Ann was working in her office when her secretary knocked and walked in. “Jon’s here,” Dora said.
Jon? Ann came to her feet and stalked into the anteroom. Jonathan sat with one hip on her secretary’s desk. “Well,” she drawled, “if it isn’t Prince Charming.”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing.” Everything. “Come on in. And leave Dora alone.”
He winked at the woman. Ann grabbed him by the elbow and guided him into her office.
“Watch it,” he complained. “This is a good sweater. You’re getting it all stretchy.”
“It’s nothing compared to what I’m going to do to your neck.”
“What’s got your panties in a twist?”
“She’s young enough to be your daughter.” Ann thrust a thumb in the direction of the anteroom.
“If I copulated at thirteen.”
Ann skewered him with her eyes. “No wonder Carmen is history. You’re a pain in the ass. I don’t blame her for dumping you.”
“How do you know Carmen is history?”
“Your mother told me.”
“You talked to Felicia about Carmen?” That got his attention. “And for the record, I dumped her.” He went around and sat behind her desk, just to gouge another reaction out of her.
Ann was wearing blue today, he noted, a long, soft sweater and leggings. And she was barefoot again. He picked up the legal pad on her desk. “What’s this?”
“I just got a commitment from Kmart.”
“You’re kidding?”
“A hundred and fifty thousand pieces.”
“That’s a lot—right?”
“It was what I had penned in for them, before everything started to go to hell in a hand-basket.”
“Which guy is this? Carlisle, right? The one who zoned? You changed his mind?”
“I don’t know what changed his mind, but I never look gift horses in the mouth.”
Jonathan leaned back in her chair. “I’ll buy you lunch to celebrate.”
“It’s only ten-thirty.”
“Okay. Brunch, then.”
He saw something in her eye twitch. “Why?” she asked.
Because, he thought, he’d been staring at a blank canvas since 5:30 this morning. Because his muse was Bangladesh-ing in a very big way. And his thoughts of her had been relentlessly filling the void. He’d come to her office without plan or provocation, or a lot of consideration. Maybe because he just didn’t want to understand what he was thinking about, or why. “I’m hungry,” he said.
Her intercom buzzed. Because she was closer to the door than to her own desk, Ann simply turned around and opened it. “Who is it?” she asked her secretary.
“Gerry McGuire from Brown’s.”
Ann spun back into the room and nudged the door closed with her backside. She hurried towards her desk. “I need my seat.” She caught Jonathan’s sleeve and started to pull.
He came out of the chair. “Damn it, will you watch the sweater?”
“If I can salvage this disaster, I’ll buy you a whole closet of sweaters.” She sat and reached for the phone.
“Do the speaker thing.” Jonathan said. “I want to hear this.”
She hit the button and said hello.
“Ann,” McGuire said into the room. “You didn’t hang around Detroit very long. I tried to reach you after you left my office but you were already gone.”
Jonathan settled down next to Ann, laced his fingers together behind his head and watched her.
“Why?” she asked McGuire.
McGuire stammered into the quiet, then started again. “Look, your new doll has some interesting possibilities. I’d like to carry her. But come on, I can’t compete with Walmart.”
“No one is asking you to. I don’t expect that size of a commitment from you.”
His voice went sharp. “How many did they give you?”
Jonathan listened to her jump the question. “Kmart is in for one-fifty.”
“Damn it, Ann, I’m not them, either. I have some constraints.”
“Such as?”
A new silence beat into the room. It made Jonathan curious.
“I need a bigger discount,” McGuire said finally. “One up front.”
Jonathan’s antennae tweaked, but he wasn’t sure why.
“Gerry,” Ann said flatly, “our policy hasn’t changed. You get ten percent on Moonlight and everything else we do. Why should Baby Talk N Glow be any different?”
“She’s more high profile.”
“You said she was too expensive.”
“Ah, Ann. Come on. That’s an old buyer’s ploy. Emphasize the negative. You’ve been around long enough.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“I need an extra discount. Say … three.”
“Three,” she repeated.
“If it’s now, on the early end, I’ll settle for three. I’d just want to structure it so I’m not looking at it a year down the road.”
She frowned, looked at Jonathan, then shrugged.
“Okay,” she said finally.
Jonathan brought his hands down fast. What the hell? She gave a little shake of her head to keep him from interrupting.
“Okay?” McGuire sounded equally surprised.
“Brown’s has been in business—what? Two years now?” she asked, seeming to change the subject.
“About that,” McGuire said cautiously.
“In that time, they’ve instituted a series of fines that’s unprecedented in the toy industry. For God’s sake, Gerry, you charged me a hundred dollars for sending one invoice through the mail instead of electronically!”
“Damn it, Ann, that’s company policy. I can’t—”
“Listen to me, Gerry. You got me for five hundred dollars for using the incorrect freight forwarder. You hit me for a thousand for shipping three days early. And when I was a day late, you nailed me for another five hundred.”
“Walmart does it.”
“Their volume is much higher than yours. They have cause to be demanding. And they’re still not as bad as you.”
“What’s your point?”
The guy sounded like he was whining. Jonathan thought.
“I’ll give you three percent up front, paid to your company,” Ann continued. “But I want something in return.”
Jonathan sat up straight.
“I want you to reverse all those fines I just mentioned,” she said, “and a guarantee that there won’t be anything similar for the next two years.”
“I can’t—”
“Then no deal. I’ve got to run, Gerry. Sorry, but that’s the best I can do. The three percent has to come from somewhere.”
“Wait! Just wait.”
“I don’t have time for this. Take it or leave it.”
The pause didn’t last long. “All right! I’ll fix the fines and go for seventy-five thousand pieces.”
“Duly noted.”
Jonathan watched Ann go limp in her chair after she disconnected.
“Now I have Brown’s, Kmart, and Toys ‘R’ Us,” she gloated. “The extra three percent will be negated somewhat by those fines. It’ll come out in the wash.”
Jonathan thought about it. “That was good.”
“That,” she answered, standing, “was a girl from Newark.”
She was halfway to the door before Jonathan thought to stand as well. Newark? He’d known her for seventeen years and never figured out where she’d come from. Felicia had never told them, if she even knew herself.
Ann had just gambled and won. And she hadn’t batted an eye while doing it. Tough streets there, he thought, in Newark.
“Where you going?” he asked.
“To brunch. Bring your credit card. I just worked up an appetite.”
By the time he got to the hallway, she was well ahead of him, knocking on Patrick’s door. He watched her turn the knob. Jonathan stepped up behind and peered over her shoulder.
Patrick’s secretary was sitting at his desk. Jonathan remembered her as a knockout—he’d met her at last year’s company Christmas party. At the moment, however, she was wan and seemed out of sorts.
“Where’s Patrick?” Ann asked.
“Um … oh, Ann. He’s—uh—at a meeting.”
“Here? In the building?”
“No. Somewhere else.”
Jonathan felt renewed tension coming off Ann like something palpable.
“Look, Verna, when he gets in touch, could you tell him I’m looking for him?”
“Will do,” the girl promised.
Ann turned to face Jonathan. He was too close. She couldn’t back up because the door was against her spine.
“You’ve made the girl nervous,” he said. “Is this the Newark thing again?”
“She was nervous before I walked in.” He was leaning close. What was he doing? Ann tried to ease around him. “Are you going to feed me, or what? There isn’t a restaurant behind this door you’re trying to push me through.”
“You’re nervous yourself, Ann. Why is that?”
She was dying. She wanted him, and she was dying over it. “Back off.”
“It’s never wise to bite the hand that intends to feed you, so stop snarling.”
He finally moved. He was five steps ahead before Ann got sufficient balance back to follow. Her pride wouldn’t let her hurry to catch up.