Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Had she planned to tell me who she was before she no longer had access to her emails? Or was she just going to finish that day and never contact me again? Why list all the things she liked about me if she was never going to talk to me again?
Why tell me she wanted to bang me if it was all a lie?
Even though it felt so very real. Raw. Honest.
She exposed me, made me want to find her . . . and then she just left. After all her talk of wanting me, she left.
I shake my head and push my hand through my hair. Shit, my emotions are running more erratic than a teenage girl’s at this point.
Pushing from my desk, I straighten my tie and try to be the professional that I am.
Adjust my pants, tighten my tie, check my cufflinks, put on my jacket.
Take a deep breath.
I got this.
I make my way to my door just as Hunter comes through, wearing a red flannel shirt, jeans, and boots. “Dude, everyone is waiting for you in the conference room.”
I grind down on my teeth. “I’m aware.”
“Laughlin and Associates is ready to leave.”
“Then let them. They need my business. I don’t need them.”
Hunter scoffs. “After last week’s lackluster ad copy ideas, I’m going to guess you need them more than they need us.”
I hate that he’s right even though I won’t admit that. My marketing department is lacking in creativity. If they’re not copying Nike, they’re coming up with grade school-type ideas that make me want to pull out every last strand of my hair.
“Well, I’m on my way now.” I push past him but not before he can take me by the arm and stop me.
“You have to let it go,” he whispers.
“Drop it.”
“Rome. It’s over. She’s done with. Let it the fuck go and move on because this brooding, it’s not doing anything for you or the company. She fucked with you, I get that, but you can’t keep harping on it. She’s not worth it.”
“I’m not harping on it.”
“You’re sulking.”
“Fuck you, Hunter.” I try to pull away, but he keeps me in place.
“Prove me wrong then. Get your head out of your ass and be the Rome Blackburn I know.”
Why does this motherfucker always have to be right? Drives me crazy.
Freeing my arm from his grasp, I straighten my suit and say, “Are you coming? I want you in this meeting.”
He eyes me up and down, trying to gauge my mood. I put on my mask and put Peyton on the back-burner. I can’t bring her into this meeting.
“Right behind you, boss.”
* * *
I hate that I want to know what Peyton thinks about these campaigns. I hate that with every presentation, I try to imagine what Peyton would be saying, how she would pick them apart like George said she’s done with previous campaigns we’ve done in-house. Yet I never knew who she was. Not that I want to admit it, but she has an eye for this stuff and that drives me crazy because that means she was right, and the last thing I want is to admit she was right.
Although, I know she would hate all of these, just like I hate them.
There is nothing special about them. They don’t highlight the line or make them stand out. They don’t even touch upon the hiking, kayaking, or rock climbing portions of the clothing line, only focusing on the running aspect. Running is a drop in the pool when it comes to my company. We are outdoors adventure, not a goddamn running company.
What is so hard to understand about that?
“And that just about wraps it up,” the bald man from Maxwell Agency says. “What do you think?”
It’s shit.
It’s all shit.
You lack creativity and basically you should retire because you have nothing special to offer to our field of work.
But I don’t say that.
I take a sip of my water, swallow slowly and then cap my bottle. “Thank you for your time.” I stand from my chair and button my suit jacket. Hunter follows behind me. “Thank you all for your time. We have a lot to discuss. We will get back to you shortly.”
I give them all a curt nod and make a beeline for my office, Hunter hot on my heels.
The minute the glass door shuts behind us, we both let out a long, pent-up breath. Staring each other down, we both break out in a laugh at the same time, not something I partake in very often. But fuck, I can’t help it.
“That was a nightmare.” Hunter goes to my mini fridge and pulls out cheese sticks, hands me one and takes one for himself. “Like a living nightmare. Did those people even review their campaigns before presenting?”
I unfold the cheese stick and knock it against Hunter’s—Cheers!—before biting off half of it. “I don’t think anyone knew what the hell we were looking for in that meeting.” I think back to the ideas thrown at us. “You have to admit though, the idea of matching what dog you are according to your interests in the clothing line . . . that had real potential.”