some of them, at least.
Rachel stepped up to the plate with one he’d missed. “Mark, there’s been a suggestion that companies like Brightwater exploit the low-income families they claim to serve, encouraging them to take out loans they can’t afford to pay back. How worried are you that what you’re doing will be seen in that light?” With her own nieces in mind, she’d spent half of Sunday researching issues surrounding low-income families and college fees.
Garrett looked surprised—whether at the information or the fact she’d come up with such an unexpected question, she wasn’t sure. Tony seemed intrigued. All in all, Rachel felt as if she’d made a strong attempt to step outside the box.
“Good question.” Mark smiled at her. “Those other organizations have typically offered punitive loan conditions and poor academic quality. Our loan rates will be competitive, and we’re currently lining up endorsements by Action Against Poverty and the NAACP in support of the quality of our programs.”
“Sounds good.” Rachel made some notes on her legal pad.
Logic dictated it was Garrett’s turn to ask the next question.
She set down her pen so she could observe The Shark in action.
For long seconds silence reigned.
“So tell me, Mark,” Garrett said, “If Brightwater was a fruit, what fruit would it be?”
What?
Clive glanced down at the peanut-butter stain on his tie, so Rachel couldn’t read his expression. Tony froze in his seat. Garrett was straight-faced, totally relaxed.
“Hmm.” Mark propped his chin on his hand. “That’s very interesting, Garrett, very interesting indeed.”
It’s a crock! He’s kidding!
Both Tony and Clive took their cue from the client, and nodded.
Excuse me? Am I the only rational person in this room?
Garrett’s glance flicked toward her, as if he could read her thoughts. She couldn’t suppress an eye roll. His eyebrows rose in spurious inquiry.
“I think I’d have to say … a melon,” Mark said.
“Cantaloupe or honeydew?” Garrett shot back.
Oh, puh-lease.
“Cantaloupe, definitely.”
“I see,” Garrett said. “Thanks, Mark, that’s useful.” He smiled at Van de Kamp, and it was such a rare thing, it was as if the sun had come out from a cloud. Rachel could practically see the man basking in its warmth.
GARRETT OFFERED THEM ALL a ride back to the office. While Tony and Clive were signing out at the reception desk, Rachel caught up with him on his way to the parking lot.
“What was that about?” she demanded.
“What?” He sped up, forcing her to almost jog.
“Melons,” she said.
He didn’t slow, but his gaze flicked down over her fitted blouse. “No comment, though I’m sure they’re very nice. I’m more of a leg man.”
She sputtered a laugh … and realized he was paying her legs some considerable attention. “Garrett, be serious. You can’t tell me that’s how you normally take a brief.”
“Oh, dear, have you been doing it wrong all this time?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, I have not. But I don’t get what you—” She stopped. “You’re quitting. Aren’t you?”
He walked faster. “What do you mean?”
“Those comments, way too outrageous even for you. You’re leaving KBC.” She was unable to contain a triumphant grin as she kept pace.
“No, I’m not,” he said, annoyed. Totally unconvincing.