One Mad Night: A Novella

Copyright © 2015 by Dinah Dinwiddie

Cover and internal design © 2015 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

Cover art by John Kicksee

Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

(630) 961-3900

Fax: (630) 961-2168

www.sourcebooks.com

Thank you for purchasing this eBook.

At Sourcebooks we believe one thing:

BOOKS CHANGE LIVES.

We would love to invite you to receive exclusive rewards. Sign up now for VIP savings, bonus content, early access to new ideas we're developing, and sneak peeks at our hottest titles!

Happy reading!

SIGN UP NOW!

Contents

Front Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

About the Author

Chapter 1

New York

Six hundred dollars was a lot of money for shoes, especially shoes on sale. Especially shoes that could not be relied upon to carry a person ten pain-free blocks. Frankly, it was an obscene amount of money for shoes that did nothing but look good.

But oh, how they looked good.

They were bronze Manolo Blahnik pointy-toe pumps, with a three-and-a-half-inch heel and a very cool buckle across the top. They were shoes that said, look at me, I can do this job better than anyone and I am proud of it. Still, for that kind of money, Chelsea Crawford thought they ought to come with a Segway.

She had elected not to wear them back to the office. Not only was it starting to snow, but she was fairly certain her feet would never survive the short walk in those heels. No, these shoes were to wear during her big presentation tomorrow, and were safely tucked away in a silvery paper Bergdorf Goodman bag that dangled daintily from Chelsea’s arm as she and her assistant, Farrah, hurried down the street through snow that was beginning to thicken.

They darted into the lobby of the office building of Grabber-Paulson, the advertising agency where Chelsea had worked for six years, and negotiated their way past the coffee stand to the elevators. As they reached the elevator bank, the shiny, silver doors of one car opened, and they hopped inside.

Hold, please! Chelsea heard someone yell, and she turned around, prepared to do just that…until she saw who had yelled. It was Ian Rafferty, the bane of her existence. Chelsea waved her fingers at him, then hit the close button with such force that Farrah actually glanced up.

"Hey!" Ian shouted as the doors began to slide closed, and he suddenly sprinted, almost reaching the doors before they clicked shut.

"That was, like, rude," Farrah said to her phone. Because Farrah rarely looked up from her phone. She’d been assimilated.

It’s okay. He’ll get another one, Chelsea said as they rocketed up.

He’s cute, Farrah said to her phone. Why don’t you like him?

Chelsea looked at Farrah. How could she even ask that question? Ian Rafferty was her biggest competition in-house. Ian Rafferty had taken two accounts that by all rights should have been hers. Ian Rafferty thought he was going to get the plum account, the one Chelsea had worked so hard to get. You remember the Tesla account, right? Campaign for a luxury electric car? The account I’ve been working on practically around the clock for the last six weeks? she asked, her voice full of incredulity.

Farrah shrugged. I guess so. I just think he’s cute.

Chelsea rolled her eyes. Grabber-Paulson was one of two finalists for the new Tesla account. Jason Sung, Chelsea’s boss, was spearheading the process. If Grabber-Paulson won the account, it was Chelsea’s job to manage. Everyone at Grabber-Paulson knew it was her job. She was due, she’d put in her time, she’d worked her way up, slogging through one account after another. She had great ideas, she was a hard worker, and everyone knew it was hers…

Except maybe the partners.

The elevator stopped on the eighteenth floor. A mail guy and his cart ambled on. He smiled at Chelsea and Farrah as they started their ascent again. How you ladies doing today? he asked.

It’s snowing, Farrah said to her phone. Chelsea supposed she expected the mail guy to figure out how she was doing from her weather report.

The mail guy was definitely intrigued and tried to chat up Farrah about the weather. Snowing, huh? he repeated.

Chelsea fixed her gaze on the digital display above her and ignored the chatter about snow. She was thinking back to the day Jason had called her into his office six weeks ago. He’d been tossing a Nerf basketball into a Nerf hoop above his desk, which then rolled down a little chute back onto his desk, where Jason could pick it up without actually exerting any effort. Working hard on the Tesla commercial, huh? he’d said when Chelsea came in. "The partners love your work."

Right. Chelsea had nodded, because that was old news to her. She’d killed it on the Smooth-n-Silky shampoo account. She’d kicked some serious ass on the Westwood All Natural Grocery account. This account was hers. This account was the stepping-stone into bigger and better accounts. Big national accounts. It was her move into a corner office and a big pay raise.

"So now, we come in with a great television concept and bam, that’s it. We’re all getting big fat raises," Jason had said cheerfully.

Yep, Chelsea had responded confidently. She’d shown Jason her ideas for the commercial. He knew exactly how great her concept was, and it was really great. Some of her best work.

Jason caught the Nerf ball and tossed it to Chelsea, who had never been the sporty type and awkwardly batted it away before it hit her in the face.

Yeah, I’d say this account has your name written all over it, doesn’t it? Good work, Chels. Good work.

Thank you, she’d said, smiling. She didn’t mind a little high praise being Nerfed in her direction, but at the time she’d wondered why he’d chosen that moment to deliver it. She could still feel that tiny, slender moment, the distance between knowing that she had this in the bag and then realizing the rug had just been yanked out from under her feet. It wouldn’t be the first time.

There’s just one tiny little thing, Jason had said as he’d propped his feet on his cluttered desk.

Chelsea’s gut had dropped then, because there was never anything tiny when it came to Jason. What?

"The partners think it would be better if we had a little competition in-house. You know, so we get the very best ideas."

Competition for…

So we’re putting Ian Rafferty on it.

Chelsea’s heart had almost dropped to her toes. Ian Rafferty thought he was God’s gift to advertising with that Crest smile, longish golden-blond hair, big shoulders, and swoon-worthy blue eyes. But his looks and, admittedly, killer sex appeal aside, Chelsea saw him for what he was—a glitzy showboat. The reason he’d won two of the three accounts that they’d gone head-to-head on over the last several months was because he knew how to charm people, and especially women.

Jason! she’d cried. How can you do that to me?

"Ian’s good, and he was the guy behind the Infiniti commercials at his old job. Did you ever see them? Infiniti sales went up thirty-four percent after those ads started running. That’s awesome. That’s why we lured him away."

Yes, she knew, along with everyone else at Grabber-Paulson, that supposedly Ian was some prize catch in advertising.

Anyway, he’s going to create a spot for the Tesla account too. And then, you know, we’ll decide. Jason lifted his hands above his head and tossed the basketball into the hoop. Nothing but net.

Chelsea had gaped at him, her head and heart spinning with the betrayal. "What the hell, Jason? I thought this account was essentially mine! You said it was my time, my account. You said I was the best!"