“Welcome to the land of the living,” I tell her.
“Um—hi,” she says, picking herself up from my shoulder, her eyes widening. “Oh, no. Sorry.”
“Quite alright,” I whisper.
Lies.
What’s still happening below my belt is the very definition of not alright.
The flight attendant returns and sets my coffee down next to my laptop. She leans past me and goes to Sabrina’s side.
“Hello, Miss. You were asleep when I came by for refreshments.”
“Oh, that would be great,” Sabrina says. “Can I get some water?”
She nods. “Would you like your pastry heated or cold?”
“Pastry? Is it in a fridge or at room temperature?”
“Room temperature,” the flight attendant says.
“Cold is fine.” Sabrina drops the blanket around her and pushes it back in the bag.
“Would you like coffee as well?”
Sabrina reclines in her overstuffed leather chair. “Yes, please. If you could put it in an IV that would be perfect.”
“I’m afraid this flight only serves drinks orally.” The attendant winks. “I have a dark roast Kona and a cinnamon latte today. What would you like?”
“Cinnamon latte, please.”
“Coming right up.” The flight attendant walks away.
I look over at Sabrina until she meets my eyes. “You know those sugary lattes are the reason you think you need a caffeine drip.”
“Coffee’s so bitter. I can’t handle it without the milk and sugar,” she says.
I take a long swallow of my drink.
“Coffee with sugar in it doesn’t even give me the same buzz.”
She laughs, flipping her brown hair back over her shoulder. “I’m not surprised the black coffee isn’t too bitter for you. Kind of seems like a perfect match.”
“Touché,” I say. Time to get serious now. We have a deal to close. “I sent you a list of things I need before the meeting this afternoon. We’re going to secure this brand if it kills us, because this could be the key to unlocking the entire fashion industry for HeronComm. I’ve been vying for an in there forever, but they tend to stick with old-school New York ad companies.”
She puts two fingers to her head and salutes me. “Yeah, I glanced at everything you sent over last night. I’ll have it done within the hour.”
She reaches down and pulls her laptop out of her messenger bag with a yawn.
Fine, I’m impressed. I didn’t expect her to read her emails before the flight. But does she have to be so snarky?
The flight attendant returns. “Here you are.”
Brina looks up and smiles. She takes the latte I had sealed in a thermos and the pastry from the flight attendant and sets them down before she sees the logo. “Oh my gosh! This is Sweeter Grind. How?”
Her smile rivals the sun, just as intense as the happy gleam in her eyes.
“I made a stop this morning,” I say flatly.
She needs to know it was nothing.
“Well, thank you for stocking the plane with my favorites.” She picks up the latte and takes a long gulp.
Her excitement disarms me so much I decide not to mention her crude taste in coffee.
She breaks off a piece of her pastry and stuffs it in her heart-shaped mouth, melting back in her seat with a grateful smile. I’m glad it perks her up and puts an extra jolt into her work for the remainder of the flight.
When we land, she struggles to pick her bag up again, so I carry hers and my own.
“Do you think I have time to order another coffee before the car comes?” she asks.
I look at my watch. “Make it fast.”
Sabrina saunters off and Ruby steps up beside me.
“I’m kind of jealous,” she says. “I’ve worked here for how many years? And I’ve never once had the boss carrying my luggage.”
I laugh it off with a shrug.
“She couldn’t pick it up. If I’d made her, she would’ve dropped it twenty times and it would take us all day to get out of here. This was easier.”
Ruby watches like a hawk while Sabrina exits and heads inside the airport. “She doesn’t have the usual bounce in her step. Poor girl. She’s exhausted.”
“She went for a coffee run, and she was well caffeinated during the flight. She’ll be back to normal in time for the meeting.”
“Let’s hope it’s the same for you,” Ruby grumbles.
But before I can pull her back to wonder what the hell she means, she’s gone, pulling her roller suitcase behind her.
Is it that obvious?
Frowning, I march off the plane, telling myself this bag carrying business is the last favor I do anyone today.
Nice Guy Mag isn’t who I am, much less what anyone else is used to.
I’m sure as hell not stumbling through another client meeting like that near-disaster with Stedfaust, and all because my EA turns me into something I’m not.
The stakes are too high.
I hope Miss Bristol enjoyed the truce.
If I have to growl and evil eye my whole team into locking down this client, so be it.
“So let me get this straight,” Millie Lindt, the CEO of Jazzle Razzle Designs says, leaning forward. “I’m supposed to give you a million-dollar budget for some Instagram posts?”
“Miss Lindt, the ads are all yours, and so is the budget. You can use them wherever you want, but I’ll guarantee they get picked up by the biggest influencers. That’s what’ll get you traction you won’t get anywhere else. You have a young, hip audience. They’re all on the Gram and TikTok.”
She cocks her head. Her platinum-blond hair ripples in the California sun streaming through the massive glass windows.
“A million dollars is a lot of money. You’re telling me you can guarantee results? I’ve never had another marketer make that claim.”
Technically, I can, as outlandish as it sounds.
We’ve never once had a client fail to see growth.
Still, she’s right, no other ad company guarantees results. Not if they’re in their right minds.
In theory, it’s impossible. There are too many variables. I don’t own the advertising platforms, which could glitch, and the influencers don’t have to play ball.
I also have zero control over other factors, like the formidable competitors in her space or Miss Lindt’s own quirks. She loves politics and her father is a governor. She isn’t shy about sharing her views, which could piss people off any time.
“I’ll tell you what,” I say, folding my hands. “If you don’t see at least a ten percent increase in sales from this campaign, we’ll create your next three ad campaigns free. No bull.”
Ms. Lindt meets my eyes. “If your million-dollar run is unsuccessful, what use do I have for another campaign?”
My phone vibrates against my leg.
Fuck. What now? I tap the screen under the table and look down.
Sabrina: Tell her the majority of our clients see a 20-30% increase in three weeks of the campaign’s release, and when that campaign runs for up to three months, the sales increase can go to seventy-five percent. Jazzle Razzle would almost have to try to stop our campaign from driving their sales through the roof.