People called her The Whirlwind and for good reason. The moment Sandra Blaisdale walked through the double doors of Morton & McCabe Advertising, she became a whirling dervish of energy and ideas. As head of Creative Services, she had to be. Morton & McCabe didn’t pay her a six-figure salary to come up with lukewarm, insipid campaigns. Anyone could produce normal. Sandra Blaisdale produced brilliance.

This morning, as Sandra strode purposefully through the outer offices, she barely registered the gold tinsel, plastic ornaments, and miniature Christmas trees that decorated the tops of desks and cabinets. The celebration of the holidays remained a tradition with Morton & McCabe, but just for the office assistants and lower-level executives. Those of Sandra’s caliber brushed aside such Christmas niceties as Secret Santas like noxious lint from their cashmere suit coats.

As soon as Sandra entered the outer sanctum of her office suite, she whipped out orders to her assistant, Kristen Kimora. Kristen, with her usual efficiency, took mental notes as her boss rattled off her needs.

“I want everything you can get your hands on about Huala Mountain Coffee,” Sandra said. “Particularly their recent product line. Mr. Okala is in town and word has it he’s shopping for a new ad agency to handle his gourmet account.” Sitting on the edge of Kristen’s desk, she continued. “I’ll need their recent marketing position, point-of-purchase stats with their retail outlets, any print and radio advertising.”

“I’m on it,” Kristen announced as she reached for her desk phone.

Sandra offered an approving smile. The petite assistant never failed to meet her boss’ demanding standards—and to do so with quiet proficiency and a cheerful attitude.

With that much out of the way, she breezed through the door of her office and immediately went to her teak wood desk. Sandra punched the extension for her creative services team downstairs, and as soon as Brandon Weir answered, she switched to speaker phone.

She shed her herringbone coat and pashmina scarf as she spoke. “Bran, how soon can you come up with a mock-up campaign for Huala Mountain Coffee?”

Her assistant art director didn’t have to think. “Geez, Sandy, you’re asking for the moon, but I should have something up and running by four this afternoon.”

“Good. Kristen will bring you all you need. Get with marketing and product services. Let’s meet at four. My office.”

“Gotcha.” Though before the art man signed off, he added a “bitch” under his breath. Sandra, with acute hearing, caught his parting remark and smiled. Brandon was losing his touch. Usually his euphemisms for her ran into the four-word category and contained adjectives worthy of his colorful repertoire.

Before she plunged into work, Sandra paused to fetch a cup of coffee from the state-of-the-art machine in Kristen’s office, then settled herself once more behind her desk. Phone calls, reports, spread sheets, story boards... she dealt with them all in her usual multi-tasking fury. Slipping off her Italian heels, she placed her feet on a low file cabinet and swiveled her chair until she faced the large picture window and the view of downtown Seattle. Today, gray clouds and a light drizzle smudged the skyline, but nothing could deter Sandra as she donned her can-do attitude and set her mind on making Huala Mountain Coffee a household name.

* * * * *

Not more than five blocks away at Sterling Communications, Jerome Bovia started his day in almost the same vein. Dropped off at the curb by Melinda, Jerry exited her cherry-red Maserati after planting a lingering kiss on her sweet lips.

“Will I see you later?” the buxom blonde asked, her ice-blue eyes wide with expectation.

By last night’s love fest standards, Jerome Bovia once again provided his date with sweet memories, not once but four times. “Sure, doll. Call me.”

Donning his dark glasses, Jerry made his way to the building entrance, his hips in a cocky swagger. As soon as he stepped off the elevator on the tenth floor, he straightened his dark oxford shirt and whipped the black leather jacket over his shoulder before entering the hallowed halls of Sterling Communications, or Sterling.com as it was more commonly known.

Since he had called ahead, Jerry knew his secretary, Emily, remained poised and ready for his arrival; and so he stopped at her desk on the way to his own inner sanctum.

“Huala Mountain Coffee,” he stated. “What have you got?”

Emily consulted her notes. “Mr. Okala comes from a traditional Japanese-Hawaiian family, but he occasionally enjoys an outing in the company of entertainers.”

“I think they used to call them geishas,” Jerry said with a smile, “and maybe they still do. I think I may have the perfect evening planned for Mr. Okala. See if you can get Gina on the phone.”

Emily tried unsuccessfully to hide her smirk. She, like Jerry, knew that Gina Mars did more than plan Sterling’s parties. She often became the entertainment, depending on whether the discerning gentlemen preferred a lap dance, a pole dance or a thong-clad girl jumping out of a cake.

As Jerry poured himself a cup of coffee, he remembered to add, “Oh, and Em, see if you can find the best brand of sake. Something smooth and refined. And expensive.”

* * * * *

The sophistication of the Savoy-Hilton always managed to inspire Sandra. As she rode the elevator to its fourteenth floor, she patted her leather bound portfolio and tried to ignore the piped-in version of “Holly Jolly Christmas,” the only discordant note in the otherwise impeccable hotel.

Though Huala Mountain Coffee remained more expensive than other brands, Sandra was sure she could position the product as a beverage for the discriminating adult who enjoyed a smooth, rich blend of genuine Kona coffee. She possessed all the necessary facts and figures, along with story boards and a new packaging design, courtesy of her own Dream Team. Mr. Okala was bound to be impressed.

Stepping onto the rich burgundy carpet, Sandra smoothed the neat planes of her red skirt, then adjusted the black-velvet collar of her matching suit coat. A quick check in the wall mirror told her she looked put-together and in charge. An executive on the move. She ought to be. She had just spent $120 to have her hair done with ash-brown highlights and swept into a neat chignon. The additional makeup session provided a slight enhancement of her green eyes with smoky eyeliner, a brush of rose petal blush, and a swipe of spun-sugar lip gloss.

Once she reached Room 144, she knocked in rapid succession and waited. A minute ticked by before the mahogany door slowly opened and revealed the small, bent form of Mr. Okala. Around seventy, the gentleman possessed a crown of white hair, a slim mustache, and sharp dark eyes. He surveyed his guest with a slight frown.

The creative director put on her best smile. “Mr. Okala, I am Sandra Blaisdale from Morton & McCabe Advertising. I believe we have an appointment for two.”

Dressed in a silk kimono over his business shirt and tie, the little man crossed his arms and slipped his hands in the corresponding sleeves. “Oh, yes, Miss Blaisdale. I am sorry. I was expecting room service with my seltzer water and headache tablets.”

“Oh, you have a headache, Mr. Okala?”

The coffee magnate gave a painful smile. “Of sorts. It is what you call an over hang.”

Sandra frowned, then brightened. “Oh, you mean a hangover.”

“Yes.” With that, the man turned and went into his suite. Though he hadn’t invited her in, Sandra nevertheless followed him into the elegant living area.

“I have here, Mr. Okala, a detailed campaign to promote and position Huala Mountain Coffee as a premium brand.”

The man paused, seemingly confused. “Oh, I am sorry, but I have signed on with Jerome Bovia from Sterling.”

“Jerome—” Caught off guard by the familiar name, Sandra quickly balanced her emotions. “Well, Mr. Okala, surely you could reconsider. Let’s reschedule a time so I can show you the works and fully explain our ideas for your ad campaign.”

“I am sorry again, Miss Blaisdale, but I am taking a plane back to the Big Island later this afternoon.” Back to Hawaii with his account sewed up in other, less scrupulous hands.

Sandra tried to look amiable, though inwardly she seethed. Jerome Bovia. Since her rise to creative director, this elusive jerk from Sterling.com had dogged her steps, doing everything in his power to steal away her potential clients.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Mr. Okala retreated to his bedroom as he left his guest to ponder her next move in the middle of the Aubusson rug. Sandra’s eyes flicked to the flyer sitting on the polished sofa table, and she went to retrieve it. The brochure advertised discreet party planning services, up to and including such activities as Jell-O wrestling, wet T-shirt contests, and a bevy of strippers in any character desired. All the gentleman with discerning adult tastes had to do was call Gina Mars, proprietress of Mars Galaxy Entertainment.

As she slapped the flier against her arm, Sandra had a fairly clear picture of what went on last night and with whom. She extracted a business card and her detailed prospectus for Huala Mountain Coffee from her portfolio and placed it on the table in lieu of the brochure, then pocketed Gina Mars’ calling card. It was probably a moot point by now, but Sandra never gave up a good fight until she pulled out all her available creative stops.