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I knew I could twist your arm. Didn't even need any chocolate. Now go check your email.
LolaB:
On it, boss.
ThatGuy:
Good girl.
Even though mystomach is churning with dread, his notes aren’t as bad as I thought they might be. He doesn’t even mention the projections or losses or anything negative at all. His thoughts consist of marketing strategies for the shop, some of which I may even be able to afford.
There's a cost scale of effectively proven strategies, promotional gimmicks, advertising ideas, and even some examples of successful campaigns used by other stores. He's also included several different websites to use as a baseline for my research into taking the business online. The cherry on top is a list of other items he suggests I stock to increase sales. Things like bookmarks, journals, mugs and even book scented candles. They are all great ideas.
And as if that wasn’t enough, he tells me he’s hooked me up with a 'friend of a friend' who can help me with the website for free because he owes ThatGuy a favor, apparently. It's too much. But I'm really not in the position to refuse help at this point.
It's time to sink or swim.
And when I look around my shop and everything I've built, I know that I want to swim.
19
Daire
Work has beena drag all day. I’m exhausted and off my game. My bleary eyes are meant to be reading through reports, but my attention keeps drifting back to my phone. I still haven’t apologized, though my fingers have lingered over her name at least twenty times today already. I’ve sent at least fifty haphazard attempts at conversation to the bin, and if I didn’t want a drink last night, it’s all I can think about right now.
The cursor is blinking in the text box under Lola’s name again when my secretary buzzes me.
“Mr. Daire, Jimmy’s here to see you.”
Christ. This is exactly what I don’t need right now.
I don’t even need to give her the green light because she has standing orders to let Jimmy in whenever he drops by. It’s part of our arrangement. And even though I might be a big shot in this office, to Jimmy I’m just a little fish in a sea of assholes.
The door opens a minute later, and he walks in like he’s about to take a meeting at the Pentagon when he grabs a seat opposite my desk. Jimmy is in his sixties but still dons an unimpeachable crew cut from his military days. His eyes are sharp, and his body is strong, and even though I’d never tell him, so he reminds me of Jean Claude Van Damme. I have no doubt the ladies thought so too, back in his day.
“We have a problem,” he begins.
I push my phone aside and give him my full attention. Jimmy isn’t one to trifle with words. I already know what’s coming, and I deserve it.
“You see that out there?” he gestures to the world beyond the window. “It’s a glorious day. The birds are chirping, the grass is green, and I just ate a piece of pie from Lou Malnati’s that could make a grown man cry.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” It’s past six, and I haven’t been outside since three o clock this morning when I arrived.
Jimmy leans forward and plants his elbows on my desk. “The problem with this scenario, Adrian, is that you seem to think the sun shines out of your ass.”
“Good one,” I respond. “I can use that for my next ad copy.”
“Come and take a walk with me.”
I hesitate for only a minute before agreeing. It’s been too long since we’ve talked, and I could use some fresh air.
Ten minutes later, we’re huffing it through Grant Park. While the locals and tourists alike flock towards Buckingham Fountain, Jimmy opts for a quiet park bench in the shade where we can talk and people watch.
I decide it’s best to start with the obligatory questions. “How is Graziela?”
“She’s pissed off is what she is,” Jimmy answers. “She asks about you, and I have nothing to tell her because you go AWOL on me whenever the hell you feel like it. Have you ever gone to bed with a pissed off Brazilian?”
In spite of my shitty mood, my lips quirk. “Can’t say that I have.”
