Greer
Joshtalkedthisawardsevent down at dinner. However, the fact it’s being held in the Grand Ballroom at the Park Hyatt, and the invitation says black tie, suggests tonight is no small deal. Meaning I had to shoot out and buy a suitable dress. And shoes. And don’t forget the bag. It was lucky I had three weeks to find the right ones. Because between work and managing Josh’s build, I’ve been frantic.
The agency has put all the department heads up in rooms for the night, but Josh has made it clear he’s organised a car service to get me home at the end of the night. Right. Sure.
I can tell by the look on his face when he picks me up that I’ve hit the mark with the dress. It’s more revealing than anything I would normally wear. I don’t plan on leaving anything to chance tonight. And I don’t plan on going home in a car all by myself.
The dress is a lush satin in a dark, rich blue and makes my eyes and hair pop. It clings to every curve down to the floor, and the split up the front shows my leg all the way up every time I take a step. My boobs look sensational cupped in the fitted bodice, which has the thinnest most delicate diamante straps over the shoulders. And the back dips in a low vee, exposing my skin all the way to my waist. I love it.
Josh looks out of this world in a fits-like-a-glove tux that is obviously not off the rack, contrasting perfectly with his messy man bun and three- or four-day growth.
“You look … spectacular,” Josh whispers in a tone you might use to describe a work of art. My heart warms, and my pulse picks up.
I drop a tiny curtsey. “Thank you. And you look very handsome in your tux. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a suit.” I run my hand down the satiny lapel of his jacket.
“Well, don’t blink because this is probably the one and only time it’ll happen,” he says, effectively defusing the electricity in the air as he takes my arm and leads me down the stairs to the waiting car.
“Who is taking care of Tyrone this weekend if you’re here?” I ask as we settle into the back seat.
“He’s staying at school this weekend, except for work. Matt picked him up from the ferry this morning and dropped him back after. He grumbled a bit at first, out of habit more than anything else I think. Matt said he’s been working really hard, and it sounds like they got on like a house on fire. No dramas. So far, at least.”
“That’s great. I can see how they’d get on. I’m glad you can relax tonight and not worry about him.” Matt has a laid-back and jokey vibe Ty would appreciate.
“Me too.”
The ballroom is buzzing when we arrive, packed with hundreds of people all dressed to the nines. Josh is greeted with lots of back slaps and warmth. I’m glad I met a couple of his team members at my flat, so there’s at least a couple of familiar faces. Crowds of people I don’t know can be challenging for me, but Josh couldn’t be more attentive, never leaving my side, and making sure to introduce me to everyone we see. The feel of his hand on the small of my back, his fingers occasionally slipping under the satin of my dress, is comforting and arousing at the same time, and by the time we sit down for dinner, I feel every nerve ending singing.
Dinner is delicious, and the wine is flowing, although I notice Josh alternates a glass of water for every glass of wine he drinks. As soon as the plates are cleared away, the regional managing director, a handsome older guy with silver hair and a much younger wife, gets up onto the small stage.
“And now it’s time for the real reason we’re here.”
Someone from the back calls out, “I’m here for the free alcohol,” and everyone laughs.
After a brief speech about how each agency in the region has performed during the year, which included reference to how great it was to get Josh on board as the Sydney creative director, the awards begin. There are more of them than I expected. Innovation in Media, Fastest Business Growth, Best Account Director, the list goes on. Each agency cheers loudly when they win, although the couple of tables from the Sydney office do seem the most raucous. Finally, they get to the creative awards.
“And Best TV Creative goes to … Parachute, Sydney.”
The table erupts around us, everyone laughing and hugging. Josh looks shocked and thrilled, and just like he did at the auction, he turns to me. Framing my face in his hands he kisses me, brief but deep. Then he’s being dragged up onto the stage by his team. While they’re getting to the stage and jockeying for position, an ad I vaguely remember for a new distillery and restaurant plays on screen. It’s beautiful and evocative, and I’m so proud to know Josh had something to do with it.
As the ad rolls to a stop, Josh steps up to the microphone and lifts the beautiful glass trophy high in the air before handing it to one of his team. They pass it round, beaming. Finally, the cheering from the Sydney tables dies down, and Josh leans down to the microphone. I have my phone on video, ready to capture the moment for the family.
“Thank you.” He laughs. “This award is very much a team effort. Everyone who worked on the campaign went above and beyond. And I’m incredibly humbled and grateful to be part of such a dedicated and creative team. Thank you.” And they’re all hugging and laughing and back-slapping all the way back to the table.
My hands are sore from clapping.
“Josh. I’m so proud of you.” I’m on my feet, hugging him, and I can barely hold back the tears in my eyes.
“It really was a team effort. I just happen to be the guy with my name on the door,” he says, dropping into his chair and taking a big swig of water.
“Hey, boss, don’t sell yourself short. We could never have done it without you.” One of the guys in the team claps him on the shoulder as he passes on his way to his own chair.
No sooner has everyone subsided back into their seats than they’re announcing the next award, Best Creative Director, which is apparently voted by clients and staff. Josh ducks his head with a shy smile when his name is called as one of the three nominees, and the Sydney tables erupt with catcalls and whistles. I slide my hand over his on his lap, squeezing his fingers in anticipation.
Before they even get to the end of his name, I’m on my feet shouting and clapping with the rest of the table, and now crying for real. This time, Josh finds himself on stage all alone.
“Wow. Lightning really does strike twice.” He grins as the spotlight hits him. “A creative director is only as good as his team. And I’m lucky enough to have what I consider the best team of writers and art directors working in the business right now. This is for all of you guys. Thanks for all the hard work and support.” And with that he’s heading back to the table.
It’s obvious what a great boss he is in the way he talks about his team and the camaraderie when they’re together. I don’t think he gives himself enough credit for his management of these guys. Throughout the evening, a couple of them have mentioned what a difference having Josh on board has meant to them and how much they’re learning from him. And it strikes me that he still doesn’t understand the positive impact he has on others. From his brother to his staff. It’s baffling how such a confident guy can be so clueless about his effect on people.
