Dan All Over Again: Dan All Over Again / The Mountie Steals A Wife. Barbara Dunlop

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      “I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE that little weenie is trying to steal one of my accounts. And I have to find out after five on a Friday.” Cassie Chamberlain stopped at the chart hanging in the hallway of Nicholson’s Advertising Specialists. She looked at her best friend, Pam Kraft. “Roger just moved ahead of me into the Market Buster Contest’s number-one spot. I still have a chance to win the five-thousand-dollar bonus, money that’s going to get me one step closer to—” she dropped her voice “—opening my own marketing firm. At least Chamberlain Marketing will appreciate my talent and hard work. And maybe winning this contest will gain me some respect at Nicholson’s in the meantime.” And maybe it would make her feel complete, or at least satisfied. “I feel like they’ve cast me in the dumb blonde role.”

      Pam smoothed down her blue sheath dress with orchids spilling down the side. “Maybe it was from sending a cascade of water down the hallway when you tried to replace the water bottle.”

      “Oh, sure, but nobody remembers that I was trying to be independent and not bug one of the guys to do it.”

      “And I’m sure it wouldn’t be because the mail cart bounced down two flights of stairs and showered Mr. Shavely with envelopes.”

      “That was three and a half years ago! Do they still talk about it?”

      “Only in the same conversations as other natural disasters.”

      Cassie wrinkled her nose at Pam. “Gee, thanks.” She hadn’t goofed up in three years, since she’d taken The Supreme Seminar on Being Orderly, but she still hadn’t lived it down. She needed a game plan to (a) confront Roger-the-weenie Pinkle (b) make—Her ears perked at the sound: Squeak, squeak, squeak.

      “Roger! Wait’ll I get my hands on him.”

      “Get him, girl, in the name of womanhood and co-workerhood! Smear him! Trample him!” Most people thought they were sisters, with their blond, shoulder-length curls and close friendship. “’Course, don’t create too much of an uproar or Roger might retaliate and that could get ugly—ugly indeed. He could burn down the building. Or do something worse.”

      Cassie waved away her friend’s overactive imagination. “No, he wouldn’t.” She turned down the hallway in time to see him duck into the bathroom. She pounded on the door. “Roger, I heard your lifts squeaking. Come out before I come in there to get you.”

      The door slowly opened and he appeared. He tried to look surprised to see her, and even forced a smile. “Did you, er, need to use the facilities?”

      Even with those thick lifts he’d had installed on his shoes, he still stood at about her 5’7” height with heels. “No, I need to talk to you about stealing my fishing lure account.”

      He lifted his hands in supplication. “Now, now, I didn’t steal the account. I can’t help it if my talents lie within the fishing realm, and you weren’t there to take the call, after all. Mr. Nicholson thought I should handle the account, or at least the initial contact.” He sounded so logical, even in his whiny voice.

      “I’m not going down without a fight. I need this account to have a chance at the contest.”

      “Well, Cassie, I need it, too. I’ve got important things to buy with that money.”

      “Like what?”

      “I think that’s my own personal business.” He rubbed his flat nose. “All right, if you must know, I’m going to have my sinuses worked on. And a nose job while they’re at it. It’s the only way I’m going to get a pretty girl like you to go out with me.”

      “Your nose has nothing to do with your overall appeal, Roger.”

      “Then you’ll go out with me?”

      She nearly choked. “I mean, it’s…more than your nose.”

      He bounced up and down on his lifts, squeaking each time. “I’ve got one of those stretching machines that’s going to make me taller. I’ve already gained a fraction of an inch.”

      “And lost a pound of common sense. It’s not your height, either.” It was probably one of his curls that had gained him the fraction. “It’s…” She glanced down over his plaid shirt, his Looney Tunes plaid tie, and bright green pants. In addition to bouncing up and down, he was jingling his keys in his pocket. “I’m not here to assess you, Roger. I’m here to ask for the account back.”

      He raised his eyebrows. “We could discuss it over dinner. I discovered that the electrical device I purchased to stop my receding hairline roasts a great hot dog.”

      “Weenie.”

      “I don’t think we need to argue over the term for a hot dog. So, are we on?”

      She wrinkled her nose. “Er, no, thank you.” Interesting, though, that the weenie liked weenies. “Just hand over the account and I won’t have to hurt you.”

      He shrank back at those words and inched around her. “Don’t hurt me! I bruise easily!” And with a squeak, squeak, squeak, he was gone.

      Well, she certainly wasn’t going to chase him down. Not in these heels, anyway. Maybe the old Cassie would have done that, whipped off her heels and gone after him in full-tilt mode. But that’s not what the (a) dignified (b) sensible and (c) responsible Cassie was going to do. Even if her body was leaning toward that attack. Her narrowed eyes focused on her boss’s door. She pushed up her jacket sleeves and knocked.

      “Cassie.” Mr. Nicholson’s smile quickly faded. “Uh-oh, you’re upset. You know how I am about confrontation.”

      She had plastered her most calm expression on her face. “How could you tell I was upset?”

      “You’re crunching those Lifesaver things, same way you did when you had to swap offices with the new guy. In fact, throughout the whole move. But you were real good about it, giving up your corner office with the great view and without a fight, and I appreciate that. You’re a team player, Cassie, and that’s going to get you places. So I know you’ll understand about the Lure ’Em In Tackle Company.”

      Loud crunching echoed in her ears, and she swallowed the sharp pieces with a grimace. “You’re letting Roger steal my account.”

      Mr. Nicholson lifted his fat hands before running them through what was left of his hair. “Now, now, he didn’t steal it. He was standing by the receptionist’s desk when the call came in. You weren’t available, so he talked to them. Turns out he’s quite the little fisherman.”

      “The client asked for me!”

      “They’re СКАЧАТЬ