LoveLines (2 page)

“Did he now?” we heard a gruff voice say above us.

Marjorie shot up from her chair. “Dan! Oh my God! I was just dropping off some paperwork for Bailey.”

“
Mmhmm,” he replied, unconvinced. “I apologize for interrupting your stimulating conversation—” (Double entendres sounded really awkward and disgusting coming out of Dan’s mouth.) “—but do you ladies think you could get to work?”

I stared at my computer screen, hands poised above my keypad. I could feel the burn of embarrassment Marjorie was experiencing at this very moment. Our boss heard her say “clit.” The word “clit” passed her lips in front of a man who’s scary, burly, and in complete control of our paychecks. It was excruciating, and there was nothing I could do to erase my humiliation or Marjorie’s. Well, that’s not entirel
y true.

Bailey, don’t you dare pick up that pen.

But I’m just gonna tap it a few times. To ease the awkwardness. No big deal,
I argued.

You don’t need to tap the pen.

I do.

You don’t.

Oh my God. It wasn’t even OCD voice this time. It was my reasonable voice trying to keep me from giving in to my compulsion. And I was arguing with her! What the hell was wrong with me?

“Bailey!”

“Huh?” I whipped my head up and met Dan’s eyes. They weren’t quite glaring, but they portrayed mild annoyance. Well, moderate annoyance.

“Disregard the Akers Pond campaign. Move up Blue Ice.”

“Working on that right now, sir,” I said. I saluted him. Like a total dipshit.

He grunted and walked away. I had
no idea where Marjorie went. Back to her desk, I supposed. I didn’t see her leave while I was staring at my computer and arguing with my brain about tapping my pens. I reached across the desk and grabbed my purple one. I tapped it a few times and breathed relief. I tapped it again and felt my world righted. I tapped it a third time and felt thoroughly giddy.

Bailey
, you’ve got major problems.

***

All he glimpsed was a flash of red and a swinging ponytail, but it was enough. He thrust his head out of the conference room door and saw her round the corner on the balls of her feet, bouncing like a college cheerleader. He’d never seen someone walk happy. Yes, she walked happy, like she’d just ingested Coke and Pop Rocks.

“Reece!”

He turned around. Christopher stared with brows raised.

“You
gettin’ focused?” he asked, drumming his ebony hands on the table. “This meeting starts in five minutes.”

“Who was that?” Reece replied. He plopped back in his seat at the end of the table and ran his hand through his light brown mane.

“Who?”

“Ponytail girl,” Reece said.

“Who?”

“That girl who just walked by, Chris,” Reece said patiently.

“I didn’t see a girl.”

“Red pants! God, she was wearing re
d pants! How could you not see?”

“
Ohhh,” Christopher said. “You mean Bailey? She’s the only one I know around here who wears those red pants. She’s all the time wearin’ those little pants. Different colors. Matching tops. She likes that ‘50s retro thing.”

Reece thought for a moment, and then the words spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them. “
Beboppin’ Bailey.”

Christopher snorted. “Man, what did you just say?”

Reece blushed and shrugged. “She was bouncing down the hall.” He paused and glanced at his friend. “Whatever, man. I don’t know.”

Christopher burst out laughing.

“Shut up,” Reece said, chuckling.

“No, I like it,” Christopher said, and then they saw her come bouncing back down the hall. “Hey,
Beboppin’ Bailey!”

“You ass,” Reece hissed.

She stopped in the doorway and poked her head inside.

“What’s up?” she asked.

Little cigarette pants. Blouse with cherries sprinkled all over. Round, pearl buttons. Red ribbon in her hair. Where did this chick come from? It was like she fell right out of Buddy Holly’s tour bus.

“And did you just call me
Beboppin’ Bailey?” she added, grinning.

Reece fastened his eyes
on her mouth—white-washed privacy fence teeth surrounded by glossy pink lips. Dear. God. She was luscious. Like those cherries on her shirt.

“Well, you be
bouncin’ down the hall all the time. I thought it fit,” Christopher said.

“I like it,” Bailey replied. “It’s cute.”

What the hell?
Reece thought, perturbed.
I’m the one who came up with it. Speaking of, she hasn’t even looked at me once. Am I invisible?

“I got some documents I need you to look over before I send them to a customer. They really want ‘
em today. Think you can squeeze in some time? I know you’re busy, but . . .” Christopher’s voice trailed off as he pouted.

Bailey sighed. “Email them to me. God, I’m too nice.”

“You’re the best. I was just tellin’ my man here how we got us the best proofreader this side of the Mississippi.”

“Yeah
yeah.” Bailey rolled her eyes and left.

Christopher turned to Reece and grinned from ear to ear.

“You steal my name, and then you don’t even bother to introduce me?” Reece said. “I’ve only been here two weeks. You know I don’t know anyone.”

“I know e
xactly what you’re thinkin’, and it’s so not happenin’ in a trillion years.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know you wanna bebop with Bailey, and that shit’s against company policy.”

Reece stared at his friend in mock disbelief.

“Oh, wipe that look off your face. I wasn’t born yesterday. You wanna get in Little Miss Red Pants’s pants, and I can’t let you go there. I
am
responsible for you landin’ this job, after all.”

“I just wanted an introduction. I’m not looking to score,” Reece said. “She c
aught my eye is all. She’s—” He thought for a moment, staring at the empty doorway, mesmerized. “—the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He could s
till see her standing there, the doorway framing her like a picture. She had a heart-shaped face. God, he was a sucker for those heart-shaped faces. He thought girls with faces like that just felt more, gave more, loved harder and deeper. They had to. They were shaped for it.

She had perfectly arched
brown brows—the same color as her hair. Her eyes were dark, like bittersweet chocolate, and she lined her lids with a black eye pencil, heightening the mysteriousness of her irises.

A tiny, perfect ski slope nose, followed by a set of plump lips. Not
Restylane-infused lips. No, he convinced himself they were naturally plump—a wicked little gift from God meant for the sole purpose of driving Reece Powell insane.

“Dude, pay attention!” Christopher admonished. “Do you have all your notes?”

“Yes, and relax,” Reece replied, ripping his thoughts from Beboppin’ Bailey.

“I can’t. If you screw this up,
I’m gonna look like a total doofus for pushing Dan to hire you. And speaking of Dan, he’s in a shit mood today. So you better set off some real creative fireworks. You feel me?”

“Yeah, I feel you,” Reece replied, opening his laptop.

Just then, the creative team filed in, one by one, taking their usual seats around the conference table. Dan was last to shuffle in, sporting a tie and a scowl.

Reece leaned over to Christopher. “Should I be wearing a tie?”

“No. Why?”

“
‘Cause Dan is wearing a tie,” Reece whispered. “Did I miss something? Are we presenting this campaign to the client today?”

Christopher looked up. “That’s strange. He never wears a tie. And no. We don’t have that meeting scheduled yet.”

The longer Reece stared at Dan’s tie, the more his confidence waned.

“He’s all business today,” Christopher went on. “You better be on your game.”

The room quieted when Dan took his seat at the head of the table.

“All right everyone. As I’m sure you’ve heard, we lost that big account with Akers Pond.”

Reece noticed Patricia and Darrell avert their eyes. So they must have had that one. Wonder what happened, he thought.

“Kind of a big blow
to us. Not the team’s fault.” Dan glanced at Patricia and Darrell. “Anyway, now more than ever, we need to knock this one out of the park. Haute Digital is taking a chance on us because they know that while we’re small, we have the creative vision for their product. They know we know how to brand and market it, right Reece?”

Reece cleared his throat and stood up. He immedi
ately went into “sell it” mode.

“That’s right, Dan. Haute Digital is a groundbreaking company focused on the latest technological advances in cellular phones. They design revolutionary products that are ahead of their competitors in the way they look and the way they function. They’ve just developed a phone and tablet hybrid—”

“Lots of phone companies have those,” Macon interjected. “They’re calling them ‘phablets.’”

A few people chuckled.

“What a dumb name,” Brent mumbled.

“Stupid,” agreed Mitch.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s a dumb name,” Patricia said. “That’s what all the companies are calling them.”

“Exactly,” Reece said. “These ‘
phablets’ are the phones of the future for businessmen and women. They function as a phone and mini computer. What would have required multiple devices in the past for your day-to-day business can now be done on one. What does that mean? It means efficient business. Mobile business. Convenient business.”

“That’s how all these advertising companies are pitching the product,” Dan said.

“True. Which is why I developed a campaign that will focus on both the functionality and glamour of the phablet,” Reece explained.

“It’s glamorous?” Christopher asked.

“Coming from Haute Digital it is. They don’t hide the fact that their products are more expensive. They justify their prices by creating good, sound, advanced devices. They’ve never catered to the everyday phone user who’s more concerned with game apps and texting. They cater to the elite businesswoman who’s all work
and
play.”

Dan’s mouth quirked up. Reece was encouraged.

“She works hard. She’s glamorous. She’s playful. She carries a phone that does it all—whether she’s in work mode, date mode, mommy mode—”

“We’re marketing this device to women?” Patricia asked.

“Both men and women, but the visual will be a woman—a drop-dead gorgeous woman. And that’s how you market to men,” Reece said.

The men laughed. The women groaned.

“So let’s hear it,” Dan said.

Reece took a breath. “The details will be worked out, but this is the gist. She’s superwoman. Businesswoman. Mother. Entertainer. Weekend warrior.” He paused for a moment. “Sexy as hell. She’s on the runway. The runway of life.
Pictures of her day-to-day life are flashing on a big screen in the background—the phone in every one of them because it’s essential to living. She’s dressed in a killer, sleek suit. Why? Because the focus of the phone is still on business. She does her model walk to the end of the catwalk, pauses, holds up her phone, and says, ‘The phablet. It’s fablous.’”

Silence.

“Did you just say ‘fablous’?” Christopher asked. “Not fab
u
lous?”

Reece said nothing. He could tell they were all thinking. If they didn’t get it, the entire campaign idea was a bust. But how could they not get it? They were Creative. They were supposed to be the clever ones.

“‘The phablet. It’s fablous,’” Patricia quoted to herself. And then she said it again with attitude. “‘The phablet. It’s fablous.’”

Reece held his breath. She looked straight at him and smiled.

“It’s hilarious. It’s hilarious and clever as hell,” she said, chuckling.

Several at the table repeated the slogan, trying it out in their mouths, deciding if they liked the way it felt. The more they said it, the
longer and louder they laughed.

“It’s good, man,” Christopher said. “It’s
fablous.”

Everyone at the table murmured their approval.

Reece waited for Dan. His blessing was what really mattered.

“You know what makes it?” Dan said after a moment. “Two syllables. It’s a wash if you pronounce ‘fabulous’ the right way. Three syllables doesn’t deliver. Doesn’t have the same punch. Well done, Reece. I like it. I like it a lot.”

Reece discreetly let out his breath.

“Let’s move forward with this idea,” Dan continued. “I want it presented to Haute Digital in three days. They gave us ‘til Friday. They’re getting it Wednesday. Darrell, set up the meeting.”

Most shuffled out of the conference room with the exception of Patricia, Darrell, and Christopher. They stayed behind to begin working on the campaign.