One Night with a Gorgeous Greek: Doukakis's Apprentice / Not Just the Greek's Wife / After the Greek Affair. Sarah Morgan
for those overheads.’ Polly Prince had been right in her assessment, he thought grimly. The board had been sucking the company dry. First-class flights. Elaborate lunches. Thousand-pound bottles of vintage wine… The list went on and on.
‘They’re in serious financial trouble. They’ve been hit by the economic downturn but made no compensatory moves. Peter Prince badly needed to trim staff. Instead they appear to have agreed to take a cut rather than allow anyone to be laid off.’ Ellen adjusted her glasses. ‘The business is a mess of course, but you knew that when you bought it. On the plus side they have some surprisingly good accounts and somehow they’ve just won a major piece of business with the French company Santenne. Their leading brand is High Kick Hosiery. That’s going to be huge. Didn’t our people pitch for that?’
‘Yes.’ The news that they’d lost out to Prince Advertising did nothing to improve Damon’s mood. ‘So how did Prince win it? They’re the most shambolic operation I’ve ever encountered.’
‘That’s true. Financially and structurally they’re a disaster. Creatively—well, I assume you’ve seen this?’ A strange light in her eyes, his finance director handed him a folder she’d brought with her.
‘I haven’t seen anything.’
‘But you always research companies so carefully.’
‘Well this time I didn’t.’ His tone was irritable and Ellen looked at him calmly.
‘We’ve worked together a long time, Damon. Do you want to talk about this?’
‘No.’ Damon shook his head and lifted a hand. ‘Don’t ask.’
‘I’m guessing this has something to do with your sister.’ Her tone was sympathetic. ‘She’s lucky to have you looking out for her.’
‘I wish she felt the same way.’
‘That’s because she takes your love for granted. Which is a compliment. It means she feels secure. Trust me, I know. I have teenagers. You’ve done a good job.’
It didn’t feel that way, but the prospect of discussing it horrified him almost as much as the situation itself. ‘About this company—’
‘It’s not all bad news.’ Fortunately Ellen took the hint and changed the subject. ‘There is a creative brain at work there. You just need to harness it.’
Damon opened the file and slowly flicked through the pages. Pausing, he lifted a glossy advert featuring a teenager in a nightclub. ‘That’s clever.’
‘It’s all clever. And creative. The customer profiling is spot on. Their use of social networking is astonishingly astute. My eldest has been nagging me to buy this for months, all based on the pester power generated by their campaign.’
His interest piqued, Damon flicked through rest of the folio. ‘The creative thinking is original.’ He frowned down at the tagline under a famous brand of running shoes. ‘“Run, breathe, live.” It’s good.’ Staring at the work, he remembered Polly’s words.
‘Clients love us. We’re very creative.’
‘Their sales have quadrupled since that campaign went live. They tapped into the whole lifestyle thing. There is no doubt that Prince Advertising is a mess, but there’s at least one person in the company who is exceptional. I’d go as far as to say they’re afloat purely because of the talents of their creative director. Who is he?’
‘His name was Michael Anderson and I fired him.’ Damon was staring down at the pages in front of him. ‘And there’s no way these ideas came from him. The man didn’t have an original thought in his head.’
‘Maybe it was Prince himself?’
Just thinking of Peter Prince sent Damon’s tension levels shooting skyward. ‘He’s in his fifties and he’s notorious for abandoning the company when it suits him. From what I can gather he treats it more as a hobby than a business. This stuff is young. Fresh. Visionary.’
Ellen smiled. ‘And fun.’
Fun.
Damon thought of the skull and crossbones on Polly’s nails. The hot pink tights. The fish on the desk. The party atmosphere that hit him every time he went near the staff. ‘They certainly have an interesting work ethic.’
‘So if it wasn’t the creative director, who’s coming up with the ideas?’ Ellen gathered up the papers. ‘Thanks to their creativity they have some major pieces of business. Their billing is haphazard, their cash flow is a nightmare, but we can sort that—’ she shrugged ‘—and absorb them into our business. Just make sure we don’t lose the brain behind these campaigns. We need to find out who it is and lock them into a watertight contract. Any idea who it could be?’
‘No.’ Mentally scrolling through the people he’d met, Damon closed the file. ‘But I intend to find out immediately. And I know just the person to ask.’
By seven o’clock Polly was the only one left on her floor of the office. She’d spent the latter half of the day juggling problems and soothing frayed nerves while taking endless calls from anxious clients who had seen news of the takeover on the TV.
‘Mr Peters, I think we should be reviewing the whole media mix.’ Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she talked into her headset so that her hands were free to unpack the last of the boxes, ‘Yes, it’s true that Mr Anderson has gone.’ She retrieved a packet of balloons from the bottom of the box and slid them into her desk. ‘But there are other people more than qualified to advise you on the best strategy.’ Like me, she thought, rescuing the charger for her BlackBerry and adding it to the stuff accumulating in the drawer. ‘I’m going to schedule a meeting in your diary, get the team to put together some ideas and then we’ll present them to you. I promise you will be blown away by our ideas … Uhuh … mmm, definitely … absolutely top priority.’
When she finally hung up, she keyed in the task to the ever-growing to-do list in her BlackBerry and carried on sorting out her desk area. The rest of the staff had gone home hours before, all apparently excited by the prospect of riding down to street level in the glass elevator.
Left alone, Polly removed her boots and settled down to an evening of hard work. Darkness spread slowly over the city as she worked her way steadily through her calls. After a few hours she glanced up at the towering panes of glass and saw that the view had changed from daytime city-slick to nighttime sparkle and she paused for a moment, captivated by the wide-angled view of London at night. The moon sent a sliver of light across the River Thames and for the first time in a horrid, hideous week she felt peaceful.
Maybe, just maybe, this could turn out to be a good thing. Damon Doukakis was probably one of the few people with the talent to turn the company round, providing he didn’t fire all of them first.
Romeo and Juliet seemed happy enough in their new surroundings and Polly had discovered that there were enough workstations for everyone without having to operate the Doukakis ‘hot desk’ system. She wondered how his employees must feel, coming to work every day and sitting down at an empty, featureless surface, greeted by nothing more than a power point and a phone socket.
Damon Doukakis was focused on the success of his business to the exclusion of everything else.
She paused in the middle of deleting an e-mail.
Well, not quite everything else.
Her cheeks burned and she stared down at her hands, remembering. The attraction had been like a searing blade, driven straight through her. And she was pretty sure he’d felt it too.
He’d looked horrified, she remembered, which should have dented her ego except that she was a realist. There was no way he would sully himself with a mongrel like her. She’d seen enough pictures of him in the gossip columns to know that the women he chose were sleek and groomed. Elegant. Dignified. Controlled. Everything about his life was ruthlessly controlled, from work to women.