No Strings Attached

Chapter One

"Martinelli has been locked in," I declare proudly to the chamber of flat-faced men, who staunchly regard their latest female director with dissatisfaction. In obligation, they clap, failing to hide their prejudices regarding a twenty-eight-year-old female vice president landing the most ambitious deal Norman White Public Relations has ever attempted to acquire.

Giovanni Martinelli. Hailing from old money, the celebrity rose rapidly in the fashion world, producing high-end Italian-cut suits, and had his own grossing million-dollar company before the age of twenty-five. His shows are renowned for extravagance and style, attended only by the most elite, colorful celebrities.

I've spent a good deal of time listening to my assistant go on about the way he's branded to walk into a room, stealing chatter away with his impressive looks, charming bravura, and world-famous, dashing, debonair style. While these traits may quicken the pulse for some, I feel my usual immunity. Known office-wide to be the only person who cannot seem to match a skirt to a blouse, I find little awe in the art of design. My shopping expertise ends at a department store, where I purchase the first suit that catches my eye, unable to spare an hour of my time for more. I live and breathe my trade. If I didn't, I wouldn't be vice president of one of the most prestigious PR firms in New York.

Norman, my only boss and CEO of the company, smiles appreciatively from the other end of the table, the only person in the room that wasn't rooting for me to fail. "I knew you could do it, Scarlett."

"Thank you, sir." I begin handing out leather-cased portfolios around the table. "Giovanni Martinelli is our top client, our number one priority from now on. I want each of you to read this over and memorize the contents front-to-back because we will all be at his disposal. He has a show in California approaching in two weeks. His previous firm has sent over the remaining details we need to settle before then."

"Why did he leave his previous firm?"

"He had some differences with the president of the company. They parted ways— amicably." I emphasize the last word, not wishing to stir up the usual gossip that follows this designer like a plague.

"When do you meet with him directly? You said your assistant spoke with his?" Norman asks, leaning forward in his chair.

"I said I'd fly out tonight if that's fine with you."

He nods. "The sooner he signs the contract, the better."

With a glance at my assistant, Rebecca nods, directing her attention to her iPad. She possesses an uncanny ability to know what I want without speaking. Like at present, I know she's getting me a first-class flight out of New York.

"Of course, sir. I will have the accounting department send over the contract."

"Perfect." He stands, bringing forth the end of our weekly meeting. I eye the men as they exit the room, flipping through the portfolios I slaved over through the wee hours. A comforting presence materializes beside me.

"Surely, by now, they should have warmed to me."

Norman sighs, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "You are a woman leading a man's world, Scarlett. They may never completely warm up to you."

"You do know there are more women in this world than men, right?" I scoff, gathering my bag. He chuckles, his protruding belly rumbling. Every time he laughs, he reminds me more and more of Santa Claus. Maybe it's because he's the closest thing resembling a saint to me.

"I am aware. You know my world is completely run by women."

"How is Monica?" I ask as we exit the conference room, strolling down the bright hallway. "Is she still having that trouble with her ankle?"