“Shay?”

Shay wrenched herself back to the present moment and met Marvin’s fatherly gaze. She knew then that, even without the bonus check, she would have agreed to be in his commercials. He had believed in her when she had jumbled important files and spilled coffee all over his desk and made all the salesmen on the floor screaming mad by botching up their telephone messages. He had paid for the business courses she’d taken at the junior college and given her regular raises and promotions.

He was her friend.

“It’s an offer I can’t refuse,” she said softly. It was no use asking for approval of the storyboards; Marvin’s style, which had made him a virtual legend among car dealers, left no room for temperament. Three years before, at Thanksgiving, he’d dressed up as a turkey and announced to the viewing public that Reese Motors was gobbling up good trade-ins.

Marvin unearthed his telephone from underneath a mountain of paper and dialed a number. “Jeannie? Shay’s going to take over the commercials for me. Dust off your passport, honey—we’re going on the trip!”

Shay rose from her chair and left Marvin’s office for the sanctity of her own smaller one, only to be followed by a quietly delighted Richard.

“I have three of the four storyboards ready, if you’d like to look them over,” he offered.

“Why does Marvin want me to do this?” Shay complained belatedly. “Why not one of the salesmen or some actor? Your agency has access to dozens of people.…”

Richard grinned. “You know that Marvin believes in the personal touch, Shay. That’s what’s made him so successful. You should be proud; he must regard you as practically a member of his family.”

There was some truth in Richard’s words—Jeannie and Marvin had no children of their own, and they had included her and Hank in many of their holiday celebrations and summer camping trips over the past six years. What would she have done without the Reeses?

She eyed the stacks of paperwork teetering in her in-basket and drew a deep breath. “I have a lot to do, Richard. If you’ll excuse me—”

The intercom buzzed and Shay picked up her telephone receiver. “Yes, Ivy? What is it?”

Ivy Prescott’s voice came over the line. “Shay, that new salesman Mike hired last Tuesday is…well, he’s doing something very weird.”

Shay closed her eyes tightly, opened them again. With one hand, she opened the top drawer of her desk and rummaged for a bottle of aspirin, and failed to find it. “What, exactly, is he doing?”

“He’s standing in the front seat of that ’65 Corvette we got in last month, making a speech.”

“Standing—”

“It’s a convertible,” Ivy broke in helpfully.

Shay made note of the fact that Richard was still loitering inside her office door and her irritation redoubled. “Good Lord. Where is Mike? He’s the floor manager and this is his problem!”

“He’s out sick today,” Ivy answered, and there was a note of panic in her normally bright voice. “Shay, what do I do? I don’t think we should bother Mr. Reese with this, his heart, you know. Oh, I wish Todd were here!”