Chapter 3

“Okay, team, did everyone bring their agenda with them?” Dan asked the assembled group, and was greeted with the usual acknowledgments. Monday- morning meetings were early, they were efficient, and they were murder without coffee.

One of the reasons I chose Manhattan Creative to begin my career was their fine reputation, their wide network of colleagues across the country— the globe, really—and their barista-like coffee bar on the forty-fourth floor.

The president of MCG worked his way through college at a tiny old- fashioned coffee shop, and prided himself on having only the finest coffee products for his hardworking team. It was a perk, pardon the pun, to an already incredible job.

Over the weekend, a burst water pipe on the forty-fifth floor meant the coffee bar was no longer. They’d found beans down on twenty-seven, or at least that was the word on the street. Intern Rob had been sent down to bring back Starbucks for everyone, but until he arrived, those not smart enough to bring their own brew from home were struggling this morning.

Not Dan. Dan was one of those herbal-tea people. He brought his own bags with him to work, even had a teakettle in his corner office, and therefore felt none of our pain this morning.

“Let’s have another round of applause for Natalie’s team. Ms. Grayson managed to bring in the T&T Sanitation business with an . . . let’s say interesting . . . presentation late Friday evening. For those of you who didn’t check their email over the weekend, it was a success; we are now officially peddling shit!”

“Hear! Hear!” a voice called out, and I stood to curtsy and wave à la prom queen.

“Also, for those of you who didn’t check their email over the weekend, I’ll need your resignation on my desk by 5 p.m. today,” he finished, the twinkle in his eye missed by the very green and very young Edward, a junior copywriter who wore a look of panic and was slinking lower in his chair by the minute.

“Easy, Eddie, he’s teasing,” I whispered, nudging him back up higher into his chair. “But way to call yourself out. Nice poker face.”

“But I—”

I shook my head at him, motioning for him to keep his eyes on Dan.

“So, page one as always is new business. Let’s go through what’s in the hopper this week,” Dan continued, and we all read along with him as he outlined potential jobs on the horizon. A cat food brand, not too exciting but lucrative and great visibility potential. A small chain of boutique hotels was looking to go global next year, and wanted to raise some green quickly to look more favorable to investors. To raise the funds they needed, they were willing to spend some money to strengthen their brand. I immediately thought of Clara, and wondered if this might be an opportunity to work together. I put a checkmark next to that section, waiting until he finished going through every item on the agenda to formally put in for the job.

Dan ran a very tight ship, with an impeccably tight team. If you brought a client to the firm, then that was your client. But when someone solicited us on their own? It was up for grabs. Each account executive made a case for how they would be the best point person on each project, and then he and the partners would select who got what gig.

Due to my recent success, and the fact that I’d closed more accounts than any other account exec over the past eighteen months, I could essentially pick and choose the jobs I wanted. Like T&T Sanitation. Now, most didn’t want it, thinking it would just end up as a joke campaign. But I saw the potential to go out on a limb with new clients and really make something out of nothing. And, more often than not, the gamble paid off, and I made the partners and myself a nice signing bonus.

I half listened to the rest of the agenda, waiting until it was time to officially throw my hat into the ring on the hotel chain. Might get some nice travel out of it, might get to work with one of my best friends if I could swing bringing in a consultant on this job, and, most important, it could be what finally made me a partner.

A partner before thirty. That had always been the goal.

My father ran his own real estate developing company. My mother was a famous artist. I needed this feather in my cap to keep the name Grayson held with the same distinction that my parents had, and I needed to do it on my own. I could have gone into business with my father; he’d have been thrilled. But other than taking him up on his offer to live in one of his fabulous brownstones, I managed my life on my own.

I scanned ahead on the agenda and realized that Dan was almost through with the new business, and it would be time to formally ask to be considered for the hotel chain pitch. I began to rehearse in my head exactly what strategy to use when I heard him say, very clearly, Bailey Falls.

“Wait, Bailey Falls?” I asked, interrupting Dan and causing the entire room to look at me strangely. “Did I hear you say Bailey Falls?”

“Bailey Falls, yes you did. Looks like someone better hope Rob gets back with coffee soon,” Dan chuckled, and light laughter rang out through the group. “The Bailey Falls tourism pitch, it’s on your agenda there, almost at the bottom.”

I quickly scanned toward the bottom, and right there were the words

BAILEY FALLS, HUDSON VALLEY, NY.

It seemed that Roxie’s small town was looking for some big-city direction. “I’ll take it!” I shouted, surprising everyone in the meeting, including

yours truly.

“Natalie, I admire your enthusiasm, but it can wait until the end of this, yes?”

“Yes,” I answered back, a little embarrassed and more than a little confused by my outburst. I quickly rallied, listening to everything he had to say.

Bailey Falls, like most small towns in the Hudson Valley, relied heavily on tourism as a source of income. But with the rise of cheaper flights to Europe again, they’d seen a drop in their tourist business, especially noticing that not nearly as many New Yorkers and New Jerseyans were as interested in weekending there as they were even ten years ago.

People were gun-shy now about buying; they wanted the freedom of renting a summer house, a lake house, a winter camp. They wanted to rent and come and go and not suffer like an owner when the roof leaked or the plumbing broke, or a family of owls set up shop in the attic, which apparently was a common occurrence up in the sticks.

Therefore, some of these smaller towns that featured a slice of Americana as their very bread and butter were not doing so well. And rather than wait, the town council of little Bailey Falls had pooled its town’s resources and decided to hire a big-shot New York advertising firm to put its town back on the tourist map.

Huh. Roxie had just been saying she thought I should come up for a visit. Then Saturday, for the first time ever, something new happened with the dairy farmer, who just happened to live in Bailey Falls.

Could be . . .

Who knows . . .

As I tuned out the last bit of my boss’s new-business speech, I heard the words of West Side Story: something’s coming, something good.

When selecting a soundtrack for your life, it’s always good to throw a little Sondheim into the mix.

New business was concluded. I took a deep breath. But before I could make a play for the Bailey Falls pitch, Dan looked straight at Didn’t Check His Email Over the Weekend and said, “Hey, Edward, how’d you like to work on the Bailey Falls pitch?”

I fumed.

I was still fuming when Intern Rob came through the door with hot coffee and I burned the back of my throat downing my venti double with three extra shots.

Ouch.

Throat crackly, I stormed down the hall to Dan’s office, practically dragging Edward by the collar. He knew better than to protest.

“Dan. What the hell?”

“You’re asking that question? I’m not the one who’s trying to hang Edward up like a trench coat. And stop doing that, by the way,” he said, sitting down behind his desk with a curious look in his eyes. No doubt wondering why his usually easy-breezy employee was foaming at the mouth over something like—

“Bailey Falls?” I asked, settling Edward into a chair and beginning to pace in front of Dan’s desk. Edward just looked relieved to be off his feet. “You gave junior here that account without even asking if anyone else was interested. When did that become standard practice?” I gave Edward the side- eye. “No offense.”

“None taken?” he said.

“It’s not standard practice, but I decided to switch things up a bit. I knew Edward here would never step up to the plate unless I put the bat in his hand. No offense, Edward.”

“None—”

“None taken, we know,” I interrupted, resisting the urge to pat him on the head.

“Besides, why in the world would you be interested in working on a campaign like this anyway? It’s not your usual kind of job,” Dan continued, like Edward wasn’t even there. “What’s in this for you?”

Orgasms. Endless orgasms. Brought forth into the world by a man who used his mouth and lips and tongue for something way more important than hooking up silly words and phrases and clauses. But not the kind of thing you could explain to your boss, and expect to keep your job . . .

“What’s always in it for me, Dan. A chance to create something truly incredible, to elevate, to illuminate, to take something no one is talking about, and make it the thing that everyone is talking about.”

Edward applauded. I smiled graciously. Dan was having none of it.

“I have no idea what’s actually going on here, but I’m not buying any of it. You realize where Bailey Falls is, right?”

I blinked innocently. “Hudson River Valley, upstate.” “In the country.”

“Yes.” I blinked innocently. “Natalie.”

“Yes, Dan.”

“You once commuted three hours a day when working on a job in Paramus because you refused to, and I quote, “sleep in this godforsaken state.”

“Well that’s entirely different,” I stated matter-of-factly. “Why is that different?” he asked.

“That was New Jersey,” I said just as matter-of-factly. Dan groaned and buried his head in his hands, scrubbing at his face. “Look, Dan, before you go working yourself over here, this isn’t such a big deal. It’s something new, something different, and aren’t you always saying it would do me good to get off my island occasionally?”

“You have an island?” Edward asked, looking impressed.

“I do, you’re sitting on it right now,” I replied, no longer resisting the patting-on-the-head urge. I looked at Dan as if to say, See, this is exactly the reason you need me on this job.

He shot me back a look that said, I agree with you on that point, but I still think you’re up to something.

I acknowledged with a “Trust me, I got this.”

“Okay, Edward, we’ll find something else for you to work on. Ms.

Grayson is taking on the Bailey Falls account.”

Pleased, I turned to the junior copywriter, who looked positively relieved. “Come on, Edward, I’ll buy you a pretzel.” I grinned at Dan, who no doubt still wondered what I was up to, but was letting it go for now.

“I’ll forward you everything the Bailey Falls councilman sent over this afternoon,” Dan said, and I chirped a thank-you as I escorted Edward out of the office.

“You don’t really, like, own Manhattan, do you?” he asked quietly, pretty sure of my answer but green enough to ask it anyway.

“Depends on the day, sweetie, depends on the day,” I answered, strutting off down the hall, Edward in tow.

I spent the afternoon doing research on the town of Bailey Falls. Founded in the early 1800s, it had once been an artists’ colony and still maintained a vibrant and supportive art scene. Bryant Mountain House was located there, an old Catskills mountain resort that had survived remarkably past the sixties and seventies, when so many of those beautiful old resorts had been torn down. And with the Culinary Institute of America just up the road in Hyde Park, it had what looked to be an impressive selection of restaurant and dining options for such a small town.

So what gives?

I reread the last part of the email that had been submitted to MCG.

So you can see, our town has everything to offer the weekending couple or family that just wants to get out of the city and into the country for a while. But while other towns in the Hudson Valley seem to have flourished in recent years, our little hamlet has remained off the beaten path. We like to consider Bailey Falls upstate New York’s best-kept secret. I think we’re ready to let everyone else in on it now. With your help.

Looking forward to hearing what your firm might be able to do for us,

Councilman Chad Bowman

Chad Bowman. Chad Bowman. Why did that name sound familiar? On impulse I called Roxie.

“Do you know a Chad Bowman?” I asked when she chirped a hello. “Are you talking about The Chad Bowman?” she asked.

I frowned and reread the email. “I’m talking about Councilman Chad Bowman; is that the same thing?”

“Ha! Councilman! Shit, that’s right, I never heard him referred to that way, all fancy and everything. But yes, I am familiar. He was my all-time

favorite high school crush, I mean, of all fucking time. Wait, why are you asking me about him?” she asked.

“He wrote to us here at the firm about drumming up business in your wee

village.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic! He’d be the guy to do it, too; he’s on this kick to make Bailey Falls the next hot spot. He’s got this idea that—” She stopped cold. “Wait. Wait a damn minute. Your firm is working on this?”

“Yep.”

“Are you working on this?” “Yep.”

“So you’re coming to the sticks?” “Yep. Got a guest room?”

She shrieked so loud my ears were ringing for the rest of the day.