Page 22 of Faking It
When I look up from my desk to see him standing in the doorway of my office, a smile is on my lips. But in my head, I’m cursing my receptionist for letting him through without warning me.
He wrote the check, Zane, I remind myself.
“Yes. Great ideas,” he says.
His connections are already paying off. We’ve picked up five more media outlets to help highlight the platform’s launch, brought on fifteen new sponsored advertisers, and have a spread in People Magazine for next month labeled the hottest up and coming trend in dating.
“G’day, Robert,” I say to slow him down and set the pace. My office. My platform. My company. “Now what do you mean by you have ideas?”
He moves into my office with ease—his red shirt a pop of color against the dark mahogany wood and light grey walls—and takes a seat in front of me.
“How’s Harlow?”
His question throws me momentarily, but I reply without missing a beat. “She’s well.”
“And the photo shoot?”
“I was out of the town for the day, but I believe it went well, too.” I lean back in my chair and fold my hands behind my head.
“What did Harlow say about it?”
“I haven’t spoken to her yet,” I say cautiously, walking the fine line I feel like he’s drawing to catch me in my lie.
“No?”
“No, we’ve both been rather busy, but it’s Harlow . . . how can the photos be anything other than gorgeous?” I add for good measure. “I should have mock-ups of the graphics shortly. We can go over them then and decide which avenue to take with the ad campaign.”
“It’ll need to make a statement. We’ve teased enough with the advertisements we’ve used so far.”
“We have.” I picture the solid black background. The word ‘Soulm8’ splashed across it in a uniquely recognizable font with its clever spelling—S-O-U-L-M followed by the number eight. In our logo, the eight is turned horizontal so it looks like an infinity symbol.
“Sexy enough to bring the women in, masculine enough to keep the men interested.”
I nod and look at the stacks of shit to do on my desk. No time like the present to rip off the Band-Aid and jump right into the pain of whatever it is that Robert wants to do.
“Now, tell me about those ideas of yours.”
“I want to shift the focus of our marketing.” His voice is even, his eyes studying me for a reaction.
“I thought that’s what we were just talking about. Adding Harlow as the face of SoulM8—both visually on the signage and in person at the launch parties will help with that.”
“Agreed, but after thinking about it on my run this morning, I think our vision is short-sighted.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. We need to sell the outcome—the happily ever after, not the initial hook-up.”
“Okay.” I chew on the word as I wait to see what else he’s going to say. Fuck if this isn’t hard for me. To listen and have to take direction. I fly solo. I work how I want, when I want so this whole partner thing is bullshit . . . but I force a smile and remind myself that the four million dollar prize and bragging rights will be more than worth it. “And how do you intend we do that?”
“We highlight a couple who has found love through the site and we use them as our poster children—our promise of what’s possible.”
“Robert.” It’s a warning. An are you fucking serious? A shot over the bow for him not to go there.
The platform is still in beta mode. The only person he knows who has found love through the site is me.
“Hear me out.”
“I don’t want to.”
