With a sense of urgency she flipped to the front of the report and took another look at the letter from the chairman of the board. She’d skipped over it before, not even glancing at the accompanying postage-stamp-sized photo. The only difference between this distinguished-looking older man and the one she’d brushed past this noon was the fierce expression on his face. This morning he’d merely looked stunned.
“Oh, hell,” she repeated as weariness and a sense of doom spread through her. Leave it to her to ruin a perfectly good job opportunity.
Chapter Two
Dana stood outside the glass doors of the small but prestigious Lansing Agency for the better part of a half hour Monday morning, trying to work up the courage to submit her work. She knew the logo designs were good. She wanted the job more than almost anything she could ever remember wanting, except maybe a real home complete with fireplaces and window seats and ceilings tall enough for a storybook-style ten-foot Christmas tree.
But more than any other time in her life, she was gut-deep scared. Scared she would get the job and fail, equally terrified that she would have to meet Jason Halloran again and be fired on the spot.
She had spent the entire weekend alternately working on the presentation and staring at his picture, reminding herself that he hadn’t called the cops on her, remembering that brief instant of compassion she’d seen in his eyes as she told him all about Sammy and the stolen VCR. Though he wasn’t all that old, Jason Halloran struck her as a man who’d known some pain, who’d learned the value of forgiveness. It was there in his eyes, showing up when he was trying his best to appear stern and unyielding.
Obviously he’d been embarrassed, but that was hardly terminal. And anger faded…eventually. Maybe he wouldn’t hold what happened in Washington’s Tavern against her. If he was as chauvinistic as most men, he’d probably already chalked her crazy accusations up to some female idiosyncrasy and dismissed her as a flake.
Dana sighed. That might get her off the hook with him, but it sure wouldn’t land her this job. Her designs would have to do that.
Ultimately her confidence in those designs had given her the courage to show up at the agency this morning. That and the realization that a lowly design person was unlikely ever to meet with the client. For all she knew this logo assignment had been a fake, nothing more than a way to test her skills. It was possible that lots of companies did that. She’d never gotten this far in the interview process before.
Bundled up against the snowy day, but shivering just the same, Dana opened the door to a blast of warm air and low music. Inside she quickly removed her leather jacket. It looked thoroughly out of place with her brand-new spike heels and her one decent, professional-looking outfit. After half a dozen unsuccessful interviews, she’d finally realized it was her unorthodox appearance, rather than her designs that were her downfall. She’d found a sedate skirt and sweater on sale the previous weekend. So far they’d brought her luck, in the form of this second interview, which probably proved a point about appearances meaning every bit as much as talent in this business.
Glancing into a mirror, she decided she looked boring but presentable, except for her windblown hair. She tried taming it with her fingers, but the cropped style refused to be tamed. Shrugging, she gave up and walked across the lobby’s thick gray carpeting to the reception desk. Wobbling a little on the unfamiliar heels, she couldn’t resist glancing back to see if she’d left footprints in the thick pile.
On Friday she’d been too nervous to note the contrast between the reception area, with its subdued lighting, modern furniture and pricey artwork, and the brightly lit chaos closed away from public view by glass bricks and a curved wall painted a muted shade of peach. Today as she was directed to John Lansing’s office, she took in each detail, trying to imagine herself a part of the cheerful confusion and resulting creativity.
Seated in John Lansing’s office, she waited nervously for him to return from a conference with his art director. She tried to tell herself that this job wasn’t the only chance she’d ever have. She reminded herself that just last week her boss at the printing shop had told her she could expand her duties and take on more special jobs for local stores, if she wanted. They would split the extra income. He’d get seventy-five percent, for overhead he’d explained, and she’d get the rest. She hadn’t laughed in his face—she couldn’t afford to. But she hadn’t said yes, either.
John Lansing and Lesley Bates rushed in finally, amid a flurry of apologies. Lansing, a devilishly handsome man in his mid-forties, and Bates, a sleek, stylish woman in a severely cut suit and discreet but obviously expensive gold jewelry, stared at her expectantly. They were both so polished, so sophisticated that Dana had to fight the urge to check for runs in her hose. She noted every detail of the art director’s attire for the time when she could afford to dress that way.
“What do you have for us?” the agency founder asked, giving her an encouraging smile.
Dana opened her portfolio and pulled out a half dozen designs. As she started to spread them on Lansing’s desk, the art director shook her head. “Let’s hear about them one at a time. Tell us the reasoning behind each one. You might as well get used to making a presentation.”
Swallowing hard, Dana nodded and picked up the first design, a subtle alteration of the present logo. “From everything I read about the company, it seemed likely that they’re not looking for a drastic change,” she said,
