he
can’t do it and she nags him until he does.’
Ross picked up her Bellechier fountain pen and rolled it
between his fingers.
She couldn’t work in an environment like this. She liked quiet,
class, structure. This would be too weird—too ‘out there’ for her. The noise,
the movement, the fizzing energy would drive her nuts. ‘How do they
concentrate?’
Ross leaned his shoulder into the glass. ‘When I hire new
people I find out how they like to work. Some people like privacy and quiet, and
some—like these lot—need noise. If I need the skill and they need quiet I make
that happen. Next to the refreshment bar is a door that leads to another wing of
this building where there are a series of offices where quietness and sanity
prevail. My second-in-command and my quiet-loving staff, and the accounts
people, work out of there. They have their own entrance so that don’t have to
deal with the rabble.’
Ally couldn’t help smiling at the amusement in his voice. ‘You
love the craziness, the rabble?’
Ross lifted a shoulder. ‘I admire anyone who thinks outside the
box, who isn’t scared to be themselves—even if that self is a pink-haired,
potbellied-pig-loving, tattooed creature with more holes in her skin than a
sieve. Everyone just wants a place where they can do what they love to do and be
who they are. For these people RBM is that place.’
Ross’s look heated her skin.
‘And you love the corporate
world.’
‘I do—probably as much as you hate it,’ Ally agreed.
She walked back to the desk, shut down her laptop and closed
the lid. Pulling herself back to the reason she was there, she sucked in her
bottom lip and thought she’d try once more.
‘Is there anything I can do or say that would get you to change
your mind about the campaign?’
The words danced between them and Ally squeezed her eyes shut
when she realised what she’d said.
She held up her hand as heat spread up her neck and into her
face. ‘I cannot believe I said that...again.’
Ross’s laugh was low and perfectly suited for the bedroom. ‘I
try not to repeat past mistakes.’
‘Now that you’ve seen what is involved and what we want, any
suggestions about who else we can approach?’ Ally slumped back down into a
chair. ‘Because if you’re not going to do it then I am utterly stuck. Up the
creek without a paddle.’
‘C’mon, Ally, there must be tons of people who can be your
face.’
‘You’d think,’ Ally said glumly. ‘But Luc wants “different” and
you were our bad-ass CEO.’
Ross laughed at that. ‘Seriously? Jeez!’
He linked his hands across his stomach and watched her with
those intense eyes.
‘You have a tiny frown that appears between your eyes when
you’re stressed or thinking.’ He rubbed the area between his own brows to
demonstrate. ‘Why is this one campaign so important? Surely this happens
often?’
Ally took her time answering his question, deciding how much to
tell him. ‘It’s the first campaign I’m fully in charge of—the first since my
promotion to Brand and Image Director a couple of months ago—and I’d like it to
be fabulous. Secondly, this is a brand-new line and it’s crucial that it flies.
Bellechier hasn’t launched a new line in years—new products yes; an entire new
brand, no. We suspect that we’ve lost our younger clients to trendier labels and
this is our way to get them back.’
‘So no pressure?’ Ross said, deadpan.
‘No pressure.’ Ally, not wanting to leave him just yet, looked
for a way to keep their conversation going. ‘Tell me about your think tank.’
Ross explained how the project worked—that designers and
inventors from all over the world submitted their ideas and concepts to a panel
of experts and if, after investigation, a project seemed feasible, they were
invited to Cape Town to spend some time on the top floor, working on their
project. The foundation picked up their salaries and living expenses and
provided them with
can’t do it and she nags him until he does.’
Ross picked up her Bellechier fountain pen and rolled it
between his fingers.
She couldn’t work in an environment like this. She liked quiet,
class, structure. This would be too weird—too ‘out there’ for her. The noise,
the movement, the fizzing energy would drive her nuts. ‘How do they
concentrate?’
Ross leaned his shoulder into the glass. ‘When I hire new
people I find out how they like to work. Some people like privacy and quiet, and
some—like these lot—need noise. If I need the skill and they need quiet I make
that happen. Next to the refreshment bar is a door that leads to another wing of
this building where there are a series of offices where quietness and sanity
prevail. My second-in-command and my quiet-loving staff, and the accounts
people, work out of there. They have their own entrance so that don’t have to
deal with the rabble.’
Ally couldn’t help smiling at the amusement in his voice. ‘You
love the craziness, the rabble?’
Ross lifted a shoulder. ‘I admire anyone who thinks outside the
box, who isn’t scared to be themselves—even if that self is a pink-haired,
potbellied-pig-loving, tattooed creature with more holes in her skin than a
sieve. Everyone just wants a place where they can do what they love to do and be
who they are. For these people RBM is that place.’
Ross’s look heated her skin.
‘And you love the corporate
world.’
‘I do—probably as much as you hate it,’ Ally agreed.
She walked back to the desk, shut down her laptop and closed
the lid. Pulling herself back to the reason she was there, she sucked in her
bottom lip and thought she’d try once more.
‘Is there anything I can do or say that would get you to change
your mind about the campaign?’
The words danced between them and Ally squeezed her eyes shut
when she realised what she’d said.
She held up her hand as heat spread up her neck and into her
face. ‘I cannot believe I said that...again.’
Ross’s laugh was low and perfectly suited for the bedroom. ‘I
try not to repeat past mistakes.’
‘Now that you’ve seen what is involved and what we want, any
suggestions about who else we can approach?’ Ally slumped back down into a
chair. ‘Because if you’re not going to do it then I am utterly stuck. Up the
creek without a paddle.’
‘C’mon, Ally, there must be tons of people who can be your
face.’
‘You’d think,’ Ally said glumly. ‘But Luc wants “different” and
you were our bad-ass CEO.’
Ross laughed at that. ‘Seriously? Jeez!’
He linked his hands across his stomach and watched her with
those intense eyes.
‘You have a tiny frown that appears between your eyes when
you’re stressed or thinking.’ He rubbed the area between his own brows to
demonstrate. ‘Why is this one campaign so important? Surely this happens
often?’
Ally took her time answering his question, deciding how much to
tell him. ‘It’s the first campaign I’m fully in charge of—the first since my
promotion to Brand and Image Director a couple of months ago—and I’d like it to
be fabulous. Secondly, this is a brand-new line and it’s crucial that it flies.
Bellechier hasn’t launched a new line in years—new products yes; an entire new
brand, no. We suspect that we’ve lost our younger clients to trendier labels and
this is our way to get them back.’
‘So no pressure?’ Ross said, deadpan.
‘No pressure.’ Ally, not wanting to leave him just yet, looked
for a way to keep their conversation going. ‘Tell me about your think tank.’
Ross explained how the project worked—that designers and
inventors from all over the world submitted their ideas and concepts to a panel
of experts and if, after investigation, a project seemed feasible, they were
invited to Cape Town to spend some time on the top floor, working on their
project. The foundation picked up their salaries and living expenses and
provided them with
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