Chapter One:
Preliminary Designs

    The bright blue Dodge Ram pulled into a parking space in the near-empty lot, its driver yawning as she pushed the gearshift into park. "Monday," she sighed, resting her head on the steering wheel, "always comes too soon." Jenna Bauer stretched her legs and slipped her black pumps back on. As she did so, she pulled out her Truck Club. Sure, Weber Designs was in a good part of Detroit, but the truck was new. Jenna didn't need any more difficulties in her life.
    "Morning, Jim," she greeted the security guard with a half-hearted smile and wave.
    "Morning, Ms. Bauer! You're in early. Getting a head start on the week?" he asked.
    "Definitely. Want to see if I missed anything vital over the weekend. I had my laptop with me, but the connection at the motel was lousy. I'm afraid Jerry's messed up his workstation again, and I want to run damage control before Mr. Weber comes in."
    "Good luck, then. I've heard Melissa grumbling about him; she may have run some of her own Saturday night. It was nice talking to you again, Ms. Bauer," Jim said. "We missed you Saturday at the gym."
    "I'll be there this weekend, no doubt about it." Jenna smiled, more enthusiastically this time, and walked to the elevators, the click of her heels echoing along the empty hallways.
    Jenna had only been at Weber Designs for two years, but she was already head copy and layout editor for Weber's Internet division. Good copy editors were hard to find, good layout editors even harder. Jenna just had good luck working on her side. When she applied to Weber, fresh out of college with a handful of great references from the newspaper she interned with, she was hired almost on sight. She passed the copy edit tests successfully and brought new life to some of the Internet designs. She was promoted after six months, but had hit a rocky patch recently, making a major judgment mistake on a large client account.
    Jenna unlocked her office and turned on the computer. Enough early-morning light was shining in so she didn't have to turn on the harsh fluorescents. Amazingly, from what she saw on her desk, there hadn't been any major crises. She sat at her desk and checked her computer screen. Sure enough, just what she expected. Her inter-office mail icon was blinking at her demandingly.
    She double-clicked the icon, bringing up the mail list. There were three messages: one from Vona Michaels in Design, letting Jenna know that they received the edited material; one from Greg Carlson in Accounting, violating office protocol by asking if she wanted to go to dinner (Jenna had to smile at that--Greg wasn't one for following the rules); and one from her boss.
    Jenna opened the one from her boss, wondering what it was about. She soon got her answer. It read:

    Jenna, we're bidding on a possible new account, the Detroit Figure Skating Club. You're meeting with their public relations representative, Mr. Robert Sinclair, on Monday. You're to outline possible ideas for their redesigned web site. A list is attached to this e-mail; sketch out some preliminaries for them to see. Electronic copy would be helpful, but not necessary. Remember, after that last account, you need this.
    Daniel Weber

    Jenna exhaled violently. "Leave it to Dan to wait until the last minute to tell me this. He had my cell phone number; he could have warned me! And he wonders why I mis-guess sometimes." Jenna printed out the list, then closed her mail window and opened up Dreamweaver and her browser. "Good thing I came in early," she muttered, opening the current Skate Club site to see what she could do.

    By eleven-thirty, Jenna had outlined four possible designs and had her team assemble some mock-up front pages. She sent them to Dan's workstation for his approval, then burned the four onto a CD-R to take to the meeting with her. She was just getting ready when Greg popped his dark-haired head into her office.
    "Got a minute?" he asked, his body dwarfing her doorway.
    "Not really. I have to meet with a new client in about," she checked her watch, "half an hour. I'm just waiting for Dan's okay on the prelims."
    "I'll be brief, then." Greg smiled at her, the smile reaching the whole way to his bright green eyes. "I've got an extra ticket to the Garth Brooks concert next weekend. Wanna go?"
    "Are you kidding?" Jenna gasped. "Garth Brooks? The Garth Brooks, the singer?"
    "No, Garth Brooks the butcher on Constitution Avenue. Of course Garth Brooks the singer, silly."
    "How'd you get an extra ticket?"
    "My brother was going to go, but he had to bail. So, do you want to go?"
    "Sure!" Impulsively, Jenna hugged Greg. As she let go, the phone rang.
    "That's probably Dan calling about your prelims. I'll catch you later, 'k?"
    "Sure!" Jenna picked up her phone on the third ring. "Copy and Layout, Internet division, Jenna Bauer's office."
    "Jenna? Dan. Checked out your prelim designs, and they're workable. You've got the go-ahead to pitch them. Have an electronic copy?"
    "Loaded onto a CD and ready to be popped into the laptop at the site. I was just waiting for your okay to head out the door."
    "Well, you've got it. Now you'd better get going if you want to get to Bloomfield Hills on time."
    "On my way." Jenna hung up the phone and grabbed her carrying case. She stopped in the ladies' room on the way to her truck to make sure she looked okay.
    In front of the full-length mirror, she smoothed her knee-length red skirt to get rid of the wrinkles that formed while she was sitting at her desk. She tugged her black sweater back into place before a last-minute hair-and-makeup check. When she was satisfied that her auburn bun was still intact and that her lipstick was on just right, she continued on to the truck.
    The drive was a smooth one, fortunately. Jenna still hated pitch routines. On the drive, she rehearsed what she planned to say as a way of calming her nerves. After her first lousy pitch, which cost Weber a major account, she'd had to work harder than usual to get rid of her stage fright.
    "Good afternoon. I'm Jenna Bauer from Weber Designs. No, that sounds weird. Hmm. Hi, I'm Jenna Bauer, head copy and layout editor for Weber Designs. I'm in charge of your web site." Jenna banged her hands on the steering wheel. "Way too corny. Maybe if I just say, hi, I'm Jenna Bauer, they'll know who I am and where I'm from. Dan must have told them something. Then again, he barely told me anything." Jenna turned on the radio to calm her nerves. Matchbox twenty's "Bent," was playing, and she sang along loudly, letting the driving guitar beat away her nerves. When she reached the skate club, she was smiling, the knot in her stomach transformed to a pleasant tingle of anticipation. Again, she put her shoes back on and put the Club in place before hoisting her notebook briefcase and attempting to get out of the cab of her truck gracefully.
    Inside, an older man greeted her. "Ms. Bauer?" he asked, stepping forward.
    "Yes. Are you Mr. Sinclair?"
    "Yes, I am." Mr. Sinclair clasped her hand.
    Jenna smiled. "I have the preliminary designs ready for you to look over."
    "Well, let's go to my office, then." As Mr. Sinclair led the way, they passed by a small lounge overlooking the rink. A lone skater was on the ice, almost lazily drifting around the perimeter. As Jenna stopped to watch, he sped up and launched into a jump.
    "Amazing," Jenna breathed.
    "He's done better," Sinclair remarked. "He was tilted on his entry, it was only a double, and he nearly two-footed the landing."
    "Isn't that...?"
    "Yes, that's Thom Ellison practicing down there. If you'd like, I could introduce you later. Now, let's take a look at those designs."

    Thom glanced up towards the windows overlooking the ice. Sinclair was leading someone to the conference room. He caught a brief glimpse of red before the door closed. "Probably some prospective sponsor," he mused, setting up for the triple lutz again.
    "No stupid mistakes," he repeated in his mind. "No more."
    Thom stroked backwards, building speed. Out of habit, he checked behind him, then shifted to his right leg, back outside edge...reach, pick with the left, vault...one...two...three... He checked out and landed solidly on one foot, his knee absorbing the impact of the landing. The jolt sent a thrill through him, as it always did after a solid jump.
    His mind drifted back to the pro-am competition two weeks earlier. It was supposed to be a "warm-up" competition, a preamble to the upcoming Grand Prix season. Thom got his first look at the field during warm-ups. The usual crew of pros were there, Nicolai Stefanov, the reigning Olympic Champion, Brandon Douglas, Danyklo Osipiuk. Presley Strachan, Thom's longtime Canadian friend and rival, was there, too.
    But then, there were "the young guys," the Olympic-eligible "Quad Squad" of USA's Quinn Rahn, the Russian hotshots Jasha Balakirev and Semyon Levkaski, and Japan's Yamato Matamori. During the warm-ups, Thom got a hard look at what he'd be up against on the road to Salt Lake. And what he saw didn't do much for his already-shaky confidence.
    "Sixth," Thom grumbled, yanking his mind back to the present. "A lousy sixth. Even Pres got better tech scores!"
    You knew four years ago what you'd need in Salt Lake, the annoying voice in the back of his head reminded him.
    The Damn Quad. Four revolutions, less than a second in a four-minute program. Sure, Dick Button could rhapsodize all he wanted about the "complete" skater, but when it came to the wire, it seemed like more and more judges thought that a skater wasn't complete without a quadruple jump.
    Pulling a face, Thom stroked around the ice surface, building speed. He set the edge, pushed up...one...two...three...four...and swore as his free leg brushed the ice on the landing. "At least I stayed upright this time," he muttered. Feeling he'd punished himself enough for the time being, Thom skated off the ice and busied himself drying off his blades. He heard the soft click of the rink door opening, followed by the boom of Sinclair's voice.
    "I offered you an introduction, Ms. Bauer." Sinclair's voice echoed around the rink.
    Thom lifted his eyes from his skates to see Sinclair's boat-like loafers next to a pair of black pumps. An eyebrow raised in amused appreciation as he followed the line of her legs, clad in sheer black hose, noting the shapely curve of her calves, then skimmed his gaze over the bold red skirt to the hint of pale skin showing above the scooped neckline of her black sweater.
    Sinclair and the mysterious Ms. Bauer stepped from the shadows, closer to the boards and the bench Thom was still seated on. His other eyebrow shot up as he took in her hairstyle. From the neck down, all curves and invitation. From the neck up, she's a librarian! he thought, looking at her prim, tight bun and the delicate gold wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. Yet he admitted the style suited her face, and even the lenses of her glasses couldn't diminish the look of disbelief in her blue-grey eyes.
    Sinclair turned towards the bench. "Ah, there you are, Ellison." He motioned for the woman to step closer. "Thom Ellison, this is Jenna Bauer, the representative from Weber Designs," Sinclair introduced them.
    Thom extended his hand to her, meeting those blue-grey eyes as his fingers closed over hers. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
    "Likewise," Jenna said, her voice sounding calm and professional--or so she hoped. His eyes are so...intense, she thought, unconsciously moistening her suddenly-dry lips. Television does not do this man justice.
    Thom smiled, squeezing Jenna's hand slightly before letting go, his thumb trailing along her palm. She tried not to shiver, ignoring the sensations shooting up her arm. Noticing the large computer bag over her shoulder, he asked, "What're you packing?"
    "Hmh?" She followed his eyes to her case. "Oh, my laptop! Powerbook. DVD-ROM drive, 20 gig hard drive, slim case, OS 9."
    "I'm a bit of a computer jockey myself," Thom admitted with a grin. "Not many people around here are, though. It's hard to find someone to talk computers with."
    "I'd love to talk more, but I have to be going. I need to get back to Weber," Jenna remembered.
    "So, are we going to be seeing you around?" Thom asked.
    "All depends on who gets the account," Jenna replied.

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