Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“Okay, then,” he said, hesitantly shutting the door behind him.
I returned my attention to the team. “Sorry about that,” I said. “Now, for the next hour we’ll be watching content for Nike’s last product launches. Make sure to take notes on what you think worked and what didn’t work and jot down any ideas you might have in these early stages on how we can set ourselves apart. I’ll do the same and then we can share and compare. Cool?”
I took the nods and smiles as a good sign, and started the content show.
An hour later, I had two pages full of notes and ideas on my iPad, and from the look of it, so did my team. Weston had popped in twice more to check on me.
Another half hour later, I’d managed to group the staff into mini-teams with one specific outlet focus in mind.
“Okay, let’s break for now. Get with your assigned teams and start brainstorming ad copy. We’ll meet back here at three to check out what you’ve all come up with.”
They all gathered their notes and headed out of the conference room, many of them offering thanks for the food. The butterflies I’d had at the beginning of the day had quickly dissipated with the smoothness of the meeting.
Heading back to my office, I pulled up another round of emails, and returned a half-dozen phone calls—three of which Weston walked in on, but I shooed him out of the door.
I ate lunch at my desk, barely taking my eyes off the screen as I studied the new sportswear, even going as far to note which Raptors’ wives, girlfriends, and sisters I thought each piece would look best on. Luckily for me, I knew which Raptors families were always down for endorsement deals and which ones preferred to keep their focus on the football field. Truly, my connection to Weston had taught me so much, and paired with my degree? I was practically built for this job.
The three o’clock meeting went off without a hitch—the team came up with some awesome copy to use as jumping off points. After keeping the ones we thought were winners, we threw them up on our community team board and I let them all go home an hour early as a reward for a fantastic day’s work.
I blew out a heavy sigh as I leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes for a few moments. I had about ten more emails I needed to respond to, along with about seven ad spreads that needed my approval for our other client projects. But for just a moment, I wanted to breathe—
“Brynn,” Weston’s voice startled me out of my moment of calm, and I jolted in my chair.
“What?” I snapped without really meaning to, but God, the man had done this almost eight times today.
He titled his head at my tone, and stepped into my office, shutting the door behind him. “Is there a reason you’re angry with me?”
I sighed, flashing him an apologetic look. “You scared me,” I explained. “I didn’t mean to snap.”
Weston cocked a brow at me as he rounded my desk and leaned against the edge of it. “Were you meditating?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Just breathing,” I said, then grinned up at him. “Something you’ve been doing a lot of today.”
Weston furrowed his brow, and I hated, absolutely hated it when he gave me that look. The curious, he-had-no-idea-what-I-meant look. It quite possibly made him about ten times more handsome than he already was, and when he was six foot three with a muscled frame and the richest chocolate eyes out of anyone else in the world, he didn’t need any more help in that department.
“Breathing down my neck,” I finally finished my tease.
Weston’s full lips popped open. “I have not—”
“You so have,” I cut him off. “I get it, Weston,” I said, moving out of my chair to stand in front of him. “I really do. This is a big change, but I’ve been shadowing you for years. I’ve watched you make million-dollar deals before brunch countless times. Plus, with my degree, I’m not going to let you down. You have to trust me.”
He shifted against the desk, reaching for my hand. I slipped it into his, the motion easy, effortless, and something we’d done a thousand times before.
But every time it had the same effect on me—my lungs tightened, my skin flushed, and a blinding need flared in my core.
Weston had touched me like this too many times to count because we were friends, not to mention we were almost always together. There were about a hundred different reasons for him to grab my hand—to help me out of a car or to guide me through a crowd—he’d just never touched me in the way I’d always dreamed about.