Just visualizing it gave her a shiver. He saw it, his eye for detail as good as any Dom’s. She liked that, though she put a hand on his chest, anticipating his movement forward and reminding him of boundaries. “As much as I like that,” she said, “I like the idea of you denying yourself even more. Because that’s also something you can do for me.”
She slid into her car and closed the door, lowering the window when she turned over the engine. He put both hands on the edge, his gaze all over her, the desire in his face plain. She resisted it, though it wasn’t easy putting the car in drive, letting it start to roll, watching his hands slip away from her.
“Your choice. No penalty for giving in to your imagination.” She tossed him a look. “But denial might earn you something even better.”
Chapter Three
As Lindi finished her presentation on her strawman client, Ros was slowly somersaulting her pen over her fingers, touching the ends to her notepad. Back, point, back, point. Abby sent her a subtle look that included both amusement and admonishment. She always knew what Ros was thinking. Since that was a two-way street, Ros knew what the admonishment was.
Go easy. She’s an intern.
Several years ago, they’d entered into a co-op work agreement with the area colleges for three business internships per quarter. On the interns’ first day, Ros always injected a caveat into her welcome speech.
“Criticism is a teaching tool. If I make you cry, go to the bathroom and cry. But prove to me you’re worth my time by drying your own tears and learning from the feedback. Skill comes from experience, which includes failure and mistakes.”
Today was the mid-point of the quarter. Two weeks ago, the interns had been challenged to choose a “client,” and offer a viable marketing strategy for their product to the executive team at TRA.
The preceding two presentations had been decent, the students demonstrating that they’d absorbed a satisfactory level of information from the first six weeks of the internship. Now it was Lindi’s turn.
Ever since Bambi, giving girls names that sounded too precious should have been outlawed. In Ros’s opinion, it sentenced them to a life of not being taken seriously by anyone, including themselves.
Lindi clicked off the laser pointer she’d been using with her painstakingly prepared Power Point presentation. She beamed at them with an earnest mommy-always-loves-me expression that said no one in the world would ever pee in her cornflakes. Ros half expected her to take out her phone and do a selfie for social media. “Here’s me, rocking the presentation at my co-op job.”
“Lindi, your product is a cheap Barbie knockoff,” Ros said. “The hair falls out after about a month of use, and the movable arms and legs break in half that time. Correct?”
Lindi’s smile faltered. “I guess so. I didn’t really…”
“Didn’t think about buying the product off the shelf and seeing what it was really like? Comparing it to online reviews?”
“I studied the client’s product site. Learned the specs.”
“But you didn’t put your hands on it. How do you sell something you haven’t physically touched or used yourself? Let’s move past that. Based on my description, is this a product you would buy for a niece or nephew?” Or herself, since Lindi looked barely old enough to be past the doll stage.
“Uh…” Lindi’s dark brown gaze darted around the room, a flush tinting her bisque-colored cheeks.
“Stop looking for cues for the right answer. Tell me what you think. Unless your brain is just to maintain a head shape for that cute hair style.”
Lindi swallowed. Abby stepped in, toning it down. Their usual balance of good exec, total bitch exec.
“Ros isn’t trying to put you on the spot, Lindi. When we think about representing a client, we start with our own opinion of what they’re selling. Tell us what you think about this product. Would you buy it for a loved one?”
Lindi settled some, a frown capturing her frosted lips. “No. Probably not. Unless I had a child who wanted a Barbie, but I couldn’t afford one.”
“A lower income demographic will find this kind of doll at the dozen types of dollar stores out there. They don’t need our marketing skills for that.” Ros stabbed the table with her pen, a pointed rap. “Marketing tells a potential customer why the product is worth their money. If we don’t believe it’s worth anything ourselves, then we don’t sign the client. Honesty isn’t just a moral compass. If you truly believe in a product, you will work that much harder to ensure its success.”
Despite what she'd said to Matt about convincing people to buy dogshit, that was exactly the type of marketing Thomas Rose Associates didn't do. “Now, let’s move on to your strategy. The rollout is sound, but you’re missing some foundation blocks. The client has social media platforms, a newsletter, advertisements. Before you put this together, did you review all of those, to see how they’ve been marketing themselves, what kind of style and voice they’re projecting?”
“Um, that would take a lot of time. In my model, they're only paying for twenty-five hours of marketing.”
“That's correct. But if you’re working for me, then you’d be salaried. Which means a certain number of your forty plus hours a week should be dedicated to getting to know your client, to make sure those twenty-five hours are top quality work. If their profits increase from your efforts, it ups the odds they put us on permanent retainer. At which point you get a percentage bonus for achieving that goal.”
Ros was pleased to see the girl trying to digest that, despite flushed cheeks and a hyperawareness of the five sets of eyes on her. Changing direction during a presentation when the client wasn’t responding well to it required information processing while under intense scrutiny. She gave the girl one more hard push to test it.
“The more you give, the more you get. Whereas the less you give, the more corners you cut, the more likely it is your client will decide they’ve received a generic, cookie cutter effort. And your employer will decide you’re better suited for a mindless job to pay for your cappuccino addiction. Got it?”
Lindi swallowed. The laser pointer was clutched in tense fingers. “Um… Yes, Ros.”
“Good. I want you to re-work this, present it again next week. If you have any questions, ask Abby.”
“Um…”
“And for God’s sake, surgically excise that syllable from your presentation skills,” Ros said flatly. “It makes you sound like you’re apologizing for existing.”
“Um—sorry, I mean…” Lindi’s eyes had that pre-cry glassiness to them, but she pushed the question out. “If you’re the one who has issues with my presentation, shouldn’t I ask you the questions?”
“A good point, Lindi,” Abby said. “But often you might not have direct access to the top executive. You have to ask the right questions of a go-between.”
“Agreed,” Ros interjected. “But in this case, I can make the time. Shoot the questions to my email. If we need to talk over the phone, we will.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lindi collected her laptop and fled. As the door to the board room closed behind her, Abby swiveled her chair toward Ros. “She’ll be in the bathroom for the next half hour, texting her friends about how awful her internship is.”