Chapter 3: 03. I am Dope!

Bored?

At his last word, I choked back a fit of laughter. 'Trust me, there are a few things that have worried me when considering the idea of spending the rest of my life with you—but being bored was never one of them.'

Leaning forward, he captured my face between both of his hands. 'Good to know. Tell me—if not boredom, what is it that you are worried about?'

His eyes were swirling, storm-coloured pools of darkness. A girl could drown in those eyes.

'Losing myself,' I whispered before I could stop myself.

His grip tightened. 'A valid concern. But don't worry.'

'No?'

'No. If you ever do, I'll find you again.'

And he kissed me.

In broad daylight. Out in the street, in the middle of London. Holy Moly!

Holy hell! Yes, the cover of the chaise is up, but someone could see us anyway! Maybe we shouldn't...maybe...we...

Or maybe I should. Yes. Yes, upon reconsideration, and consultation with my lips, I definitely should.

'Ehem...Sahib?'

Was someone talking?

'Sahib!'

'What is it Karim?' Mr Ambrose growled.

'We have arrived, Sahib.'

It was only then that I realized the chaise had come to a stop. By the time I had recovered from my surprise, Mr Ambrose was already out of my arms and out of the chaise.

'Well, what are you waiting for, Mr Linton? Knowledge is power is time is money!'

Throwing Karim a dirty look, I followed Mr Ambrose and made a mental note to have my dressmaker prepare a flower girl dress in size XXL.

The building Mr Ambrose and I were approaching was by no means as big as Empire House, yet it still was an impressive behemoth. Three stories high, it had an elegantly painted façade, with cheerful flowerbeds stretching in front of the entrance, and a fountain tinkling in the front yard. A doorman in a shiny blue-and-gold uniform stood at the front door.

I threw Mr Ambrose a look.

'Are you sure this is one of your offices?'

A muscle in his cheek twitched. 'My advertising directors assured me it was vital to project a positive image.'

'And a costly one?'

'Let's just say that I will not be pleased if they do not deliver on their promises of success.'

We strode towards the doorman. Stepping in our way, the man let his eyes drift haughtily over the thinner spots in Mr Ambrose's ten-year-old mint-condition tailcoat.

'You seem to have lost your way, Sir. Can I help you?'

'Yes. You can get out of my way.'

'I'm afraid I cannot do that, Sir.'

Oh dear. R.I.P., dear doorman.

'Indeed?' Two dark, ice-cold eyes wandered over the doorman's figure. 'I'm sure Mr Humphreys and Mr Byrd would have something to say about that.'

'Mr Humphreys? Mr Byrd?' The doorman's Adam's apple bobbled. 'How do you know the names of the directors of—'

Mr Ambrose didn't say a thing. He just reached into his pocket, pulled out his card and handed it to the doorman. The poor fellow took one look at the thing, blanched and jumped aside.

'I-I'm s-so sorry, Mr Ambrose, Sir! Of course you may go in immediately, Sir. Mr Humphreys and Mr Byrd are expecting you, Sir.'

'Adequate. Card?'

The doorman blinked. 'You...you want my card?'

'Of course not! I want mine back. Do you have any idea how much it costs to print these things nowadays?'

'Of course! Here you are, Sir! So sorry for the inconvenience, Sir.'

'Hm.'

Pushing past the doorman, Mr Ambrose marched into the entrance hall. Hurrying to catch up, I enquired: 'So...what would you say to printing five hundred embossed wedding invitations decorated with gold leaf?'

'Dream on, Mr Linton.'

'That's what I thought. So...how do we get people invited to our wedding?'

'I was thinking of beautiful, handwritten calligraphic invitations.'

I stared up at him, eyes narrowed. 'You were?'

'Certainly. Only the best for our wedding.'

Warmth filled my heart. 'That's so...thank you. Just thank you.'

'You agree?'

'Most definitely.'

'Good!' He patted my shoulder. 'Then your next task as soon as we return to the office will be to brush up your calligraphy skills.'

He had disappeared into the stairwell before I could think of a reply.

Damn the man!

Sparks flying from my eyes, I rushed after him and up the stairs. When, at the top, I stepped out into a corridor, I just caught sight of the tail-ends of his coat disappearing into a room before the door closed. Marching to the door, I threw it open.

'Now listen here, you! If you think—!'

My voice cut off.

Mr Ambrose was sitting opposite two middle-aged, very important-looking gentlemen in colourful vests, around a big conference table, a stack of documents in front of him. Turning to gaze at me, he cocked his head.

'Yes, Mr Linton?'

I clenched my fists, mentally counted to ten, and unclenched them again.

'If you think this is the right room, I'll come in now, Sir.'

'I do. Enter.'

'Thank you, Sir.' And prepare yourself. Vengeance shall be mine.

Stepping inside, I settled down at a corner of the table. Karim stepped in behind me, closed the door, and stood in front of it with crossed arms, seeming determined to defend it against any invading army that happened to pass through.

'Where was I?' the taller of the two distinguished gentlemen asked, throwing me an annoyed look.

Mr Ambrose pinned him with his arctic gaze. 'You were about to explain why your brilliant advertising campaign has resulted in a sales increase of exactly zero point zero two five per cent, Mr Humphreys.'

'Ah. Um. Yes, that.'

'Well?'

'You see, Sir, you have to understand that under current market conditions...'

Mr Humphreys launched into a long speech that contained words like 'yield management', 'adnorm' and 'category development index'. Occasionally, Mr Byrd threw in a comment about 'collateral materials' or 'galley proofs'. It was all a bit hard to follow, particularly since a fly who was buzzing around Karim's head, contemplating whether to settle down on his nose, held a lot more interest for me. The plucky little insect and he were currently engaged in a staring contest. I could almost hear their unspoken dialogue.

'Don't you dare! That is my nose. Don't you dare sit down!'

'Ha! I'll do anything I want to, big one!'

I was rooting for the fly.

Still, a part of my mind tried to follow Mr Humphreys' speech on advertising. Apparently, there was this new substance on the market, some plant extract or other, which Mr Ambrose's subordinates had put into various food products, and the firm was having really big trouble getting the average person on the street interested in this strange stuff.

The poor little fly retreated under Karim's glare and buzzed off to another corner of the room. Disappointed, I turned my attention back to the conversation, and nudged Mr Humphreys. 'What was the name of this stuff you're trying to sell again?'

Mr Humphreys threw me a superior look.

'Please try to follow, young man,' he scolded me. 'This is a serious business meeting of important, highly respected businessmen, and we do not countenance interruptions. We must determine a valid business strategy on how to best sell our cocaine.'

'Cocaine...hmm...' I rolled the strange name around in my mouth. 'Have you tried handing out free samples?'

Mr Humphrey rolled his eyes. 'That's the oldest trick in the book, young man! That would never work!'

'Then how about switching the medium for advertising?' I mused. 'Instead of just placing ads in newspapers, we could put up giant, brightly coloured posters on boards next to various roads.'

MrHumphreys snorted. 'As if anyone would ever believe something that is scribbledon the side of the road. Ha! Amateurs!'

The other gentleman chuckled. I felt heat rising to my face, and instinctively glanced towards Mr Ambrose—who was not chuckling. In fact, he was regarding me quite intently.

'Silence!'

That one word was sufficient to cut off the boys' club's amusement. Rising, Mr Ambrose stepped towards me.

'So...you think you can do a better job of it than the professionals, Mr Linton?'

'If those are the professionals?' I threw a look at Messrs Humphrey and Byrd. 'Definitely.'

Too bad I wasn't going to get the chance.

'Adequate. The job is yours, Mr Linton.'

Wait, what?

'What?' Mr Humphrey jumped up. Amazing. I had the same thought as that old geezer? Maybe I had worn trousers too long. 'What did you say?'

Mr Ambrose gave the man a look that would have made an ice sculpture feel chilly. 'I am not in the habit of repeating myself, Mr Humphreys.'

'Well, you had bloody well better do it anyway!' I told him, sticking a finger in my ear and slowly turning it. Surely, I had to have earwax in there somewhere. 'Because I think there's something wrong with my ears.'

'There most definitely isn't.' Turning towards me, Mr Ambrose sent a look towards me as well. A totally different look that slid up and down my body, and said: There's nothing wrong with your ears—nor with the rest of you. I had to work hard to suppress a shiver. 'This is your chance, Mr Linton.'

'M-my chance?'

'Certainly. After all, you have expressed your wishes to remain in my employ long-term. Do you always intend to remain a secretary, or do you plan to develop your talents at some point and make something more of yourself? Here is your chance to prove yourself.'

Or to make an utter fool of yourself so you can come running home to me and be my good little wifey.

He didn't speak the words out loud, but he might as well have shouted them. The expressions of Messrs Humphrey and Byrd behind him spoke volumes. Mr Ambrose's arctic gaze bored into me with icy intensity, and I realized: He expects me to say no. He expects me to fold.

I grinned.

Apparently, he didn't know me quite well enough yet.

'All right.'

Mr Byrd shot out of his chair. 'What?'

I glanced at him and his fellow director. 'You two are rather fond of that word, aren't you?'

'Their exclamations are understandable, Mr Linton.' Mr Ambrose leaned forward, fingers steepled. 'Your joke is in rather poor taste.'

'Joke? What joke would that be?' Giving him a bright smile, I grabbed the pile of documents spread on the table, shouldered it with the muscles built up during hours upon hours of file-fetching, and strode towards the door. 'Let's go, shall we?'

And, ducking underneath a startled Karim's arm, I slipped out into the corridor before anyone could say a thing.

As quickly as I could, I descended the steps and crossed the entrance hall.

How long will it take him to catch up to me? Hm...any moment now. Three...two...o—

A hand as hard as stone closed around my arm. My momentum carried us both forward and, together, we tumbled through the front doorway. Whirling me around, Mr Ambrose pressed me against the wall of the house, the pile of files like a shield between us.

Ice-cold eyes burned into me.

'What do you think you are playing at, Mr Linton?'

'What am I playing?' I gave him a charming smile. 'Why, your game of course. You want me to make your product a success? Well, I'll do it.'

'You will, will you?'

'You don't believe I can?'

Diplomacy had never been Mr Rikkard Ambrose's strong suit. Neither had verbosity.

'No.'

'Well then, you've got nothing to lose, do you? How about a little bet?'

His eyes narrowed infinitesimally, and his grip on me tightened. 'I do not bet. I am not in the habit of throwing my money away.'

'Oh, but this isn't about money. This is about you and me. So, what about it? Chicken?'

His grip tightened even more, as if he were trying to permanently bind me to him. Poor man. Didn't he realize he didn't need his hands for that?

'I'm not afraid of anything!'

For a moment, I contemplated answering with the word 'mother'—but on the whole I decided that I'd better not.

'Then prove it! You have until the wedding to try and get rid of me. You can give me any task you want, throw anything in my way you can possibly think of to make me quit—but only until the wedding! If I haven't left work by the time we've tied the knot, you will not try to fire me again, unless it is for a valid reason that you can explain to me without your little finger twitching! Do we have a deal?'

He hesitated.

That right there, that little moment, warmed my heart more than anything else could. He might not be able to admit it to anyone, least of all himself, but deep inside, he believed that yes, perhaps, with a boatload of luck, I might be able to pull this off—no matter that I didn't know the first thing about advertising. He believed in me. And he clearly loathed that fact. Wasn't he just adorable?

'My little finger,' he gritted out between clenched teeth, 'does not twitch.'

Raising a hand, I jabbed a finger into his chest—and immediately regretted it. Damn, he was hard!

'Do. We. Have. A. Deal?'

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. A long, long moment. At last...

'Challenge accepted, Mr Linton.' his ice-cold eyes bored into me. 'We have a deal.'

***

'Cocaine in your cocoa! There's nothing quite like it. Hm...no. That won't work. How about... Get some cocaine for your coconut! Now 30% off! Hm...no. Damn! I'm dealing with Mr Rikkard Ambrose here. He won't be pleased if I start selling the stuff off cheap.'

Frantically scratching my head, I marched up and down in my office. I had been at it the last three days, ever since we had returned from our meeting with Mr Humphreys and Mr Byrd. I had hardly even returned home to sleep and eat. And what did I have to show for my efforts? Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Well, except perhaps some grooves in the floor from marching up and down too long. Huzzah!

Concentrate, Lilly. Work! Think about cocaine.

What could I possibly do with the stuff? Slogans wouldn't be enough. Something bigger and better was needed to get rid of such a massively unpopular product. Hm...who would possibly be interested in its properties? Reaching for the fact sheet, I once again reviewed the description. But nothing jumped out at me. Muttering a curse, I returned to marching and proclaiming slogans until I was hoarse from shouting.

Reaching for a nearby bottle of water, I filled a glass—but before I could take a sip, a coughing fit overcame me. Hurriedly, I took a few gulps. The cool water was a blessed relief to my overused vocal cords, but they still felt raw. If only there was something...

I froze.

Could it be this easy?

Carefully, I put down the glass of water while turning the idea over in my head. It was so simple. So seamless. So...so...

'Yes!' I punched the air. Brilliant! I had it! The solution! The best idea I'd ever had! Dashing over to my desk, I snatched up the speaking horn that connected me directly to Sallow-Face.

'Pearson? Pearson, are you there?'

I waited breathlessly for a moment, before...

'That's Mister Pearson to you, Mr Linton.'

'Yes, yes, Pearson! Of course it is. Now listen. Run over to the design department and tell them to send their best man up to my office pronto! Then send a messenger boy to the Times and reserve two pages of their best ad space for the next two weeks. Oh, and send another to rent poster space along the main London thoroughfares, and at the entrances to the various parks—anywhere where passing ladies might see.'

'Ladies?'

'Yes. And before I forget, rent some ad space in local newspapers in cities like Liverpool and Manchester, too. We'll make a big campaign out of this.'

'That will cost a fortune, Mr Linton!'

I grinned. 'And it will bring in a bigger one.'

'This comes from the top then? On Mr Ambrose's orders?

'Well...' He had given me complete authority over this project, hadn't he? That should include spending the necessary funds as well. Otherwise, how would he expect me to accomplish anything? 'Yes! Yes, it does. Don't spare any expense. This is going to be the biggest advertising campaign in the history of Great Britain!'

And the most successful one.

Hopefully.

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My Dear Lords, Ladies and Crackheads...um, I mean of course gentlemen ;)

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I put quite a bit of research into this little episode. As strange as it might sound, cocaine was indeed perfectly legal back in those days, as were many other drugs.  And now, all those dangerous substances are in the hands of a fiery ifrit! What do you think will happen? ;)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob