over to whisper in Martin’s ear, “I can cook, but I don’t like to.”
Martin’s lips twitched. “That is what I’m here for.”
She straightened. “Since I am hungry, I’ll accept, but we’re going to discuss this later.”
“Excuse me, I’m looking for Ms. Grayson.”
Sierra looked over Martin’s shoulder to see a slender woman in her early forties in a black Chloé suit and stylishly cut auburn hair. Stepping around Martin, Sierra extended her hand. “I’m Sierra Grayson. You must be Ms. James.”
The handshake was limp, the dark eyes full of surprise. “You’re the exclusive broker? You’re younger than I expected.”
Translation: You’re too young to know what the hell you’re doing. “I’ll take that as a compliment. This is Martin, Ms. James.”
She barely flicked a glance at him. “Martin.”
“Ms. James. Excuse me.”
“How long have you been in real estate?” Char asked as Martin walked away.
“Long enough. How about you in advertising?”
Her shoulders snapped back. “Fifteen years.”
Sierra picked up the newspaper on her desk. “Then why is this the only news on Navarone Place I’ve read in the past week?”
Char actually laughed. “Where are you from? Obviously, you don’t know the value of free advertising.”
You didn’t get angry at condescending people, you let them trip themselves up. “Free advertising is worth squat when no one reads it or cares.”
“The circulation of the newspa—”
“Are you suggesting that every reader of the newspaper is looking for a home of this caliber and is in a position to purchase one?”
“Of course not, but the important thing is that people saw it,” the woman rushed on to say.
“Seeing and buying are two very different things,” Sierra finished. “Car manufacturers advertise every day in multiple media for a very good reason. It’s been proven that it takes the consumer at least three repetitive times to see something before it sticks. When had you planned for two and three?”
“I-I—”
“That wasn’t the answer I was hoping to hear.” Sierra tossed the newspaper on the desk. “A Navarone property is a first for Texas, thus giving Dallas prestige. By now every major newspaper in the state should have run a story on Navarone Place, and if you couldn’t have gotten one, you should have paid for it. Magazines like Architectural Digest or Southern Accents should be waiting with bated breath to come in and photograph the homes of the first residents.”
“I’ve got plans,” Char defended.
“Let’s hear them.”
“I—” Once again the woman faltered.
“Ms. James, your performance is inexcusable and unacceptable. I mean to make Navarone Place the premiere residence not only in Dallas but in the country. To do that, I need an advertising company with the contacts, motivation, and intelligence to get the information out. Can you produce or do I need to make a phone call that you’re not going to like?”
“I’ve been busy with other projects.”
“Excuses won’t cut it with me. What I want, what I demand, are results. Tell me one reason why this conversation shouldn’t be over.”
Her lips began to tremble; tears streamed down her cheeks. “Father will kill me if I mess up this account.”
“Don’t tempt me, Char.”
SEVEN
“ I f I had known you were taking care of it, I wouldn’t have called,” Sierra said from behind the desk.
Blade couldn’t tell if she was upset with him or not. Bob Fulton, head of Fulton Advertising Agency, had just left with his chastised daughter and promised to have a marketing plan on Blade’s desk by ten the next morning. “I wasn’t pleased any more than you. I had Fulton come over to discuss it. While we were talking, I received a phone call from Martin. He was concerned about you.”
“So you rushed to my rescue.” Clearly miffed, she slapped a notebook on her desk.
“That will be the day. Actually, it was Fulton who insisted that we
Martin’s lips twitched. “That is what I’m here for.”
She straightened. “Since I am hungry, I’ll accept, but we’re going to discuss this later.”
“Excuse me, I’m looking for Ms. Grayson.”
Sierra looked over Martin’s shoulder to see a slender woman in her early forties in a black Chloé suit and stylishly cut auburn hair. Stepping around Martin, Sierra extended her hand. “I’m Sierra Grayson. You must be Ms. James.”
The handshake was limp, the dark eyes full of surprise. “You’re the exclusive broker? You’re younger than I expected.”
Translation: You’re too young to know what the hell you’re doing. “I’ll take that as a compliment. This is Martin, Ms. James.”
She barely flicked a glance at him. “Martin.”
“Ms. James. Excuse me.”
“How long have you been in real estate?” Char asked as Martin walked away.
“Long enough. How about you in advertising?”
Her shoulders snapped back. “Fifteen years.”
Sierra picked up the newspaper on her desk. “Then why is this the only news on Navarone Place I’ve read in the past week?”
Char actually laughed. “Where are you from? Obviously, you don’t know the value of free advertising.”
You didn’t get angry at condescending people, you let them trip themselves up. “Free advertising is worth squat when no one reads it or cares.”
“The circulation of the newspa—”
“Are you suggesting that every reader of the newspaper is looking for a home of this caliber and is in a position to purchase one?”
“Of course not, but the important thing is that people saw it,” the woman rushed on to say.
“Seeing and buying are two very different things,” Sierra finished. “Car manufacturers advertise every day in multiple media for a very good reason. It’s been proven that it takes the consumer at least three repetitive times to see something before it sticks. When had you planned for two and three?”
“I-I—”
“That wasn’t the answer I was hoping to hear.” Sierra tossed the newspaper on the desk. “A Navarone property is a first for Texas, thus giving Dallas prestige. By now every major newspaper in the state should have run a story on Navarone Place, and if you couldn’t have gotten one, you should have paid for it. Magazines like Architectural Digest or Southern Accents should be waiting with bated breath to come in and photograph the homes of the first residents.”
“I’ve got plans,” Char defended.
“Let’s hear them.”
“I—” Once again the woman faltered.
“Ms. James, your performance is inexcusable and unacceptable. I mean to make Navarone Place the premiere residence not only in Dallas but in the country. To do that, I need an advertising company with the contacts, motivation, and intelligence to get the information out. Can you produce or do I need to make a phone call that you’re not going to like?”
“I’ve been busy with other projects.”
“Excuses won’t cut it with me. What I want, what I demand, are results. Tell me one reason why this conversation shouldn’t be over.”
Her lips began to tremble; tears streamed down her cheeks. “Father will kill me if I mess up this account.”
“Don’t tempt me, Char.”
SEVEN
“ I f I had known you were taking care of it, I wouldn’t have called,” Sierra said from behind the desk.
Blade couldn’t tell if she was upset with him or not. Bob Fulton, head of Fulton Advertising Agency, had just left with his chastised daughter and promised to have a marketing plan on Blade’s desk by ten the next morning. “I wasn’t pleased any more than you. I had Fulton come over to discuss it. While we were talking, I received a phone call from Martin. He was concerned about you.”
“So you rushed to my rescue.” Clearly miffed, she slapped a notebook on her desk.
“That will be the day. Actually, it was Fulton who insisted that we
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