All Wrapped Up

If there was anything in his life he regretted, it was his breakup with Liv. He’d been more in love with her than any woman before or after. He’d been a jerk—with good reason. Even before his parents’ divorce, he hadn’t been a fan of commitment. Still wasn’t, considering that he’d left his job in Kansas City when sexy Darla, a career-driven lawyer, had started dropping wedding hints.

He loved sports and loved writing about them. It was a lifestyle that didn’t leave room for domestic entanglements or exclusive dating. Liv had tempted him once. All the more reason why he should’ve turned down the party invitation when he first got it. Maybe part of him wanted to see her again, but he was relieved that she’d made the decision for him.

Liv might have made him change his mind if he’d allowed their relationship to continue. He still got turned on by hearing her voice, but he’d been too ambitious—and face it, too immature—to consider a serious commitment five years ago. He’d never deceived her about that, but he shouldn’t have started something he couldn’t finish. In the beginning he hadn’t expected to care for her as much as he had. The longer he’d been with her, the more she expected their relationship to be permanent. He’d done her a favor by ending it, but he knew she hadn’t seen it that way.

He played her message a fourth time. He wasn’t imagining the breathy, seductive tone of her voice, even though her words were cold. That was typical of Liv. On the surface she was an ice princess, but he’d experienced the passion that simmered under the surface. She’d been hot, all he could want in bed and more.

She was totally genuine and natural. That was part of what had made their short relationship sizzle. But she didn’t have a clue how sexy she was. He’d had to work to unlock her passion, but it had been worth it. She’d rocked his world. He knew pretty much what he wanted in a woman, and he couldn’t help wondering what Liv was like now.

Back when they were together, Liv had been sure he’d change his mind about a permanent relationship. Her cure for his commitment phobia had been an excessive dose of devotion on her part. He wasn’t proud of it, but she’d scared him off.

He lived for the present. It wasn’t like him to second-guess decisions or brood over past mistakes. If Liv was uncomfortable having him come to her parents’ party, it was fine with him. His attitude toward relationships had remained the same since they’d parted company. He worked long hours and covered a lot of night and weekend events. He didn’t have time for anything but casual relationships, not if he wanted to excel in his field. And he did want that.

He had to get to work. After wasting a whole weekend trying to nail down an interview with Matilda Merris, even standing outside her house in the cold and looking pathetic in the hope she’d give in, he did have one more lead to follow. The old woman was a minor talent in the art world. She was on the client list of a Chicago public relations firm, William Lawrence Associates. Maybe, if he got really lucky, someone there would use their clout to get him inside Matilda’s Michigan home.

He dressed in gray flannel slacks, gray turtleneck, a navy blazer and tasseled loafers to impress the people at the PR firm. The gang in the newsroom would razz him about his dated preppy look, but he was at the end of his rope with this story. A whole lot of background work would go to waste if he couldn’t persuade the fallen hero’s daughter to talk to him.

Later, when he had time, he might give Liv a lesson in phone etiquette. He wondered if she still wore that flowery perfume that had turned him on, but it looked as if he’d never get close enough to know.

Mostly he wondered if she still hated him.

2

“I LOVE THIS LIFE,” Liv muttered to herself as she hung her midcalf black coat on the hall tree in the corner of her cubicle.

Mostly it was true. She didn’t mind riding the Metra System from Roselle, the stop closest to her home in Haley Park, to Union Station. She usually enjoyed the three-block walk from the terminal to the tall gray building where William Lawrence Associates occupied a suite on the ninth floor. She didn’t even mind the small, crowded cubicle that served as her office, although neon lights were no substitute for a window.

Once she got immersed in the business of the day, she rarely noticed the blandness of her surroundings. Her office was one of four created when a storage room had been divided into cubicles.

Today was Monday, always a busy day, but it wasn’t starting at all well. For one thing, her college intern was there ahead of her working at one of the two computers in the room. Liv didn’t exactly dislike Brandi Jo Willis, but sharing the small space with her was like having sand stuck in her swimsuit.

This morning the too-perky twenty-one-year-old blonde was dressed for success in a black jersey suit with a skirt that barely managed to cover her panties. The jacket was short, buttoned to hug her waist, and had a plunging neckline. She was obviously wearing nothing under it.

“Good morning, Miss Kearns,” Brandi Jo said, refusing to call Liv by her first name, a mockery of respect that annoyed Liv. “Mr. Bosworth asked me to finish some work for him. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, that’s fine,” Liv lied. “How long will it take? I planned on having you do some research for me.”

In fact, she really needed help today. She felt mentally and emotionally drained after canceling her parents’ party. Even the people she’d notified by e-mail had called her for details about the divorce.

Liv pulled her white wrap sweater more tightly around her, still shivering from the walk through bone-chilling blasts of wind. The second week in December was beginning, and arctic winds were bombarding the Windy City. Unlike Brandi Jo, she’d dressed for the weather in black trousers and a turtleneck under her sweater, but she still couldn’t seem to warm up.

“Boz, I mean Mr. Bosworth, said to take as long as I need to do this,” Brandi Jo said.

“Of course he did,” Liv said under her breath.

Ray Bosworth, Boz to his friends, was the vice president in charge of media and her immediate superior.

“He wants me to work here when my internship is over,” Brandi Jo said without looking up from the computer screen.

No surprise there, Liv thought. Boz was infamous for chasing interns. Opinion was divided on whether he ever caught any.

“That reminds me. I have to do your evaluation for school. When is it due?” Liv asked.

“Anytime before January tenth.” The intern sounded a little less sure of herself. She still had to graduate.

Liv planned to give her a good report card, so to speak, because it would be petty and spiteful not to acknowledge that the girl did work hard. But Liv didn’t have any illusions about her temporary helper. The intern was auditioning for a job with William Lawrence Associates, and that job could very well be Liv’s.

Was it a sign of her shrinking status that others didn’t bother to knock on the closed door of her office? With Brandi Jo entrenched in her space, the yellowish room with dark olive carpeting felt even less like a private work area.

Boz, as Liv called him in her mind but never aloud, barged in and sat down in Liv’s chair before she had a chance to get started on anything.

“Good morning, Ray,” she said, put in the position of standing at attention in front of him.

“I knew you’d want to hear about Friday’s executive meeting,” he said self-importantly.

Most days Liv liked Boz well enough, even though he could be pompous. The round, graying VP was a professional glad-hander, and, to his credit, he was usually as pleasant to employees as to clients.

“I haven’t had a chance to call up the minutes,” Liv admitted.

“There’s going to be a slight shift in your duties, Liv. Nothing major right away, but we’ll be easing you into new responsibilities,” Bosworth said, suddenly intent on examining his fingernails.

“What kind of shift?” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Brandi had stopped working to listen.

“Billy wants more emphasis on client relations. You’ll be expected to generate new leads and work up some accounts of your own. Gradually we’ll take you out of crisis management in favor of having your own client base.”

“But crisis management is my specialty,” she protested.

“And you’re good at it.” Boz tried to smile benevolently, but he was looking at Brandi, not Liv. “This is your opportunity to grow with the firm, be on the cutting edge of expansion.”

She got it. She had to generate new business.

“The firm will supply you with leads, but you’ll do your old job until you have developed a new client base.” He stood and smoothed his dark charcoal jacket, as though it could conceal his barrel belly. “Remember, Liv, Billy wants you to loosen up. Dress more youthfully. Maybe Brandi Jo could give you a few pointers.”

Or maybe, Liv thought angrily, I should cruise the South Side and see what the girls on the street are wearing.

“You know, Billy takes a personal interest in every employee,” Boz said sanctimoniously. “He’s our team leader. He wants success for his employees as much as for himself, and we need a whole new slate of hip clients.”

“I love helping clients who have real problems,” Liv said. “I love the challenge of putting out fires.”

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to start a few,” her boss said dryly, dropping his good-guy act. “Brandi Jo, can I see you in my office?”

Liv watched the intern totter out on three-inch heels. How could Boz dump on her in front of an intern? Maybe he’d done it to encourage Brandi Jo. Maybe Liv’s job would be available sooner than she thought.

Liv tried to convince herself that change was sometimes good, but she didn’t like Boz’s explanation. It sounded like a sink-or-swim situation, not an opportunity for advancement.

She had no choice but to try to meet her boss’s expectations, but she would not consult Brandi Jo Willis for tips on how to dress. What did her bosses want, tight low-rise pants and a pierced navel?

Unfortunately, Billy wanted her to look sexy in hopes of enticing new clients for the agency. She wasn’t high enough up the ladder to get a chance at major accounts, so her life would degenerate into a series of tedious lunches and meetings with restaurant owners, club managers and other small-time hotshots.