Office Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Romance Page 9

  An alarm goes off in my head. Executives don’t normally come into this room and automatically plop down beside the youngest, prettiest, most inexperienced new girl.

  Not sure what game he’s trying to play, but it’s not happening on my turf.

  Client relations be damned.

  “Miss Bristol, do you want to come closer?” I motion to the one seat left across from me.

  She raises an eyebrow, then nods and begins moving her laptop.

  “Easier for you to help with the presentation,” I add, since it’s clear she has no idea what’s going on.

  She nods and takes the open seat.

  The old man with the bulldog face at the end of the table looks disappointed.

  Douchebag. I take care of my employees, even the childish ones with pink garlic stickers on their company laptops.

  Sabrina opens the PowerPoint and syncs it to the projector, beaming it on the pull-down screen.

  “Thank you all for coming today. I know you’re a busy man, Mr. Stedfaust, so I’ll get right to it,” I say, casting my eyes around the room. “Let’s start with data on the target audience you’re after, and then I’ll show you our concepts and explain how each one corresponds to what the data says.”

  Each member of my team is poised at their laptop, ready to take notes. The two guys from Woof Meow Chow across from me nod.

  “Sounds like a swell time,” Stedfaust mutters.

  I stare at him. He has a hard face to read. Is he using words like “swell” because he’s as old as my father? Or is he being a jerk in my meeting room?

  I’ve seen the guy around for most of my life, though casually, and often several years apart. I rack my brain, trying to decide if I’ve heard him use “swell” before.

  Either way, I need laser focus, so I dismiss the thought.

  HeronComm isn’t losing this account.

  I point to the first bar on the graph. “Here’s your current market share. As you can see, Boomers buy Woof Meow Chow like the pet food apocalypse is coming.” I touch the second bar. “Sales with Gen X are evenly distributed among you and your top two competitors, but there’s a major dip when it comes to millennials.” I mark the drop from between the two data points with my finger, drawing attention to how vertical it is.

  Then I touch the baseline. The next bar barely reaches over it, and I need to scare the shit out of this old man.

  “Now your sales with Gen Z. Virtually nonexistent. That’s a problem because the time will come when those younger buyers grow up and become happy pet owners.”

  I nod to Sabrina and she changes the slide. A black slide with cherry-red facts appears.

  Too bright. The slide looks like it jumped out of a horror movie.

  Who chose this damn color scheme? It had to be someone on the design team. Very doom and gloom. I’ll have a talk with them later.

  “One thing we know about millennials and will likely prove true for Z,” I continue, “is that they’re having kids later in life, if at all. To them, it’s a financial risk and they’re often straddled with too much student loan debt to take on the challenge in their early twenties.”

  “You’re telling me things I already know. What’s this have to do with selling pet food?” Stedfaust asks, thumping his fingers against the table.

  “Great question,” I say. “Because they’re having kids much later, if at all, they tend to view their pets as surrogate babies.” I put finger quotes around babies. “Birthday parties for their dogs and shiny new outfits. They spoil their pets in the wildest ways, making cats and dogs king, and kings need luxury. If you want to grab that market by the horns, that’s the image you have to display.”

  “I’m not sure that’s our brand, Magnus.” Stedfaust frowns, again looking too much like a pampered bulldog himself.

  I shrug. “It’s what the younger market wants, and the market is judge, jury, and executioner.”

  My eyes flick to Miss Bristol.

  She taps her computer and the slide shifts to a black-and-white image of a five-star dining scene. An English bulldog in a tux sits at a table, lapping up his food from a crystal goblet.

  The words “Woof Meow Chow” appear in the background in pearly white letters.

  Mr. Stedfaust looks down at his phone next to him and slides a lazy finger across the screen.

  Dammit.

  Something’s gone terribly wrong.

  He’s becoming disengaged, and I have to wrestle his attention back where it belongs. Letting clients see how their makeover image clinches any sale.

  “So—” I slap my hand against the table. Everyone looks up, Stedfaust included, blinking. I point to the pup in the tux. “This adorable, classy pooch screams—or barks, if you will—upscale dog food. Something every dog mom and dad can be proud of feeding their baby.”

  At this point, I’m used to questions, concerns that help me pick through their objections or make alterations if needed.

  Right now, I’m faced with silence.

  Shit.

  This is the textbook definition of a crash and burn. It’s been years since I’ve been in a pitch meeting like this with everything misfiring.

  I’m going to have to pull the feedback out of them with pliers.

  “What do you think, gentlemen? This is only the first concept, of course, and we have plenty of similar designs for cats and dogs. Hit me.”

  “It was nice work,” one of the younger guys says slowly. “We have some other things we still have to look at, but we’ll be in touch.”

  Damn it all.

  I’ve been in this business long enough to know that translates to no chance in hell.

  Trouble is, he’s not giving me anything I can work with, refusing to throw me a bone so I can swing this back around.

  “Mr. Stedfaust, any questions?” Once, he was friends with my dad. I’ve known him my whole life, ever since they walked in here for their first campaign under my father, back when their only flavors were tuna or beef.

  Come on. Give me a clue where things went wrong.

  He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, a stiff barrel of a man.

  “Well, technically speaking, your work is great, as always. Very clean, maybe even sparkling. However...there’s no polite way to say this, but you bring me down here for a meeting and tell me I’m looking for millennials—hell, son. I told your last girl that. And no damn millennial will ever be sold by this lifeless concept.”

  “Lifeless concept,” I repeat, glaring at Hugo.

  He looks terrified behind his glasses.

  He should be.

  This was his baby.

  I’d rejected the first and second round of concepts, told them to dress it up, but he insisted 'classy' was the best mood for these ads with every revision.

  If we lose this account, it could cause cuts, and it’s going to be on his hands if I can’t fix his mistakes.

  Hugo holds a hand up in apology, looking from me to Stedfaust. “I admit the designs I sent over were a bit more...experimental than usual. It was a risk, sure, but I thought it might be an interesting twist.”

  “Experimental? They’re black and white and dead.” Stedfaust sighs. “The designs look more like a bad art project for a college class than an ad campaign. My grandson could’ve done a better job, and he’s in elementary school. Our brand is fun, trusted, and safe for every animal. This comes across as amateurish at best.”

  Fucking ouch.

  I try not to wince. Hugo looks destroyed, his normally jolly face transformed into a hangdog look. The dressing down from our client is harsher than anything I’d deliver.

  “I...I’d be happy to send you some updated concepts ASAP. Fun, sir, that I can do!” Hugo’s voice has a pleading tone which is only going to make matters worse.

  Nobody likes desperation.

  Stedfaust begins to answer. I don’t pay attention to his words.

  Instead, I glance at the cat food tins Sabrina fetched from my office. They’ve been
placed beside the projector as part of the setup. She managed to get three cans, all with a pop top.

  Hell. I didn’t think I’d actually have to break out Plan B, but desperate times, desperate measures, you know the rest.

  I slide around the table until the cans are in my reach and grab one. After a quick, theatrical toss in the air, I pull the tab and tear it open.

  The can pops. Once again, I have the room’s attention.

  I look at my EA. “Miss Bristol, there’s a gold spoon in the front pocket of my briefcase. Could you grab it for me, please?”

  “What?” she asks, confusion on her face.

  I raise my eyebrows.

  Don’t ask questions right now. Just do it.

  She must hear me scolding her telepathically and leans around the table, fishes into my briefcase, brings me the spoon, and returns to her seat with a worried look.

  Yeah, let’s do this.

  Glowering, I stab the spoon into the cat food, bring it close to my face, and fight the urge to gag.

  The whole room goes silent.

  “What the—have you lost your mind, Heron?” Stedfaust barks, shaking his head so hard his cheeks flap.

  I ignore him, open the next can, stab my spoon in, and bring it disgustingly close to my face. It smells like a heap of rotting rats.

  I turn my head and my nose scrunches up. Then I plunge the spoon back into the can and shake it until the clumpy feline food falls off back into the tin.

  “Third time’s the charm, people,” I whisper, repeating the vile process with the remaining can.

  This one isn’t dead rat bad, but it doesn’t smell like something any human being would ever want to put in their mouth.

  I survey the room. Stedfaust has a deep crease in his forehead, staring at me in abject horror.

  His brows are up, and he’s watching me closely.

  Both of our teams stare at me slack-jawed. Poor Anita, our video head, looks like she’s about to pass out at the table.

  Three shiny cans of Woof Meow Chow sit on the other side of the projector, leftovers from our video shoot.

  “Hugo, could you pass me a can of Meow Chow?” I ask.

  Fingers shaking, he picks up a can and slides it across the table like a hockey puck. I pop the can, in goes my spoon, and I bring the chow to my face, fully intending to keep an ironclad poker face no matter how bad this stinks.

  Thankfully, I don’t have to.

  No, it’s not some gourmet feast fit for a human being. But there are no preservatives, so it’s not foul like the others.

  Ever so slowly, I touch the spoon to my lips. The room erupts in loud gasps.

  Now, I’ve got their attention.

  “Of course, I’m joking. I’m not that insane.” I drop the spoon in the can and lower the can back to the table with a rattling plop, wiping my mouth. “Let me tell you, what’s no joke is that the other brands smell like an outhouse. I wouldn’t feed that stuff to a stray.”

  Stedfaust leans forward and studies me closely, then sniffs.

  “You may be onto something, Heron. That was...an unorthodox way to make your point. But I still need new proofs. How does that little presentation translate to advertising—a scratch and sniff campaign? Any marketing hinges on the design and execution, obviously, and I’m not investing in something I’m unsure of.”

  “Nor would I expect you to,” I agree. “We’d be happy to work out some new proofs and meet back here next week, Chester.”

  He brightens at the casual use of his name.

  Progress.

  He’s not sold, not yet, but we still have a fighting chance to keep the biggest organic pet food maker in the Midwest. Hugo and I need a serious church session with the full creative team before we meet again.

  My brain simmers, high on averting a total disaster, when I hear a voice I damn well shouldn’t.

  “Oh, I used to work for Purry Furniture and More!” Sabrina blurts out next to me. “They have a similar vibe. I have some ideas.”

  Slowly, my neck whips around. My eyes bore into her. Too bad the table’s glass, or I’d be kicking her under it.

  Has she lost her fucking mind?

  Assistants don’t talk in these meetings. They don’t pitch concepts, and I definitely didn’t hire her for her design skills. Talented or not, I’m up to my neck in creative types.

  Stedfaust gazes at her. His eyes roam up and down her body.

  Bastard.

  “Tell me more, sweetheart. This could be interesting,” he says, lacing his fingers under his chin and leaning forward, all ears.

  “She’s Miss Bristol,” I say, my voice low. “The newest addition to our team.”

  He doesn’t acknowledge me, but she catches my eye and smiles like sunshine. Something about it feels so disarming it’s hard to glare back at her.

  But I do. She’s got to learn to stay in her lane, and fast.

  This is not her role, and if she fucks things up for me, for HeronComm, so help me...

  “What if we did something like animated dogs and cats dreaming? The dogs can sleep in clouds.” Instead of looking at him, she stares at her laptop screen. Her hand hovers over the mouse she clicks as she talks. “The cats walk around the treetops, hunters on the prowl until they all wake up in their cozy beds, and then they run straight for their bowls of Woof Meow Chow. The stuff of dreams.” She turns her computer around for him to see it, cartoonish sketches from an old project of hers, no doubt.

  He squints. “I can barely see that from here.” Stedfaust looks at one of the younger guys sitting by Sabrina. “Is it good?”

  She turns her laptop toward him. He leans over and studies it for a second, then nods. “Yeah. It looks decent. It’s more our thing.”

  “Bring it here.”

  She pushes the laptop closer to him, and he peers at it. I can already tell by the way his eyes widen that he likes what he sees.

  I’ll be damned.

  Stedfaust jabs a finger at her. “That—now that is exactly what I’m looking for, Bristol. It’s fun and whimsical. It fits with the brand. Can you work something up with a concept along those lines? That would be worth seeing and you already have mock-ups.”

  She nods. “Of course. Right away, sir.”

  Shocker. She sold him. He’s not even objectifying her like a crass old hound anymore.

  Remind me to pick my jaw up off the floor.

  Still. It wasn’t okay to pitch in my meeting without approval.

  I thought I made it clear that her job was to show up, get the presentation working, switch the slides, and make sure everyone’s coffee was topped off, not play CEO.

  This could’ve gone down very differently.

  “We’ll have new proofs for you by the end of the week, Chester,” I say. He’s happy and I’m not pushing it into next week when he’s ready to buy now.

  “Looking forward to it.” He nods to his team and pushes back his chair. “We have a three o’clock, so sorry if we cut this short.”

  I nod at him. “I understand. Thanks for coming in. You’ll have your proofs before the close of business on Friday.”

  Stedfaust and his team file out. My crew starts leaving, too, already rehashing the scene in frantic whispers. At least the office gossip mill will be on fire for the next week.

  Hugo and the rest of the creative team leave while Sabrina throws the opened pet food away, tying the garbage bag shut for the janitors.

  She picks up her laptop and steps toward the door.

  “Miss Bristol, you can stay for a minute,” I snap.

  “Okay? Sure.” She sits down reluctantly.

  I let the silence yawn between us like a gaping chasm.

  The imagination usually comes up with better punishments than anything I’d actually say.

  Pity I can’t subject her to all of it.

  “Mr. Heron?” She starts, gnawing at her lip. “Is something wrong?”

  “You’re my EA, not part of Hugo’s creative team,” I finally g
rowl. “But since Chester Stedfaust liked your idea more than he did staring at your tits like the pervert he is, you can spend the afternoon brainstorming with the senior designers. I’ll still need your remaining administrative tasks done before midnight, of course. Congratulations. You’re doing two jobs today. Got it?”

  She purses her lips. “Whatever.”

  “You made your bed,” I say, trying not to soften at how pissed off she looks. “Lie in it.”

  “You mean I saved your bed, Heron. Because he was sooo impressed with that stunt you pulled, spooning cat food in your face.” She cocks her head. “It might have packed more of a punch if you’d actually eaten it—at least the Meow Chow.”

  Probably, but even I’m not taking that hit for the team.

  I’m not willing to actually eat pet food purely because my creative designer brainfarted this project. That has to be what happened. Hugo’s better than this.

  “I bought us time,” I rumble, my fingers flexing into fists.

  “Yeah, I’m not denying you did, but he wasn’t sold and you know it. He’d just come back next week the way he was today. I bailed you out and you can’t even say thanks.” Her dark-brown eyes are all hellfire, this angry pixie who takes what I dish out and hurls it right back.

  “My ‘thanks’ is called your paycheck since I did you an even bigger favor by hiring you when you have zero experience. You tell me where else someone with a year or two of work history earns your salary? I hired you to be my EA. If I wanted you in design, I’d have put you there, and you’d be making a third of your salary. I pay you to handle my administrative tasks and Hugo for creative solutions. Learn the difference. Understood?”

  “Yes,” she hisses back. Her face goes red and her jaw clenches. “I understand just fine. May I be dismissed, boss?”

  Mouthy again.

  God, she annoys me.

  If I were a more horrible man, I’d pull her closer, take her over my knee, hike up that dress and—

  No. I’m not letting myself do this shit. Fantasizing about a new hire who turns my blood bullfighter red.

  The only real answer to her question is yes, and that answer shifts the power to her. Except I don’t work for her. She works for me.

  “I don’t quite think you understand everything,” I tell her, narrowing my eyes.