The Do It List (The Do It List #1) (21 page)

When each of us kids were old enough, mother dusted off an old video of the Katherine Hepburn, Spencer Tracy movie
Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner
. A quick cap sum goes something like this: blonder than blonde beauty brings handsome young Sidney Poitier home to meet affluent liberal white parents, shaking Kate and Spencer to the core.

Jeezus Gracie, get a grip. It’s not as though we were getting engaged or anything.

I took a quick shower and jumped into bed, luxuriating in the freshly washed sheets scented with lavender and lilac. Halfway through the eleven o’clock news, a text arrived. A snapshot of Bradley and Derek all buddy-buddy at some bar. Both of them looked a little banged up, but happy.
 

Bradley texted:
Just wanted you to see the damage before you see it person tomorrow.

Men. Or should I say boys will be boys? I took a weird angle shot of me kissing the camera and texted:
Awww—does it hurt? Let me make it better.

I MET MY adorable, semi-Goth art director for coffee in the Flat Iron District, just around the corner from the designated agency rendezvous point at Twenty-Third and Fifth Avenue.
 

“You look insanely hot in that outfit.” Sarah grinned.

“Styled by Sarah Springer.” I had made a last-minute wardrobe adjustment. According to my weather app, temperatures would warm throughout the day, but not by much. I ended up pairing a shell-pink cashmere sweater with a loose pleated, black chiffon mini-skirt covered in watered polka dots. The feminine, flirty look got edged up with the addition of a black motorcycle jacket and Alice & Olivia black suede, over-the-knee boots.

The last time Sarah and I had gone shopping together, our spree had become more of a splurge, costing us both thousands of dollars. Which is why I shopped once each season—not counting sales—and I never without Sarah. She was nothing short of brilliant.

We carried our coffee outside and ran straight into Bradley, who just stared at me. I suppose if we were Looney Tunes characters, the wily wolf’s jaw would have dropped to the ground.

“Okay, I get it now,” he remarked.
 

“Get what?” I asked.

“The reason why you rarely wear a dress or skirt to work.”

I adjusted my big black bag. “Your memo included a dress code, presumably, to attract males twenty-eight to thirty-five. Just following orders.”

Bradley nodded, still taking it all in. “I believe I advised wearing something attractive and fashionable, not beat-them-off-with-a-stick wear.”

I tried to resist touching the boo-boo over his left eye, but couldn’t. Gently, I ran a finger under the red, crescent-shaped cut. “Does it hurt?”
 

He grinned. “You should see the other guy.”

Peter Murphy, Bradley’s assistant, strode up to us flashing a big smile. “Good morning, lovely ladies.” He stopped hard in his tracks. “Gracie, you look amazing! Flirty and feminine meets kick-ass moto.”

“Styling by Sarah. I never shop without her.”

Peter instantly pivoted toward my art director, shoving a clear plastic tote full of Héros samples at her. “We teamed you and Gracie together. You’ve got Bowling Green in the morning and Washington Square in the afternoon. There are three different scents, get them to try all three if you can.”

Peter paused for air and exhaled a breath. “Can I go shopping with you two sometime? I want to purchase entire outfits.” He ran his hands up and down the air space in front of me. “The complete look, head to toe.” Peter sneaked a glance over his shoulder and turned back. “I asked Derek for help once, but he just stared at me.”

Sarah smiled. “We’re sale shopping Saturday—come with us!”

I shot my stylist a look. “We are?”

She nodded. “Barneys, Ted Baker London, Cloak and Dagger. And Atelier—just for you, Peter—forty percent off pre-holiday sale. We’ll hit No. 6 and Reformation on our way home.”

A throng of agency personnel had begun to assemble on the corner. Bradley handed me an envelope full of blank surveys. “The first five questions are the most important after that, see if you can get their reaction to the scents. Try and write down any remarks verbatim.”
 

“Yes, sir.”
 

He slanted a look at me. “Above all make it fun—for you and the subject. People will open up.”

A limo pulled up to the curb. Axel jumped out followed by client marketing personnel and their review consultant, Jordan McQueen. Axel waved us over for introductions and miscellaneous kibitzing.

Bradley kept his instructions brief, adding an unexpected perk. “Since this is going to be a long day for everyone, the debrief will take place over dinner at Rosemary’s. The address is inside your survey packet.”

Our attractive review consultant sidled over as the group broke up. “Good see you again, Ms. Taylor-Scott.”
 

“Please, call me Gracie.”

“Only if you call me Jordan.”

He was tall, with sandy brown hair and lovely gray-blue eyes. More of a metro male, charming, articulate, slightly effeminate.

 
“Jordan.” I smiled. “I take it you’re teamed with the client?”

“I think it’s best I tag along with them. I can’t stay for the entire day, but I’ll be joining you for dinner. Can’t wait to hear the anecdotal reports.”

 
As we drifted apart, I smiled. “See you later, then.”

Bradley ducked into the limo. He would likely be on the run all day troubleshooting—monitoring teams at various locations.

Sarah and I cabbed it over to Bowling Green and snagged our first interview between the charging bull sculpture and the subway stairs. Around mid-morning I received a text from Bradley.
 

The balloon read
: I forgot to tell you how amazing you looked this morning.

I returned:
Smexy hot?
 

Instant hard-on hot.

Before I had a chance to answer, there was another text.
How’s it going?

I typed:
Who knew Wall Street guys could be insightful?
 

Like bees to honey.

You used me.
 

Shamelessly.

By lunchtime, Sarah and I had powered through more than half our stack of surveys. We took the subway to Washington Square and ducked into a corner bistro, where we ordered steaming cappuccinos and split a giant apple-filled cinnamon pretzel. “We’re craving sugar, which means we’re both getting close to our periods.”
 

Sarah perused our stack of surveys. “Okay, a clean smelling man equals sexy, which equals more sex. Have we really gained any insight here?”

I tore off a gooey chewy section. “We knew it would come down to sex—but check out the shower comments for Wet.” The scent was simple and clean—like ivory soap and water.

She nodded. “Almost total gender agreement, despite sexual preference. Both remarked about loving the smell of a man straight out of the shower.”

I grinned at Sarah. “Clean dick, more head.”

Sarah’s eyes always laughed first. “Let’s use it as a tagline.”

“I’m writing it down on the survey sheet.”

“I’d love to be a fly on the wall,” she chortled, “when the client reads our comments section.”

I wrote down another note to myself regarding the scents. Wet is the clear winner on Wall Street.

Sarah’s phone vibrated, and she checked her text messages. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“My field spy reports a Bradley and Audrey sighting.”

My heart did a flip-flop. I hated that my heart flip-flopped. “What kind of sighting?” I watched Sarah watching her message screen.

“Audrey broke a heel and took a bad tumble.” She read. “Bradley put her in a cab and left with her.”

My eyebrows clashed together. “Emergency room or her place?”

Sarah texted back and we waited. And waited.

“Unknown.” She finally looked up at me. “I hesitate to call her the c word—yet.”

“A truly awful thought to have about someone who might be injured.” I frowned. “Slut, maybe?”
 

I’m not sure who laughed first, but it made me feel so much better.

“Best case scenario…” Sarah set the phone down. “Audrey really did take a fall. Axel left early. Frank had to shadow the client, so Bradley got stuck taking her to Urgent Care.”

I sucked in a breath. “I can’t do another three-way with Audrey.”

“Don’t give her so much power. If he’s stupid enough to pick her over you, do you really want him?”

I sighed. “Of course not.”

“And if he’s that good in bed, find a way to see him casually. You did it with Derek. You can do it with him.” Sarah pushed back her chair. “Come on, let’s go flirt with some hot, twenty-eight to thirty-five-year-old men.”
 

Rather than mope, I poured myself into the job and the afternoon flew by. In fact, I’d forgotten how much fun flirting could be, especially when the topic was body wash.

As dusk fell over the park, Bradley showed up in person, carrying a pink box.

“Cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery?” I asked, hopefully.

He nodded, checking out my last interviewee, who just happened to be an amazing looking guy. Nicely over six feet, flawless brown skin and liquid brown eyes. And, an attorney. I handed over three samples. “Try these and fill out the card—no postage needed. Tell us how you enjoyed your shower.”

“If I write my number on this—will you call me?” He flirted.

“Depends on what this man here has in the pink box—if he’s got a vanilla cupcake with pink, butter cream frosting and sprinkles…” I glanced over at Bradley. “You might be out of luck.”

My handsome survey-taker backed away. “Here’s hoping they’re all chocolate.”

I took a long look before turning to Bradley, who held out the box. “Sweets for my sweets.”

I peeked inside and smiled.

While Sarah and I sat on the bench eating cupcakes, Bradley rifled through our survey sheets.

 
“Some interesting findings.” He read one of the comment boxes. “Clean dick, more head.” He snorted a soft chuckle.

“Apparently, there’s nothing more conducive to oral sex, than a man fresh out of the shower.” I sighed.

 
Bradley looked up from his reading to stare at me. Using a slow swirl of tongue, I licked a blob of pink icing off my cupcake.
 

Those piercing, sex-hungry eyes caused a maddening tingle. Still, I fought hard against the Bradley Craig attraction magnet.
 

“How’s Audrey?” I kept my gaze riveted on him.
 

“Gossip travels fast.” He exhaled a loud sigh. “Urgent Care taped up her ankle. She’s at the restaurant with the others.”

The official explanation. I glanced over at Sarah, whose eyelashes fluttered upward. If I questioned him too extensively, I could very quickly become the crazy girlfriend—the witchy, overly possessive, freaky one—and not the other way around.

“I see several of your intercept interviewees left phone numbers.” He flashed a cute frown, slightly possessive and flirty.

I smiled extra sweetly. “We had a couple of ah-ha moments.”

“Such as?”

“It’s not just the promise of sex. This stuff is more like a wake-up call for sex.” I poked Sarah in the side. “We had fun, didn’t we?”

“Honey—come back to bed.” Sarah crooned in a breathy, voice.

“I hope the others did half as well as you two.” He tucked the stack of surveys under his arm. “Ready for dinner? Rosemary’s is just down Greenwich Avenue.”

Bradley took the gentlemanly curbside position, I sandwiched Sarah between us and kept the conversation on the business.

 
“First, there’s the ambient experience of the body wash.” I mused aloud. “Is the scent refreshing, energizing? Translation, does it turn you on—get you hard?”

“Then, there’s the tactile.” Sarah grinned. “Does it have enough lube to do the job?”

When Bradley frowned, Sarah and I both laughed.

“You’re not the only man who jerks off in the shower,” I teased.

“And,” Sarah added, “after toweling off, do you feel clean, invigorated, ready for action? Subliminal message—if you woke her up gently, would she be happy to—?”

“Suck my dick.” Bradley ably finished the sentence.

“The blowjob fantasy.” I started to laugh.

Bradley joined in. Then Sarah. We were all laughing as we passed a line of people waiting to get into the little gem of an Italian bistro.
 

Bradley opened the door. “After you, ladies.”

 
Axel sat at the head of a long table, surrounded by clients, consultants and account executives. “We’ve got room here if you don’t mind my ankle in your lap.” Audrey offered the one remaining chair beside her to Bradley.

“Entirely too distracting, I’m afraid.” His Brit half served him well in awkward social situations.
 

While we waited for busboys to add a table, Bradley shared a few anecdotal remarks, including the clean dick more head joke, which made me blush and the client roar with laughter.
 

It appeared the table was several drinks ahead of us.

“Ballsy of him.” Sarah whispered.

I exhaled loudly. “That’s what we’re here for, comic relief.”

Axel appeared to be feeling no pain, swapping advertising stories with the marketing director whose name eluded me at the moment. We connected over a long length of table and he sent me an approving wink.
 

“Let’s have a closer look at those.” Jordan reached for the stack, and Bradley handed over the surveys.

I pivoted toward the restaurant bar. Derek and Mark had stationed themselves at one end and waved us over. Two gorgeous pink Cosmos sat on the counter.

“We’re not going to put out for these” Sarah picked up her drink. “Just so you know.”

“Thanks, guys.” I lifted my glass and sipped.
 

Up close, Derek appeared a bit worse off than Bradley. Purplish bruises under both eyes, and a cut across the bridge of his nose. Rather than point out his injuries, I made light of our predicament.