Amazonia

Amazonia

by Ariela Vaughn

Copyright 2012 Ariela Vaughn

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters,
and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s
imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to
actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or
locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be
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Layla Harper stroked her cat’s silky white fur and
wished she knew when her boss would call. So what if she had blown
up at him and walked out of his office? Jefferson Prescott had
deserved every bit of it and more for treating her like a
weak-minded female. Never mind that the client had liked her vision
for their ad campaign. Jefferson had thought the lacy dresses on
the models were too girly to be used in a cologne ad. Perhaps if he
would have focused on the rest of the image, such as the virile
male model posed between the two fawning young women, he would have
understood the message—that this cologne would make a man
irresistible to gorgeous women. Wasn’t that every man’s dream?

The client certainly thought so, but apparently
Jefferson wasn’t every man. Come to think of it, Layla had never
seen a photo of a girlfriend on his desk or heard him mention a
date even though it was a well-known fact around the office that he
wasn’t married. Could it be he didn’t like the ad campaign because
he didn’t want to attract women?

Layla’s hand stilled and she looked down into the
cat’s bright blue eyes. “He can’t be gay, can he? He’s never shown
an interest in men either, Fluffy. Maybe he’s asexual and just
doesn’t care one way or the other about relationships?”

That kind of apathy would explain his
misunderstanding of the ad she had created. But it didn’t explain
his attentiveness whenever he stopped by her office to discuss a
project or for a brief chat.

Before her musing could go any further, the phone
rang, startling her and Fluffy. The cat launched himself across the
room and disappeared into the hallway. Layla reached over and
grabbed her cell phone from the table beside her. Jefferson’s
number showed on the screen.

She drew in a deep breath and answered. “Layla
Harper.”

“You need to come back to the office,” Jefferson’s
deep voice responded.

“If you just want to yell at me again, I think I’ll
stay home until tomorrow.”

“Layla, please.” His heavy sigh brought a twinge of
guilt. Perhaps she was being more difficult than necessary, but her
irritation ran deep and it was difficult to let it go.

She took a deep breath, reaching for the patience she
knew lay buried somewhere inside. “Look, it’s been a long day and
there’s only half an hour left before the end of business. I can’t
get there in time to get anything productive done.”

“So count it as overtime. I think you owe it to the
company, since you walked out early.”

“Do you remember why I walked out early, Mr.
Chauvinistic?” Layla snapped, her temper rising once more.

“Yes, I stated my opinion of your ad idea and you
took offense at it,” Jefferson returned with just as much heat.
“Now, if you want to have a job tomorrow morning, you’ll get your
behind back here and into my office in twenty minutes or less.”

“Yes, sir.” She hung up before he could reply and
glared at the phone. “Dictating jerk.”

Reluctantly leaving her comfy chair, she stood and
headed for the bedroom. Fluffy lay in the middle of her quilt,
sound asleep as if he hadn’t fled the ringing phone just moments
ago. Layla rolled her eyes and went to her closet. Since she
currently wore her favorite pair of ratty jeans and a form-hugging
tank top, she figured she should change into something a little
more professional before returning to the office.

Then her gaze fell on the glowing green numbers of
her alarm clock. By the time she got there, everyone would be
leaving for the day, except for her and the man forcing her to work
late. She grabbed a pair of sneakers and pulled them on.

“If he wants to ruin my evening because of some
misguided power trip, he can just deal with seeing me in this.”

The only addition she made to her outfit was a
zippered hoodie sporting a flaming skull on the back. The front
bore the name of her cousin’s heavy metal band, Death Fire.
Although she’d managed to keep her wilder side hidden from everyone
at Prescott and Hayes for the five years she’d worked there, her
irritation with Jefferson removed all her reservations about
letting him see it. He was invading her downtime, so he could deal
with it. The worst that could happen was that she had to look for a
new job in the morning, but even that likely wouldn’t be too
difficult. After all, Gordon Marketing had been trying to lure her
away from the position she’d loved until the disastrous meeting
with Jefferson this afternoon. The only reason she hadn’t switched
firms yet is because she had worked hard to reach her current
position and earn the respect of her colleagues and clients. She
didn’t want to have to start over at a new firm with new
clients.

She grabbed her cell phone and keys on the way out
the door. Her one concession to her “weekend personality,” as her
cousin called it, was the black Jeep sitting in her driveway. She
had spent more than one Sunday evening washing off mud and
returning the paint to a high shine in order to prevent anyone at
work from guessing she spent her weekends out in the middle of
nowhere and helping her cousin’s band transport equipment to venues
at fairgrounds, warehouses, and the occasional barn.

Fifteen minutes later, she rode the elevator to the
fourth floor of Hildegard Tower. The huge steel-and-glass building
housed multiple corporations, but Prescott and Hayes owned the
entire fourth floor. Layla’s office sat in the middle of the main
hallway, near the bank of elevators and reception area. She
bypassed it, ignoring the stunned gazes of her coworkers leaving
for the day, and strolled to Jefferson’s corner office.

He responded to her knock with a curt, “Enter.”

Layla fought down her temper and opened the door.
“I’m here as ordered. What couldn’t wait until morning?”

Jefferson sat behind his desk, his eyes wide and his
mouth open slightly. He quickly snapped it closed and rose, coming
around to meet her. “Is this part of a new ad campaign or part of a
new campaign to drive me nuts?”

She crossed her arms and glared. “Neither. This is me
when I’m not working. I would have changed, but I got the feeling
you would rather I didn’t take the time.”

“Touché.” He stepped around her and closed the door,
and then he returned to his desk chair. “Have a seat.”

She dropped into the chair he indicated and sprawled
comfortably, tired of playing the part of the perfect little
businesswoman. Obviously, it had been a mistake to completely hide
her tomboy tendencies, since Jefferson apparently couldn’t stand a
show of femininity.

He twisted his leather chair back and forth, and a
quiet, soothing creak filled the air. After studying her a moment
longer, he stopped and leaned forward, steepling his fingers in
front of his chest. “Layla, I’ll be honest. Our working together
isn’t going as well as I had hoped when I asked you to assist me
with the New Man Cologne account.”

“That’s hardly my fault, since I did as you asked by
taking care of the photo shoot. You forgot to tell me that you had
a different vision for the photos than I did.” She lifted an
eyebrow, hoping like crazy he wasn’t on his way to demoting her to
the position of gofer. “By the way, did you notice how much the
client loved those images, even though you hated them?”

“I did.” Jefferson worked his jaw, and Layla realized
she’d better quit pushing him before he grew so exasperated he
fired her. He took a deep breath and slowly released it before
speaking again. “Look, Layla, I didn’t have you come here to
restart our earlier argument.”

“Oh?”

“I want to make amends, work out our differences.” He
crossed his arms on his desk and leaned closer. “Somehow, you and I
have to learn to work together peacefully.”

“And why is that? Unless the client is suddenly
unhappy with the New Man campaign, I don’t see why we need to worry
about it.” She gave a nonchalant shrug and settled deeper in her
seat. “After all, we were only working together on that one
project.”

“Well, that’s the problem. The client was so pleased
with our work that they’ve asked us to work together on the
campaign for their new perfume, Amazonia.”

Despite her tension at the thought of working with
Jefferson on another project, Layla couldn’t help laughing.
“Amazonia? Really? And who do they intend to sell this perfume to,
the Women’s Lumberjack Association?”

“Not quite.”

A small smile lifted the corners of Jefferson’s
mouth, and Layla suddenly realized just how sexy the man was. For
the first time since she walked into his office, she took a good
look at him. His normally neat dark hair was tousled, as though he
had run his fingers through it several times. He had removed his
tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt,
revealing a strong tanned throat. With his suit coat casually
hanging open as well, Layla could see that the man beneath the
perfectly tailored clothing had a nice build. If she were a betting
woman, she’d lay odds that his chest and abs were chiseled enough
to make even the most oblivious woman drool, and she was far from
oblivious.

Jefferson raised one eyebrow in a most appealing
manner, and his green eyes sparkled with amusement. “Layla? Did you
hear what I said?”

Heat infused her cheeks as she realized she’d been
caught staring. “Sorry, my mind drifted for a moment. What were you
saying?”

“I said the client wants us to work our magic and
make Amazonia appeal to every woman. They want the name to invoke
the mental image of a strong but sexy woman, one who can take on
the world and still enjoy a romantic candlelit dinner with her
husband or boyfriend.”

Layla’s mind turned from her boss to ideas for the
ad. “So, no lumberjacks.”

Jefferson chuckled, a rich sound that sent sparks of
warmth shooting through Layla’s veins. “No, I can’t imagine
lumberjacks fitting the sexy part of the brand’s image.”

“Well, I could probably come up with a way to make it
work, but I assume the client wants something a little more big
city and a little less backwoods.”

“You got it.”

“When do they want the initial ideas?”

“If we could have something for them by the middle of
next week, that would be great.” Jefferson combed his fingers
through his hair, tousling it even more and making Layla’s pulse
rate spike. The man was the embodiment of the cologne campaign they
had just completed—an irresistible woman-magnet.

She looked away from him and picked at a weak spot on
her jeans. It looked like she would soon have a new hole, not that
she minded. The holes and frayed cuffs just added to the look.
Plus, the denim had been washed so much it couldn’t get much
softer, which was the main reason she loved them.

“So, do you have any ideas percolating in that pretty
little head of yours?”

Layla’s head shot up, her hackles rising at his
chauvinistic way of referring to her. Then she saw the warmth in
his eyes, and shock chased all traces of irritation from her
system. Could it be that instead of being out to get her, he was
actually interested in her? She shook off the thought. No way could
he be interested in a closet tomboy. “I have a couple of ideas, but
I’m not sure how well lace and work boots go together.”

Jefferson stared at her and then burst into laughter.
“Why do I get the feeling your mind is a frightening place for the
unsuspecting?”

“I’m sure it is, which is why you should be glad
you’re not in here with me.” She wasn’t about to admit the reason
she was glad he wasn’t in her mind. What would he think if he knew
she was trying to figure out her chances of a date with him?

“I don’t know. It might be interesting to observe
your thought processes for a day. Maybe then I would know how to
get along with you better.”