Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Nathan and Shawn laughed, but I was only slightly kidding. I always strove to make magic happen for my clients.
“Well, we’re ready for the meeting next week,” Shawn said.
Nathan gave me a wicked grin. “And we do have one more thing up our sleeves.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked.
He nodded. “I think you’re going to be excited for our next renovation client for the TV show.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”
“Well, as you know, we already have an amount of football fans who love our show,” Nathan said.
“Right,” I said. “Because of Kace.”
Kace Tomlin was a star player on the Denver Ferals football team. He’d been featured as a past renovation client on the Fixer Brothers show, but he had also been dating Nathan ever since, and made frequent appearances on the show. The two of them were lovebirds, and the fans ate it up. Marketing-wise, Kace Tomlin was one of the silver bullets in my portfolio for taking the Fixer Brothers to the next level. He was beloved, and the most famous client they’d ever had.
“Our next renovation client,” Nathan said, with excitement in his eyes, “is the hottest new addition to the Denver Ferals team. Storm Rosling.”
My chest tightened immediately.
No.
He couldn’t be serious.
No, no, no.
I gripped the cold glass of beer in my hand, shifting on the leather booth. Shawn and Nathan stared at me, smiling expectantly, waiting for me to react.
“You… you’re kidding, right?” I asked, a tendril of worry curling its way around my ribcage.
“Nope. Isn’t that awesome?” Nathan said. “Storm needs his mansion renovated, and it’ll be a huge project. Amazing for both of us, right?”
They had to be joking.
Storm Rosling.
The Storm Rosling, who had certainly been making headlines, but for all the wrong reasons.
The same Storm Rosling who was a total marketing liability—not the squeaky-clean celebrity pro football player type that we needed to secure a deal with Racks superstores.
I took another sip of beer, trying to stem the tide of swear words that threatened to pour out of my mouth right now.
Keep calm, I told myself. If I had negative feelings around marketing clients, I tried my best to never, ever let it show.
“We’ll have to talk about Storm Rosling later,” I said, forcing myself to maintain a neutral composure. “I do have to jet home soon for a Zoom meeting, and I want to iron out a few more details for Racks Superstores right now.”
“Don’t worry, we will. But I’m so excited that Storm might be on the show,” Nathan said. “My daughter said that everyone at her high school is following Storm on social media. He’s big with high schoolers, college kids, adults…”
And for all the wrong reasons, I thought, polishing off the rest of my beer.
The rest of the meeting was a blur.
I remained calm on the outside, like I always did, but my mind was racing. The guys were making a big mistake if they were even considering taking on Storm Rosling.
A mistake that I could hopefully talk them out of, in the coming days.
I quickly texted Landry, my closest colleague and friend, who was working with me on the Fixer Brothers marketing project.
>>Emmett Waycott: Meeting’s done. We need to talk about the Fixer Brothers’ potential next client, though.
>>Landry ”Lucky” Lucock: Sounds promising. Or maybe ominous. Can’t wait.
>>Emmett Waycott: We might have our work cut out for us. Buckle up.
Twenty minutes later, I was back in the Porsche, pushing the pedal down too far as I zipped back down the curving forest roads toward my home. When I made it back and took the car up the long driveway, I saw a little flash of motion beyond the gate to the side of the yard.
“Oh, Fluffball, are you back again?” I said as I pulled the Porsche into the garage next to my Ferrari.
I hopped out and skirted around toward the back yard, leaves crunching under my shoes.
I found the same adorable, teacup black-and-white dog that had been turning up in my yard at random times every day. It was my new neighbor’s dog, and no matter how many times I put her back through the tiny hole she had dug beneath our fence, she always managed to dig through again.
Pepper was inside, wagging her tail and looking out one of the tall back windows toward the little ball of fluff. Pepper was my Husky, about ten times bigger than this little mop dog, but both of them acted sweet around each other, I’d discovered. I pulled open the door and Pepper bounded out, panting at the little dog.
“You’ve got to stay in your own yard, little one,” I told the tiny dog. She got into a playful stance with Pepper and I let the two of them romp around for a little while before guiding the little one back through her newly dug hole under the fence.