“Probably not, love you, bye!”
I jammed my finger down on the power button, killing my cell with only a weak buzz as its death throes, before unceremoniously stuffing it into my purse. I was going to pay for that later, in spades, but there was no point in dwelling on that now.
I took a deep breath, smoothing down my skirt as I stood, ready to greet the new arrivals. I thought about puppies and chocolate and tried to make that translate into a friendly smile on my face.
Meanwhile, Harry puffed out his chest and stretched his neck like a bird doing a mating dance.
The first Knox representative into the room was a small, weedy man with platinum blonde hair and watery blue eyes. He looked like he’d gotten his fashion advice from the same place as the Douchebros, but hadn’t managed to get the sizing quite right. His eyes fastened on me, and a leer began to tug at the corner of his mouth.
I ratcheted up my internal gears in an effort to keep my own smile from disappearing. “Mr. Charles Donahue—” I started.
“Call me Chuck,” he barked in a heavy New York accent.
“Certainly. I’m—” I hadn’t even gotten out the first syllable of my name when Harry practically threw himself between us, like a bodyguard trying to stop a bullet.
“Bro, that tie pin! Nobody said you were a—” He preceded to rattle off more Greek letters than I’d even known were in their alphabet.
Chuck’s grin widened. “Good to see the brotherhood still going strong. What year were you?”
“2009, my man.”
And just like that, they were chatting away like best friends, and I’d lost my big chance to establish a personal connection with the client. I watched with a sinking feeling in my gut as Chuck and Harry gabbed away as if everything were already a done deal, and resisted the urge to grind my teeth. Shut out of the boys’ club again.
Still, Hunter Knox, the CEO and owner, was still chatting with some of his flunkies down the hall by the elevator, and he was the one I really had to convince—
I turned to take a closer look at Mr. Knox, and froze.
Bourbon eyes—
Caramel waves—
Freckles like a sweet dusting of brown sugar—
Hunter Knox was my one-night stand.
THREE
What the actual fuck…
For a terrible second all I could think about was the multitude of insulting things I had said about the brand the night before: had I really called it an old person drink? Done a cringe-worthy impression of an Appalachian miner? Oh God, and I had shot down all of his ideas too, hadn’t I?
I was well and truly screwed, and not in the way I’d wanted to be last night.
I did an abrupt about-face and took my seat, not willing to risk him recognizing me—oh God, please let him have been too smashed last night to recognize me now—and avoiding his eyes as he made his way into the room and we all introduced ourselves. I mumbled my name, pretending to be completely absorbed in the task of setting up for my presentation. Move along everyone, nothing to see here—
“It’s lovely to see you again,” he murmured as he passed me, just low enough for me to hear, and I blushed what I was sure had to be a brilliant crimson.
Thankfully, time was money, and Chuck was determined that none of us waste any of it; we moved quickly into presentations. The Douchebros were going first—I certainly bet not for the first time—and I was actually grateful.
Maybe this’ll give me enough time to compose myself and give a pitch so great it’ll totally blow Hunter Knox away. Or at least make him forget how close I came to blowing him.
He caught my eye and winked.
Yeah, and maybe pigs will fly.
Harry sauntered up to the front of the room like confidence was a market and he had cornered it. He brought images up onscreen; last year’s ads for Knox whiskey, and those of its three biggest competitors. The Knox one featured a rugged prospector knocking back a shot, while the other two featured variations on the theme of ‘whiskey droplets trickling down the photoshopped cleavage of a model in a bikini, licking her lips.’
“Why do people drink?” Harry declared more than asked.
“Great taste?” Hunter said dryly.
Harry scoffed. “Puh-lease. People drink to get drunk, and because of the image they can achieve with the right bottle in their hand, and bro? That grizzly frontiersman image you have going for Knox—well, it’s not the image people fantasize about anymore.”
“Please, enlighten me on your fantasies then,” Hunter said, completely deadpan.
Oh my God, had he cut a look at me when he said that? He had, he totally had.
Heat bloomed across my cheeks and down my chest, settling between my legs. Was it possible to be simultaneously this embarrassed and this turned on? Was I even going to be able to form words when it was my turn to present?
Dead, dead, dead, I was so dead.
I forced myself to focus on Harry’s words to distract myself from my rampaging libido, though they made me so sick I soon wished I hadn’t.
“It’ll be a total rebrand: ‘Girls Gone Wild’ but with a wilder, hotter, more in-your-face vibe! You drink Knox, you get a party—complete with all the whiskey-loving babes you can dream of. We’ll get a hot naked chick on the label, with strategically placed lettering, of course—” he brought up several potential photos on the screen, and I tried not to gag, “and here’s what we’re thinking for TV spots.”
He hit another button, and moans filled the room as women writhed in ecstasy across the screen. For a moment I felt intensely embarrassed for him, accidentally playing us his porn collection like that during an important meeting.
Then I saw the whiskey splashing over their breasts, and I realized that this was actually the ad he wanted Knox whiskey to go with.