One Mad Night Read Free Page A

Chelsea was of the same mind when she’d congratulated him after he landed the account.
    But things between them changed, he noticed. She’d been a little cooler toward him after that. And then she’d gotten the Canon camera account, and Ian hadn’t liked it. He’d believed his idea to be clearly superior and felt like Jason was throwing Chelsea a bone. It didn’t help that when he stopped by her very neat and orderly cubicle to congratulate her, she’d said, “ Booyah! I win!” And she’d laughed as she’d done a goofy little dance around her cubicle.
    The gloves came off when they both went after the Allmen Insurance account. Ian had to hand it to Chelsea—her idea of a day in the life of a hapless American family was good—the family’s accidents had touched on all the key selling points for Allmen. But Ian’s idea was better, sharper, more in tune with today’s society. His idea was to show a teenager who had just gotten his license plowing through a storefront when he forgot to pay attention. It was cute and it hit on that thing that everyone worried about—the cost of insuring teen drivers who were never without a phone.
    He’d taken that account.
    When Chelsea came around to congratulate him—begrudgingly, he noted—he’d given her a taste of her own medicine. “ Smoked you,” he said. “Bada-bing, bada-boom.”
    Chelsea had put her hands on her waist and glared up at him. “Nice,” she’d said. “Exactly what I would expect of a guy who plays to the lowest denominator.”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?”
    â€œFigure it out,” she’d said enigmatically as she tried to make an exit out of his cubicle. But Ian’s wasn’t as neat as hers, and his gym bag and basketball shoes were on the floor. She’d tripped on them and knocked into the wall, hitting her elbow. “ Ooouch ,” she’d said with a painful wince as she stumbled out of his cubicle.
    â€œServes you right,” he’d muttered.
    Shortly after that, the Tesla account was dangled before him. Ian was definitely the man for it, and in fact, he wanted it so bad that he’d come up with three spots to show the partners, not just the one they’d asked for. His showpiece was the sex appeal with a conscience, but he also had a how-far-how-fast-can-you-go-on-a-charge spot and another one for the made-in-America spot. He wasn’t going in with just one idea. He was going in with a campaign. A menu of genius for them to choose from, if you will.
    Tomorrow was the pitch to the top dogs at the agency, and on Friday, the partners would announce which campaign they were presenting to Tesla. The word on the street was that this account was Grabber-Paulson’s to lose, so it was assumed in the office that whoever the partners chose would win the account management.
    He didn’t know exactly what Chelsea had planned, but he’d heard some talk around the office that led him to believe he had this in the bag. That hadn’t stopped him from baiting her every chance he got, mainly because he never failed to get a reaction and secondly because he really wanted the Tesla account and was not above a little gamesmanship. It wouldn’t hurt to knock his competition off balance. And he wasn’t going to cut her a break just because she was a woman. He was going to win, and he was going to crush his competition on the way.
    He worked that afternoon on some other accounts, and at about three o’clock, he thought he’d get some coffee. As he walked toward the break room, he happened to notice Chelsea inside one of the conference rooms. All of the conference rooms had glass walls, the theory being that just seeing people be creative would spark creativity. That’s why there were so many big toys lying around too—basketball hoops, pogo sticks, big balls to roll around. Creativity