“Just a thought,” he said, “but have you tried telling your boss you’re not interested?”

She laughed, which she hadn’t done in quite some time. It wasn’t a good laugh, though, and she thought of the many, many times she’d told Owen straight out that she had no intention of stepping over the line with him. “He has selective hearing. And don’t tell me to file a suit. I’ve thought this through and I’m going to bail when the time is right.”

“I figured. You’re nothing if not thorough.”

“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

“Make that thorough and paranoid.”

She smiled. “When this is all over, I’m going to buy you the most decadent meal in Manhattan. You say where and when.”

“Deal. Now let me go see what I can do.”

“Go!” She hung up, then leaned back in her chair, consciously relaxing her shoulders as she sank into the kidskin leather. Glen would come through, she had to believe that. If not, she’d just plain hire someone from an escort agency. She’d heard of it being done, although she’d never met anyone who’d used the service. But she hoped she didn’t have to resort to that. This was too important.

A knock on the door brought her back to the business at hand. “Come in.”

Marla Scott, Jessica’s assistant, walked in, her arms filled with magazines. She came over to the desk, put them down carefully, then rubbed her hands together. “I’ve marked all the ads. Check out The New Yorker. There’s a column raving about the budget and our conspicuous consumption. It’s great.”

The stack was huge, and this was only the beginning of the blitz that would blanket newspapers, radio and billboards across the city. By the end of the campaign there wouldn’t be a man, woman or child in the country who wouldn’t know about the New Dawn line.

Marla sat down in the chair across from Jessica. “So are you up to your elbows?”