Bombshell by Lynda Curnyn Page B

hands and a smile on her face that looked positively… merry. Well, for Claudia, that is. She closed the door behind her, shutting out the sight of Lori, who had been looking just as curious as I was about Claudia’s sudden uplift in spirits.
    I mean, yeah, I was sure she was relieved to have the talent practically secured for the new campaign, but it had been clear from the start that Claudia despised everything the nineteen-year-old supermodel stood for. Surely it couldn’t be Irina who brought the glow to her eyes….
    As it turned out, I was right.
    â€œSo I reviewed Larry’s proposal.”
    â€œOh, Larry, is it?” I asked, remembering how a week earlier, Claudia had been railing against the very same Laurence Bennett, who had yet to follow up on his promise of drinks with her, though his assistant had already called two times to see if we’d had a chance to look at his bid to win the Roxy D campaign.
    She ignored my implication, focusing instead on the wire at the neck of the bottle as she carefully twisted it off. “His ideas are very good. In fact, we’re having drinks on Wednesday to discuss them further.”
    â€œIs that right?” I said, studying her features, which were now slightly flushed. I had a feeling that flush had little to do with the exertion she was now putting into opening that bottle. “So he finally called?”
    â€œActually, I called him,” she said, freeing the bottle of the wire. “You know, to talk to him about the proposal, of course,” she added quickly, as if she feared she might look like she was chasing after the man.
    â€œOh, of course,” I said, studying her.
    â€œAnyway, we got to talking, and I told him I was passing his proposal on to Dianne for a look, and one thing led to another and he suggested we meet for drinks.”
    I stared back at her, understanding suddenly just how Laurence Bennett was about to win probably the biggest ad campaign—at least in terms of budget dollars allotted—from the usually formidable VP of Marketing at Roxanne Dubrow.
    He had hit Claudia right where she was most vulnerable. Her feminine ego.
    â€œClaudia, you do realize that we can’t make a decision on this until we consider other agencies.”
    She glared at me, her hands poised around the neck of the bottle. “I know that. ” Then she smiled again, a bit dreamily. “But I have to say, this proposal from Larry’s agency looks very… promising. ”
    The cork came flying out, nearly decapitating the cardboard cutout of Priscilla, last year’s only-25-and-now-discarded model, which I had allowed Lori to prop up against one of my walls, as I found myself unable to toss it out.
    I bit my tongue, not wanting to dispel the happiness on Claudia’s face as she filled our two glasses. Who was I to tell her how to run her campaign—or her love life, for that matter? It wasn’t as if I were any shining role model in either department.
    She held up her glass, narrowing her eyes as she carefully considered her toast. Then, clinking her flute gracefully into mine, she said, “To getting what we want.”
    Then, apparently satisfied that she was going to get all she wanted, she downed that glass of Dom in one fell swoop.
    Â 
    â€œSo what do you think of Pete?” Angie asked, as we lounged together on the couch that bordered the back wall of Three of Cups, the East Village bar that she and Justin had chosen for their friends to gather together in for an informal celebration of their engagement on Tuesday night.
    I guess I was grateful for the change in subject, as Angie had just been badgering me about contacting Katerina and my half sister. After resolutely defending my decision not to get involved, I was happy enough to turn my attention to Justin’s friend, who stood over at the bar with Justin.
    Pete Jordan was, admittedly, a good-looking guy. Lean, well-muscled, with