Marsha Pierce fanned herself with a file folder. Thick, dark hair framed her heart-shaped face and settled around her shoulders. Batting her lush, black lashes, she smiled. "I could easily be persuaded." She nodded towards the boardroom just beyond a set of oak double doors. "They will, too, if you sell it like that."

Peter grinned. Her lips were the perfect shade of kissable pink. If a guy goes for something like that. He liked Marsha, but his taste ran to partners with penises. The romantic ad campaign and the impending Valentine's Day must have gotten to him. He shook his head to clear the sexy thoughts he had about chewing on the bottom lip of his friend. "I intend to."

Rendezvous cologne was Mirabel Cosmetics' latest and greatest big thing. The company had spared no expense on the budget, which was exactly the way Peter liked it. If Taylor, James and McClellan could land this account, they'd finally get their share of the pie in the Chicago advertising market.

Marsha waved her hand. "You're a shoe-in. Everyone at the office agrees, this is your best campaign ever."

He glanced at her over the top of his small, black-framed reading glasses. "I'd say you're a bit prejudiced. You and the team have spent as many hours on this one as I have. But I do have a good feeling about it."

"I wish they'd just announce which agency is getting the account instead of turning it into a splashy Valentine's Day extravaganza."

"Yeah." He snorted. "I just want to know if it's us. They can keep the party."

"Could be fun." She wrinkled her nose. "Might be the only Valentine's Day plans I'll have. If there are a couple of hot guys there, it might not be so bad. We could each take one home and celebrate with some sweaty, wild monkey sex."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Celebrate ... or commiserate."

"Celebrate." She nodded confidently.

"Your mouth to God's ear." Peter tucked a note card into his shirt's breast pocket, stood and smoothed the wrinkles from his suit trousers. He tugged on the hem of his thousand dollar jacket, more uncomfortable to wear than he'd thought it would be. Jeans and an old USC sweatshirt were his usual choice of attire, but comfortable clothes didn't impress high dollar clients.

"Stop fidgeting. You'll be fine." Marsha rose to her feet and brushed a speck of lint off his lapel. "I hate it when they do this. Our appointment was for two p.m. It's quarter to three."

"All part of the game." Peter slipped off his glasses and tucked them away next to his notes. "They're letting us know we're not the only appointment they have today. But I swear, if Shirley Hazelton from the Strong Agency walks out that door, I might kick her. She's taken two accounts from me in the past year, and I don't think her style is that great. Boring." He patted his mouth, feigning a yawn.

"I think part of Shirley's appeal is her big boobs. If she'd wear practical clothes that didn't show every bit of cleavage she has, her colleagues might take her seriously."

"She's not trying to wow her colleagues. The clients seem to like it just fine." He glanced at Marsha's prim and proper business suit, a grey jacket and skirt with a collared button-down shirt that was buttoned up as far as it would go. "Maybe we need to slut you up a bit. How about a skimpy little white tank under that jacket or one of those tube top things? Your boobs are just as nice as Shirley's. Damn, I probably shouldn't have said that."

Marsha laughed. "No, Mr. McClellan, as my boss, you shouldn't have. Lucky for you, I remember when you were just Pete, and we all sat around your flat drinking beer and brainstorming ideas."

He grinned. "Those were good times."

She glanced up and down his body regretfully. "They could have been much better. Damned genetics."

"Sorry." He shrugged sheepishly. "Of course, you know, if I could ever be attracted to a woman, it would definitely be you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." She shoved his chest lightly. "I heard you say the same thing to Denise in payroll."

He chuckled and ran a hand through his brown hair. It was cut longer in the front, neatly shaven on the sides and back, and he hated it when his bangs fell in his eyes.

"Stop that!" Marsha slapped his hand. She reached up and finger-combed the hair back from his face. "You need hairspray or you should stop messing it up."

Peter scowled at her playfully. "I'm not wearing hairspray. I'm gay, not a transvestite."

"Dumbass! Men wear hairspray. You don't have to be a trans--"

"Incoming," another of their team members announced as the big, oak doors rattled.

They all turned to see who was exiting the boardroom. Shirley and her big boobs? Tom Decker from PRA Universal? Peter held his breath.