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)
My door.
My office.
I actually had an office that wasn’t directly connected Weston’s. I had a job that had additional responsibilities other than organizing Weston’s schedule. Not that being his assistant was easy or had any less value than this, because it didn’t. I loved my job, loved finding Weston new opportunities and helping him research business ventures and everything in between. But this…this would be all me. And that meant something to me in a way I couldn’t properly explain.
Excitement thrummed through me, all the possibilities stretching out further than I could imagine. I loved being Weston’s assistant, but there was something to be said about having your own project and I was more than ready to take this step. It’s the reason I got my degree in the first place. It was a huge win in my book, regardless of the poker game that started it all in the first place.
When no one raised their hand to ask a question, I smiled and dove right into business. “We’ve been given the opportunity to create a marketing proposal for Nike’s next product launch campaign. It’s a women-identifying athletic wear line they’re launching next year. We have six months to come up with the perfect campaign.” A few nervous murmurs sounded around the table, but I raised my hands in assurance. “We can do this,” I said, knowing the timeline was totally doable. “This brand’s new sportswear is innovative and effective, and they want to partner with some of the Raptors’ wives, sisters, etcetera, to utilize our connection to the team to help drive their product, but they want fresh tactics. Nothing stale.”
Jake raised his hand, and I nodded to him to go ahead. “Do you have samples of the product?”
“They’re on their way,” I said, having checked the tracking this morning. “Samples will be on your desks by tomorrow morning.”
Seth raised his hand, and I nodded to him. “Initial thoughts on delivery? TV, social media, magazines?”
“All of the above.”
There were a lot of raised eyebrows, but I could see the passion and wheels turning behind their eyes.
“The brand wants to do a massive launch, so they want all the big outlets hit. We’ll need to strategize a fresh concept for each outlet, ensuring they’re unique but also tied together with the common element of the launch. We’ll also need to come up with a list of influencers we think this product will really speak to as well.” When no one else asked a question, I moved on. “Which brings me to the next item of business…” I pressed a few buttons on my laptop, switching up the details on the screen behind me. “For the next hour—”
“Brynn?” Weston’s voice cut over mine as he popped his head into the conference room. His gaze widened as he noted the team already focused on my presentation. “I thought this meeting was going to start at ten?”
I shook my head. “We wanted to get the jump on the day,” I explained. He may be used to things running a little differently, which I totally understood, but the second he gave me control, I took it—which included an earlier team meeting to get us all on the same page for the day. Sure, it was early, but that’s the whole reason I’d catered breakfast and enough coffee to sink a ship.
“Oh,” he said, his rich brown eyes raking up and down my body. It wasn’t a sexual gesture, but it made my body buzz all the same. He must’ve been shocked by my position, in front of the team as opposed to being where I usually stood at his right-hand side. I knew it would be an adjustment for him, but I also knew I’d manage both roles just fine. “Do you need me for this?” His voice had that rough edge to it that sent warm chills dancing down my spine.
Damn him. The last thing I needed right now was to be distracted, but it was useless. If Weston was in the room, I was distracted. He might’ve been one of my oldest friends, but he was also one of my hottest friends. And it had nothing to do with his bank account or the ten-thousand-dollar suits he wore—though those were scrumptious—it had more to do with the intensity in those brown eyes and the confident way in which he carried himself.
“No,” I finally managed to say. “We’re good here, Mr. Rutherford.”
His eyebrows raised, shock swirling over his features. I gave him a barely visible shrug, feeling out of sorts in my own body. This was all new to me, and sure, I called him Weston as his personal assistant, but as the lead for his marketing firm? Best to keep it as professional as possible to not send any mixed signals to the team.