Closing the door behind me, I set my steaming hot coffee on my desk and logged in to my computer.
Even with the door closed I could see Tim leaning in close to Riley, leering at her like a douche-nozzling sea donkey. Creep.
I sighed. Some days I wished I couldn’t see everything that went on in this office.
Almost six years ago, the founding partners of this firm, Sam Hall and Less Heinrich, decided to eliminate all the internal walls and partitions in order to create a more open and less hierarchical workspace.
They called it the Google approach. It was a shift from thinking of the office as being a “me space” to a “we space” in hopes of fostering a sort of communal feeling.
And so the architect commissioned by Hall and Heinrich embraced transparency, eliminating cubicles and replacing walls with glass partitions to make everything at the office visible at a glance. Even my own personal office had glass walls, and I had a clear line of sight of the entire floor, all the way to the elevator.
But as much as I detested the “we space” approach, I understood the need for it.
The clusters of tables and quads of desks in the lofty, high-beamed space created a collaborative setting that was conducive to the heart and soul of this agency—the creative department, especially since they constantly relied on each other to bounce off ideas.
The sound of a loud ping pulled me from my thoughts, and my pulse quickened as the doors slid open and Julian stepped out of the elevator.
With a cool and silent swagger, he crossed the floor, picking his way through the maze of tables to get to his desk. Since he was a creative director, he could’ve had his very own glass office, but he chose to forgo it to sit with his team.
“I need to be where the crazy happens,” he’d said on his first day at the firm. “My team can’t be innovative in a vacuum, and neither can I.”
I admired him for that. He wasn’t just some glorified director. He was an actual leader. And that made him even more attractive to me.
Then I shook my head as if I could somehow shake away that feeling and turned my thoughts back to work.
Slowly, the tension that had taken residence between my shoulder blades began to ease as I sipped my coffee and clicked through over a hundred emails. I was CC’d on every little thing, even projects I had no attachment to, just to keep me in “the loop.”
Typically, that was how my day started—catching up on emails and reading about the latest news and updates in the advertising world. Mornings were also the solid block of time I could plan my day and get work done, as the rest of the day got busy with meetings, internal discussions, and other client duties.
Today, there were concepts, layouts, and copy to review and present to my clients for approval. I had a long list of new clients to contact to discuss current and upcoming projects. And in just a couple of hours I had a meeting with one of our toughest clients—Jensen Organics.
I was responding to an email when a slight movement in the corner of my eye arrested my motion. While I kept my attention on my computer screen, I slid my gaze sideways to observe Julian in my peripheral vision.
I paused in my typing when I saw him making a beeline toward my office.
I felt my heartbeat quicken, and a matching pulse beat at the juncture of my thighs, the attraction stronger than rational thought.
And I realized I’d been waiting for him to stop by my office all morning.
I continued to watch him from the corner of my eye. When he walked past Riley’s desk, she began swinging her hair around like a machete. Then she sent him a sidelong glance, that of a woman who liked what she saw.
Julian probably saw that look all the time and surely expected it.
Despite all his boyish charms, he was sexy as fuck, I conceded miserably.
He wore his sandy-blond hair closely cropped, almost in a military style, and stood about six-two or three. He was a tall glass of water, and I drank in the sight of him.
With his sculpted good looks and toned body cut in all the right places, he looked like he could grace the covers of high-fashion magazines.
He was so… mmm… just so damn fine.
And he had this vibe about him that I was just attracted to. California surfer meets dot com executive. I looked at him and thought, This guy is crushing on life.
There was an edgy street style to the way he dressed, somehow always managing to make it look effortless without appearing terminally hip. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to show off several tats, his body ink a stark contrast against the colorful Rainbow Looms on his wrist.
A smile curved my lips. Those stretchy bracelets marked him as a mom faster than breast milk stains on a white T-shirt. Only he wasn’t a mom, just a man who adored his niece enough to wear those girly bracelets out in public.
And I’d been there before—up to my elbows in Rainbow Looms handmade by my son and imbued with so much love.
Is that why I agreed to go out with him? I asked myself. Because he wore “mom jewelry” and he wore it proudly?
Well, technically, it wasn’t “going out” since it wasn’t lunch.
It was only frozen yogurt.
And what more could I say? After a week of deflecting his advances, I’d been momentarily out of ammo. To hell with it, I’d thought. I was only human.
Why shouldn’t I let someone be nice to me?
And he was a pleasant distraction. In the little time we’d spent together, he allowed me to let go of my thoughts. And that’s all I wanted… to be able to smile again and feel it.
He was different. Most men who pursued me this relentlessly were usually impressed (with themselves). More often than not, they always had some sort of agenda, something to prove. And there was never denying the underlying power-struggle vibes beneath the surface of their interactions.
But I didn’t get those sorts of vibes from Julian.
While he took his job seriously, he didn’t take himself too seriously. Though he was laidback, there was a certain boldness to him, in the way he carried himself, as if he were confident in every step he took, every word he spoke, every look he gave.
And his keen mind and razor-sharp wit surprised me, made me laugh even.
“Morning, Sadie.” Julian sat on the edge of my desk and gave me a charged, appreciative look that elicited a familiar tug between my legs, a heat that spread throughout my body.
“Morning.” Settling back in my chair, I crossed my legs and simply stared at him, giving the whirlwind of emotions I felt every time I looked at him a chance to subside.
He has a perfectly shaped head, I thought.
I’d always had a thing for tall men with crew cuts, not bald—never bald—but buzzed real short.
And I found myself wondering what his head would feel like against my hands as I ran my nails through his hair, raking the tips across his scalp.
“So are you up for it?” His deep voice cut into my thoughts.
With a start, I realized Julian was speaking and had been speaking for some time, though I didn’t know what he said because I hadn’t been listening.
I’d been too busy staring.
A sexy grin tilted his lips, and to my discomfort, I watched myself blossom in his eyes. It frightened me. Then annoyed me.
Blushing a half-dozen shades of red, I gathered myself and gave him my frostiest look. “Sorry.” My voice was clipped. “I missed what you just said.”
Amusement glimmered in his eyes.
I swear, sometimes that man has a way of looking at me as if he’s so aware of what I’m thinking. It is most unsettling.
Instead of indulging in playful banter, he got right down to business. “We need to discuss the Jensen account.” He released a long breath, exasperated. “They’ve been rejecting every single storyboard.”
I understood his frustration. In a perfect world, when the creative team came up with a great ad, I’d take it over to the client and they’d approve it for production.
In al
l my years of working here, that had happened only once.
At the same time, I also understood it was perfectly within the client’s rights to reject our work.
Our job wasn’t to present something we liked. It was to present something they liked.
And it was my job to manage and strengthen (not merely maintain) our client relationships, acting as the key liaison between the client and the agency.
Julian pushed off from my desk and began pacing the floor. “My team has worked hard on twenty different storyboards for Jensen. At this point, Jensen’s not being difficult. They’re being downright impossible.”
I said nothing to correct this. Jensen was a tough client because they were so vague. At every meeting, after the creative team had presented their storyboards, the Jensen execs simply stated, “That was an interesting range of ideas.” Which was code for: “I don’t like anything you’ve shown me.”
When pressed to tell us exactly what it was they liked and didn’t like, they couldn’t give us a straight answer.
The standard reply we got was: “We can’t say. We’ll know it when we see it.”
Working with this mindset was an absolute mindfuck.
It was like playing darts blindfolded and being spun around ten times and still being expected to hit the bull’s-eye.
Julian took a sharp intake of breath. “At the meeting this afternoon, if Jensen kills all three storyboards, let me say something.”
“No,” I said tersely. “I can handle Jensen. I know their temperament. I know their corporate culture. And I’ll know when to push back.” I also knew when to withdraw gracefully, though I didn’t share this with Julian.
The client must never be made to feel like a bully. And if I pushed too hard, Jensen might consider another creative team within our agency or, worse, consider a new agency.
Julian sighed. “Jensen needs to approve something. Time’s running out.”
He was right. The media slots had already been purchased and the deadline was fast approaching.
“Tell me,” he said. “What can I do to help you bend Jensen to our will?”
“Mm.” I considered a moment. “You can help me read the room.”
“Excuse me?”
“At the meeting, assess Jensen’s reactions when your team presents their storyboards. Pick up on their facial cues. Pay attention to Mark Nessman. His face is like a map and his expressions will inform you just as thoroughly as his words exactly how he feels about something. Then adjust your recommendations to match the ideas you think Jensen will accept.”
“All right.” Julian gave a slow, determined nod. “I can probably do that. Sounds simple enough.”
Chapter Four
The creative meeting with Jensen Organics was business and show business rolled into one. Every member of my team was presenting the storyboards while several high-ranking Jensen executives sat stoic around the conference table with their intimidating files in front of them.
I scanned their faces for confusion, comprehension, and delight.
I studied their body language and watched their reactions.
I even paid special attention to Mark Nessman.
Fuck me. It wasn’t simple at all. Reading the Jensen execs was like trying to tell the difference between a wink and a blink.
While I was plainly out of my depth, Sadie seemed to have a good read of the room.
In short, she controlled the entire meeting.
When she sensed the Jensen execs were unreceptive, she spoke up, formulating a defense that showed she understood their discomfort. “The idea in this board is so cutting edge it will startle the consumer and cut through the clutter of competitive advertising.” She paused. “Now, I understand this approach might make you a bit uncomfortable, but it’s precisely the kind of advertising the Jensen brand needs right now.”
Mark Nessman twisted his lips and tapped a finger against them as he studied the storyboard. “Do you think the humor might be too cutting edge?”
Sadie didn’t miss a beat. “We can test it among focus groups to see if we’ve gone too far. And if we have, we can easily dial it back down.”
Another exec spoke up. “We’re selling deodorants in this ad. Don’t you think it needs more sex appeal? Like Unilever’s Axe?”
Unilever’s Axe? He has to be fucking kidding me.
I had to bite my tongue. Axe body spray was synonymous with douchebags, douche-nozzles, douche lords, and douche McGouches alike. And contrary to what the Jensen execs might think of the Axe campaign, it did not have the Axe effect.
Not in my opinion, at least.
It also didn’t help that the deodorant smelled like Hugh Hefner’s balls dipped in kerosene. Not that I’d ever caught a whiff of Hefner’s nuts.
Exhaling sharply, I pushed away thoughts of Axe and Hef and reminded myself that Sadie had this all under control.
Instead of going on the defensive and knocking Axe’s campaign, she went an entirely different route. “Remember when Proctor and Gamble released those outrageous Old Spice commercials?”
Everyone in the conference room nodded, and Sadie went on. “With The Man Your Man Could Smell Like campaign, the person selling the product had a larger-than-life personality, and situations that would never occur in real life flashed across our TV screens. But no matter how ridiculous and how outrageous those ads were, you remembered them because they were funny. They did not have as much sex appeal as the Axe commercials. But what I loved about them was how they cleverly poked fun at the stereotypes in sexy advertising. They pulled off sex and humor. Overnight, the brand turned from your grandfather’s scent to how to smell like a man with barely any change to the product.”
One of the high-level execs loosened his tie and chuckled. “Welcome to advertising.”
“Yes,” Sadie said, relieved to have the tension in the room diluted. “Welcome to advertising.”
And just like that, she had them hooked like fish.
Though Sadie was young, she spoke with authority. Her voice carried across the room, and she spoke with the cadence of a woman who spent most of her time in the boardroom. “And that’s exactly what we’re trying to achieve with this storyboard.”
I watched Sadie with envy tantamount to awe. It was only my second week at Hall and Heinrich, and the Jensen campaign had been passed down to me from my predecessor, so this was my first time seeing Sadie Frost in action.
As the meeting progressed, it was clear she’d carefully prepared all her arguments.
And she chose her positions based on where the room would “land.”
She was whip smart, and I loved how quickly her mind worked.
She was skilled, focused, professional, and dynamic without being overpowering.
There was a fine line between confidence and arrogance, and Sadie never once crossed that line. She entertained when it was appropriate and became grave when required. She chose her statements carefully, ensuring that the meeting never became contentious.
I listened, quietly amazed as she took the clients on a journey, making them aware that there was a gap in their knowledge and then filling in that gap with answers to the puzzle. She even took my team’s stream of interconnected ideas and crafted a story that was both effective and memorable.
And somehow, she even managed to make “reluctant” concessions so the Jensen execs felt like we were all in agreement.
I was so fucking turned on. By her confidence, her presence, her brilliance, her poise.
By the end of the meeting, I had to shift in my seat and adjust myself under the table.
She was making me so goddamn hard my cock was going to have a permanent imprint from my zipper.
Face alive with passion, keen intelligence shining in her eyes, and fire burning in her cheeks, she made the most of her time in the spotlight—and then some.
This is Sadie’s world, I thought. And the rest of us here are just paying rent.
This was a person who could hold a campaign t
ogether as a one-woman operation.
This was a person who could some day become an advertising powerhouse, perhaps the next global vice president of marketing for this agency.
Or any agency for that matter. I didn’t doubt that for a second.
All in all, the meeting was a success on all counts. In the end, Jensen felt like they had been listened to, and my team and I felt that we had been heard.
All thanks in large part to Sadie Frost.
After the meeting, I hung back while Sadie tidied up her files.
Swallowing with a dry throat, I said, “Sadie?”
“Mmm?” she murmured without looking up.
“Nice job.”
“Thanks,” she said brusquely.
“So,” I said. “Do you carry those stories inside you all the time? Or do they just hatch out whenever they’re needed?”
A ghost of a smile crossed her face, coming and going so quickly I wasn’t sure I’d really seen it.
In the ensuing silence, I watched her for a moment. She looked even more gorgeous today in a crisp white blouse paired with a leather pencil skirt. I loved the dichotomy of her angelic top against the black leather of her skirt. It was refined, yet it lent her a sleek, femme fatale flair. Fierce vixen meets superhero sexy. And she saved the day.
“What if Jensen had said no to our storyboard?” I asked suddenly.
“I’ve learned that with my clients, every no is temporary. No doesn’t mean no. It just means no for now. So whenever they feel a need to say no, I let them,” she said simply. “Besides, a few well-placed no’s can create the right environment for a yes.”
“I see.” After a lengthy pause, I said, “So, Sadie…”
“Yes?” She looked up from her files.
I attempted a smolder. “Will you go out on a date with me?”
“No.” Her refusal was automatic.
“Lunch tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Coffee instead?”
“No.”
“Frozen yogurt?”
She looked pained. “Julian?” she said at last.
“Yeah?”
“I see what you’re trying to do.” Her eyes narrowed in thought. “You’re trying to create a right environment for a yes, but it’s not happening.”
Julian's Pursuit Page 3
