by Vi Keeland
She nodded as she pulled her purse from the drawer. “Are you ordering dinner? Because my Lean Cuisines are clearly marked with my name in the freezer in the employee kitchen.”
“Umm. Yeah. Bennett said he was going to order dinner for us.”
She frowned. “I also have two cans of ginger ale, four Sargento cheddar cheese sticks, and a half-used squeezable Smucker’s grape jelly in there.”
“Okay. Well, I wasn’t planning on helping myself to someone’s food in the refrigerator. But that’s good to know.”
“There’re menus in the top, right-hand drawer.”
“Okay. Thank you. Is Bennett in his office?”
“He went for a run. Normally he runs in the morning, but he went out about forty-five minutes ago since I told him you were going to be late.” Marina glanced around the room, then leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Between us girls, you might want to watch your supplies around him.”
“Supplies?”
“Paper clips, notepads, staplers—some people around here have sticky fingers, if you know what I mean.”
“I’ll…remember that. Thanks for the heads up, Marina.”
Twenty minutes later, Bennett popped his head into my office. His hair was wet and slicked back, and he’d changed into a T-shirt and jeans. He held a pizza box in one hand. “You ready?”
“Did you pay for that pizza or swipe it from Marina?”
He dropped his head. “She got to you already.”
I grinned. “She did. But I’m curious to hear the backstory from you.”
“Well, unless you like cold pizza, that’ll have to wait. Because explaining how nuts that woman is might take a while.”
I laughed. “Okay. Where do you want to work?” I nodded to the box sitting on the guest chair on the other side of my desk. “I packed some stuff to prepare just in case you wanted to go elsewhere.”
He walked toward my desk. “Of course you did. Wanna know what I did to prepare?”
“What?”
“I picked up two shot glasses at the little touristy shop down the block, just in case we feel the need to test drive the product.” Bennett plopped the pizza box on top of my box and lifted from the bottom. He tilted his head toward the door. “Come on. Let’s spread out in the bullpen. I think everyone else is gone for the day.”
***
The Foster Burnett marketing bullpen was very different than the one we’d had at Wren. Aside from it being twice the size—which made sense since Foster Burnett had twice the employees of Wren—it was set up like a dream college dorm lounge. Both bullpens had two couches and a coffee table, but that’s where the similarities ended. Wren had framed inspirational quotes, easels holding white boards, a large drafting table for sketching ideas, and a small fridge with soft drinks. Foster Burnett had one long wall painted black that doubled as an enormous chalkboard, a foosball table, a full-sized Ms. Pac-Man arcade game, colorful beanbag chairs, dozens of origami animals hanging from the ceiling, and two well-stocked 1950’s vending machines for soda and snacks in which everything cost only twenty-five cents.
“This room is nothing like the one we had at the old office.”
Bennett leaned forward and tore a second slice of pizza from the pie, sliding it onto his paper plate. He held the box open. “You ready for another one?”
“No, thanks. Not yet.”
He nodded and folded his pizza in half. “What was Wren’s bullpen like?”
“Less dorm room décor and more corporate team building.”
“Framed picture of a pack of wolves with some bullshit teamwork slogan?”
We didn’t have that particular one, but I knew the print he was referring to.
“Exactly.”
“I set up this room when we moved up to this floor. Tried to get them to put a few showers in, but HR wouldn’t go for it.”
“Showers?”
“I do my best thinking in the shower.”
“Huh. I feel like my best epiphanies come in the shower, too. I’ve always wondered why that is.”
“It takes away all outside stimuli and allows our mind to switch into daydreaming mode by relaxing the prefrontal cortex of the brain. It’s known as DMN, default mode network. When the brain is in DMN, we use different regions of it—literally opening up our minds.”
He shoved a quarter of his slice into his mouth, seeming not to notice the surprise on my face.
“Wow. I didn’t know that. I mean, I knew why we sometimes need to get out of the office or play a video game to free up our headspace. But I’d never heard the scientific explanation behind it.”
I flipped open the pizza box and took out another slice. Lifting it into my mouth, I looked up and found Bennett watching me intently.
“What?” I wiped at my cheek with the napkin in my other hand. “Do I have sauce on my face or something?”
“Just surprised you eat more than one slice of pizza.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you saying I shouldn’t eat more than one?”
He held up his hands. “Not at all. That wasn’t a weight comment.”
“Then what did it mean?”
Bennett shook his head. “Nothing. Just something a friend of mine said about girls who actually eat.”
“I grew up eating a bowl of pasta as a side dish. I can eat.”
I caught Bennett’s eyes doing a quick sweep over my body, as if a comment was about to come, but then he shoved more pizza into his mouth.
“So what’s the deal with Marina?” I asked. “She rattled off a detailed inventory of the food she has in the fridge to let me know she’ll be very aware if anything goes missing.”
Bennett slumped into the couch. “I accidentally ate her lunch two years ago.”
“You thought her lunch was yours and ate it by mistake?”
“No. I knew it wasn’t mine. I don’t bring lunch. But I was working really late one night and thought it was Fred’s in accounting, so I ate it. It was one goddamned peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and now I’m accused of stealing her stapler or something every other week.”
“Well, I hear the rate of recidivism for first-time lunch thieves is pretty high.”
“I made the mistake of telling Jim Falcon. Now every once in a while, he swipes something off her desk and plants it on mine. He thinks it’s funny, but I’m pretty sure she’s about three paperclips away from poisoning my coffee.”
“Something tells me she isn’t the only woman to feel that way about you.”
***
Once we put the pizza away, the two of us couldn’t agree on anything.
First we took turns sharing our loose ideas for the Venus Vodka campaign. The company had solicited a full branding pitch for their latest flavored-vodka product. We needed to come up with a cohesive package: proposed product names, logo ideas, taglines, and an overall marketing strategy. Not surprisingly, my ideas and Bennett’s were a mile apart. All of my suggestions had a feminine ring. All of Bennett’s were masculine.
“Men ages eighteen to forty drink the most alcohol,” he said.
“Yes. But this is flavored vodka. Honey flavored. The primary drinkers of flavored alcohol are women.”
“That doesn’t mean we have to paint the bottle pink and sell it with a straw inside.”
“I wasn’t suggesting that. But Buzz isn’t a girly name.”
“It is when you add a bumble bee on the label. If the branding is too feminine, men aren’t going to pick the bottle up to carry to the register.”
“Are you serious? You’re really suggesting that if something is too feminine, men aren’t going to pick it up?”
“I’m not suggesting it. It’s a fact.”
We’d been arguing for the last half hour. If we were going to get anywhere working together, we needed to spend less time trying to sell the other one and more time coming up with ideas. I sighed. What a shame. I really loved Buzz vodka with a bee on the label. “I think we need a system.”
“
Of course you do,” Bennett mumbled.
I scowled. “We each get three vetoes. If one of us invokes veto power, that means we think the concept is wholly unworkable, and there is no point in trying to shape it into a campaign. If one of us vetoes, we have to immediately move on and not try to debate why it’s a good idea.” I looked at my watch. “It’s a quarter to eight already. We could spend all night arguing.”
“Fine. If it gets you to give up on your bee campaign, let’s do it.” Bennett looked down at his watch. “And it’s seven fifty-one, not quarter to eight.”
Yep. Another eye roll.
Bennett decided to play some Ms. Pac-Man to try to clear his head. I needed to relax a little to get into brainstorming mode, too. So I slipped off my heels and stood. Pacing helped me think. I shook out my hands as I walked.
“Honey vodka…honey flavor. Sweet. Sugar. Candy.” I began to run through word associations aloud. “Syrup. Hive. Bzz. Bzz. Fuzzy. Yellow.”
“What the hell are you doing?” The sound of his Pac-Man being gobbled punctuated his sentence.
I stopped. “Trying to clear my mind and start thinking fresh.”
Bennett shook his head. “Your yapping is doing the opposite of clearing mine. I’ve got a better idea for you.”
“What? Run home and shower?”
He reached into the box he’d carried in for me and took out the sealed, unlabeled bottle that Venus had sent over with the RFP. Then he dug two little shot glasses out of his pocket.
I’d thought he was kidding earlier when he said he bought them in preparation for our brainstorming session.
“We need to sample the product. Nothing like a little alcohol to clear your mind.”
Chapter 9
* * *
Bennett
Annalise O’Neil was a lightweight.
We’d only done two shots—for research purposes, of course—and already her demeanor had changed. She waved her pointer finger in the air. The only thing missing was a light bulb in a bubble above her head. “I got it. Me so honey.”
She pronounced the honey so it sounded like horny. Then proceeded to crack herself up.
I liked drunk Annalise. “That’s actually a damn good idea.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Except it’s already taken.”
“Nooooo.”
“Yep. There’s a pale ale named Me So Honey. It’s actually pretty good.”
“You’ve tasted it?”
“Of course. How could I pass a beer with that name and not bring it to my buddy’s? Who hasn’t brought a bottle of Ménage à Trois wine to a party for the same reason?”
Annalise kicked her bare feet up on the coffee table. “Me! I’ve never bought it.”
“Well, that’s because you’re uptight.”
Her eyes went wide. “I am not uptight.”
“So you’ve had a ménage à trois, then?” It was fun screwing with her.
“No. But that doesn’t make me uptight.”
I leaned forward and poured two more shots of vodka. Annalise hesitated, but I nudged. “One more. It’ll help clear your mind.”
She’d made a face after the first two shots. But this one went down smooth. Yep. Annalise was definitely a damn lightweight.
She slammed the empty shot glass down on the table a little too hard. “Ménage à blah. I was dumped once for not wanting to swing.”
My brows jumped. Totally not what I expected to come out of her mouth. “Your boyfriend wanted you to sleep with another guy?”
“Yep. In my first year of college. And of course, he’d get to sleep with another woman.”
I sucked back my shot. “That never appealed to me. I’m not big on sharing a woman.”
Annalise snort-laughed. “Maybe you should date me. That’ll make you want to sleep with other women.”
I let that comment sink in a minute before responding. Did she just tell me she sucks in bed? “Ummm…come again?”
She cackled so hard she tipped over on the couch. I had no idea what the fuck she was laughing about, but I started to laugh, too. Watching her loosen up and be amused at her own comments was pretty damn funny.
When her tipsy giggle fit subsided, she let out a wistful sigh. “Men suck. No offense.”
I shrugged. Men do suck, especially me. “None taken.”
“Sorry. I think the shots went to my head.” She sat up straight and smoothed out her hair. “Let’s get back to brainstorming. My brain took a detour, apparently.”
“Oh no you don’t. You can’t just drop that dating you makes men sleep with other women and move on. I’m a man, remember? I suck. I can’t move on from that without an explanation. Are you bad in bed or something?”
Annalise forced a smile, but it was a pretty damn sad one. “No. At least I don’t think so. I’ve been told I’m good at…” She looked down and then back up under those thick lashes. “…certain things. I just meant because I got dumped for declining swapping once and now…my boyfriend…ex-boyfriend…Andrew and I…we’re on a break.”
That answer had a lot of information in it, but I couldn’t get past certain things.
Was she flexible?
Give great head?
I once knew a woman who did this amazing thing with my balls…
I swallowed. Fuck.
“Ummm… You’re right. We should get back to work. Excuse me for a minute.” I abruptly got up and went to the bathroom to splash water on my face. A few minutes later I’d managed to wrangle my thoughts away from what talents Annalise might have.
Returning to the bullpen, I took a seat across from her. “How about Wild Honey? Men and women both respond well to the word wild. We can market by some association with the name—wild parties, wild adventures, wild animals.”
Annalise seemed to ponder my suggestion for a while. At least that’s what I’d assumed she was doing until she spoke.
“You’re a guy. What does on a break really mean to you?”
Shit. Do I answer that honestly or tell her what she wants to hear?
“Veto.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “What?”
“You said we each have three vetoes, and when one of us hates something the other comes up with, all we have to do is say veto and we move on—no debating the idea. I’m invoking my first veto power. I’m not touching that question.”
“Come on. I really want to know. I’ve only gotten a woman’s perspective. And you don’t strike me as the type of guy to bullshit me.”
I studied her carefully. She’d been giggling a few minutes ago, but she also seemed to be sincere in wanting an answer. So I took a deep breath.
“Okay. To me, being on a break means I want to have my cake and eat it, too. I don’t want to commit to just one woman, but I also don’t want her to commit to anyone else—in case the day comes when I decide I’m ready to settle down. So I keep her on the hook, while I go fishing somewhere else for a while.”
She frowned. “Andrew said he needed to discover who he is. On Valentine’s Day. I got dumped on Valentine’s Day.”
What a dick.
“How long were you together?”
“Eight years. Since junior year in college.”
She’d probably hate me for it, but someone had to tell her the truth.
“So he’s what…twenty-eight…thirty?”
“Twenty-nine. He was a year ahead of me.”
“He’s jerking you around.”
Her jaw dropped. “You don’t even know him.”
“Don’t need to. No stand-up, twenty-nine-year-old man who loves a woman is going to set her free because he needs to find himself. Especially on fucking Valentine’s Day.”
She straightened her spine. “And you know this because you’re such a stand-up guy?”
“Didn’t say that. In fact, I’m the opposite of a stand-up guy. Never even had a girlfriend on Valentine’s Day. I make sure I get rid of them beforehand so there’s no expectation of candlelight and romance. That�
�s why I can say with certainty that your ex doesn’t really need a break to find himself. Because it takes an asshole to know an asshole.”
Annalise’s blue eyes blazed. Her lips pursed, and her cheeks flushed with anger. If I’d been uncertain I was the asshole I’d just admitted to being before, the fact that seeing her getting pissed off made my dick twitch would’ve proved it.
She stared at me for a solid two minutes and then got up to stand at the foosball table. “Let’s go,” she said. “I feel the need to kick your ass.”
***
It was hours later before we made any real progress. But once we started, we got on a roll, and the two of us really started gelling. I’d say one thing, she’d take it and run for a while, that would spark an idea in me, and in the last half hour, we’d come up with a name, sketched out a rough idea for a logo, and jotted down a dozen complementing ad concepts.
Annalise yawned.
I took a look at my watch. “It’s almost midnight. What do you say we call it a night? We have a good start. I can work on the logo tomorrow morning and get something drawn up on the Mac. Maybe we can toss around some more ideas Wednesday so we can nail down which ones we want to present to Jonas.”
She leaned down and slipped on her heels. “That sounds good. I’m wiped out. And I think I may be starting to get a hangover from those shots earlier, if that’s even possible.”
Bent over like that, her blouse gaped, and I had a clear view right down her shirt. The gentlemanly thing to do would have been to turn away. But you already know I’m an asshole. Plus…she had a black lacy bra on. Black lace against pale skin is my kryptonite—something about the contrast let my imagination run wild with a cook in the kitchen, whore in the bedroom fantasy.
Which had me thinking…
I bet she’d look great in a chef’s hat and stilettos.
I definitely needed to get laid. Not a good idea to be fantasizing about someone at work, no less a woman I planned to annihilate. The news of the merger might have deflated my perpetual hard-on, but apparently Miss O’Neil had pulled me through that dry spell. It wasn’t the first time my dick had perked up around her.
