fortune.
Early the next morning, she telephoned him at the brokerage firm where he worked. He recognized her voice immediately.
'I've been going mad waiting for your call, Eve. We'll have dinner tonight and—'
'No. Lunch, tomorrow.'
He hesitated, surprised. 'All right. I was supposed to have lunch with a customer, but I'll put him off.'
Eve did not believe it was a him. 'Come to my apartment,' Eve said. She gave him the address. 'I'll see you at twelve-thirty.'
'I'll be there.' She could hear the smug satisfaction in his voice.
George Mellis was due for a surprise.
He arrived thirty minutes late, and Eve realized it was a pattern with him. It was not a deliberate rudeness, it was an indifference, the knowledge that people would always wait for him His pleasures would be there for him whenever he bothered to reach out and take them. With his incredible looks and charm, the world belonged to him. Except for one thing: He was poor. That was his vulnerable point.
George looked around the little apartment, expertly appraising the value of its contents. 'Very pleasant.'
He moved toward Eve, his arms outstretched. 'I've thought about you every minute.'
She evaded his embrace. 'Wait. I have something to tell you, George.'
His black eyes bored into hers. 'We'll talk later.'
'We'll talk now.' She spoke slowly and distinctly. 'If you ever touch me like that again, I'm going to kill you.'
He looked at her, his lips curved in a half smile. 'What kind of joke is that?'
'It's not a joke. I mean it. I have a business proposition for you.'
There was a puzzled expression on his face. 'You called me here to discuss business?'
'Yes. I don't know how much you make conning silly old ladies into buying stocks and bonds, but I'm sure it's not enough.'
His face went dark with anger. 'Are you crazy? My family—'
'Your family is rich—you're not. My family is rich—I'm not. We're both in the same leaky rowboat, darling. I know a way we can turn it into a yacht.' She stood there, watching his curiosity get the better of his anger.
'You'd better tell me what you're talking about.'
'It's quite simple. I've been disinherited from a very large fortune. My sister Alexandra hasn't.'
'What does that have to do with me?'
'If you married Alexandra, that fortune would be yours— ours.'
'Sorry. I could never stand the idea of being tied down to anyone.'
'As it happens,' Eve assured him, 'that's no problem. My sister has always been accident-prone.'
Berkley and Mathews Advertising Agency was the diadem in Madison Avenue's roster of agencies. Its annual billings exceeded the combined billings of its two nearest competitors, chiefly because its major account was Kruger-Brent, Ltd., and its dozens of worldwide subsidiaries. More than seventy-five account executives, copywriters, creative directors, photographers, engravers, artists and media experts were employed on the Kruger-Brent account alone. It came as no surprise, therefore, that when Kate Blackwell telephoned Aaron Berkley to ask him if he could find a position in his agency for Alexandra, a place was found for her instantly. If Kate Blackwell had desired it, they would probably have made Alexandra president of the agency.
'I believe my granddaughter is interested in being a copywriter,' Kate informed Aaron Berkley.
Berkley assured Kate that there just happened to be a copywriter vacancy, and that Alexandra could start any time she wished.
She went to work the following Monday.
Few Madison Avenue advertising agencies are actually located on Madison Avenue, but Berkley and Mathews was an exception. The agency owned a large, modern building at the corner of Madison and Fifty-seventh Street. The agency occupied eight floors of the building and leased the other floors. In order to save a salary, Aaron Berkley and his partner, Norman Mathews, decided Alexandra Blackwell would replace a young copywriter hired six months earlier. The word spread rapidly. When the staff learned the young woman who was fired was being replaced by the granddaughter of the agency's biggest client, there was general indignation. Without even having met Alexandra, the consensus was that she was a spoiled bitch who had probably been sent there to spy on them.
When Alexandra reported for work, she was escorted to the huge, modern office of Aaron Berkley, where both Berkley and Mathews waited to greet her. The two partners looked nothing alike. Berkley was tall and thin, with a full head of white hair, and Mathews was short, tubby and completely bald. They had two things in common: They were brilliant advertising men who had created some of the most famous slogans of the past decade; and they were absolute tyrants. They treated their employees like chattels, and the only reason the employees stood for such treatment was that anyone who had worked for Berkley and Mathews could work at any advertising agency in the world. It was the training ground.
Also present in the office when Alexandra arrived was Lucas Pinkerton, a vice-president of the firm, a smiling man with an obsequious manner and cold eyes. Pinkerton was younger than the senior partners, but what he lacked in age, he made up for in vindictiveness toward the men and women who worked under him.
Aaron Berkley ushered Alexandra to a comfortable armchair. 'What can I get you, Miss Blackwell? Would you like some coffee, tea?'
'Nothing, thank you.'
'So. You're going to work with us here as a copywriter.'
'I really appreciate your giving me this opportunity, Mr. Berkley. I know I have a great deal to learn, but I'll work very hard.'
'No need for that,' Norman Mathews said quickly. He caught himself. 'I mean—you can't rush a learning experience like this. You take all the time you want.'
'I'm sure you'll be very happy here,' Aaron Berkley added. 'You'll be working with the best people in the business.'
One hour later, Alexandra was thinking, They may be the best, but they're certainly not the friendliest. Lucas Pinkerton had taken Alexandra around to introduce her to the staff, and the reception everywhere had been icy. They acknowledged her presence and then quickly found other things to do. Alexandra sensed their resentment, but she had no idea what had caused it. Pinkerton led her into a smoke-filled conference room. Against one wall was a cabinet filled with Clios and Art Directors' awards. Seated around a table were a woman and two men, all of them chain-smoking. The woman was short and dumpy, with rust-colored hair. The men were in their middle thirties, pale and harassed-looking.
Pinkerton said, 'This is the creative team you'll be working with. Alice Koppel, Vince Barnes and Marty Bergheimer. This is Miss Blackwell.'
The three of them stared at Alexandra.
'Well, I'll leave you to get acquainted with one another,' Pinkerton said. He turned to Vince Barnes. 'I'll expect the new perfume copy on my desk by tomorrow morning. See that Miss Blackwell has everything she needs.' And he left.
'What do you need?' Vince Barnes asked.
The question caught Alexandra off guard. 'I—I guess I just need to learn the advertising business.'
Alice Koppel said sweetly, 'You've come to the right place, Miss Blackwell. We're dying to play teacher.'
'Lay off,' Marty Bergheimer told her.
Alexandra was puzzled. 'Have I done something to offend any of you?'
Marty Bergheimer replied, 'No, Miss Blackwell. We're just under a lot of pressure here. We're working on a perfume campaign, and so far Mr. Berkley and Mr. Mathews are underwhelmed by what we've delivered.'
'I'll try not to be a bother,' Alexandra promised.
'That would be peachy,' Alice Koppel said.
The rest of the day went no better. There was not a smile in the place. One of their co-workers had been summarily fired because of this rich bitch, and they were going to make her pay.
At the end of Alexandra's first day, Aaron Berkley and Norman Mathews came into the little office Alexandra
