One Night Stand with My Boss novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Kickoff

Trevor and his new girlfriend Courtney cut Felicity's line in front of the team, she takes the room back, and he invites her to dinner with a plus-one she doesn't have.

Trevor walked into the conference room like he owned the carpet.

Quarter-zip fleece, good jaw, that smile that arrived two seconds before anything he meant.

Behind him came a sleek ash-blonde ponytail I had shared a cubicle wall with for three years.

Courtney Allerton.

My stomach did a slow, tired roll, but my face stayed where I had put it.

Eleven of us sat around the long table.

Elliot took the head, and he did not look at me once.

I noticed because I was looking for it.

"Larkin Outdoor," Elliot said. "Trevor Linwood, their brand director. Courtney Allerton, marketing. Thank you for coming to us."

"Happy to," Trevor said, and sat directly across from me.

He smiled at me and let the smile say, Well, look at you.

Courtney squeezed his forearm on the table, in front of everyone.

"Felicity," she said brightly. "I didn't know you'd moved over. We've missed you at Halvorsen."

"I'm sure you've found ways to cope," I said.

Somebody down the table choked on a laugh.

Elliot's eyes flicked to me and away.

"Let's start with the problem," he said. "Felicity, you've spent two days in Larkin's numbers. Give us the read."

He had said it out loud, as promised.

I stood.

I had four index cards and did not need them.

"Larkin sells a hundred and ten thousand tents a year," I said. "Forty percent come back inside a month."

Trevor stopped smiling.

"The returns aren't a gear problem. The stoves work, and the tents stay up."

I let that sit a second.

"The people who bring them back say the same thing on the comment cards."

I clicked the remote.

A slide of handwritten comments filled the wall.

"'It didn't feel like the pictures.' 'We never got to the part where we were sitting by the lake.'"

"They buy the trip in the photographs, and a tent can't deliver the trip."

"That's cute," Trevor said, laughing a little.

"But we have data, Felicity. Real data."

He spread his hands for the room.

"We don't need a narrative from someone who's never run a client."

The room went quiet.

Courtney patted his arm.

A year ago, that tone would have shut me up for the rest of the meeting.

I put the remote down.

"Trevor, I'm going to ask you one thing, and you can answer it in front of everyone."

"Sure."

"Your marketing spent four million last year on summit photographs."

"Mountain tops, drone shots, six people in matching jackets at dawn."

"How many of your returns came from customers who had never camped before?"

He opened his mouth.

"Seventy-one percent," I said, before he could guess. "They bought the summit and got a field behind a gas station."

Somebody in the back said, quietly, "Oh."

A designer started writing on a pad.

Trevor's neck went red above the fleece.

"That is not what the data says."

"It's the data you gave us," I said. "Page nine."

Courtney was staring at her phone now.

At the head of the table, Elliot had not moved.

He sat with one hand flat on the folder and his eyes on the wall.

But I saw it, a small tightening around the mouth.

Not pride.

Something more dangerous than pride.

"Thank you, Felicity," he said evenly. "That's the brief."

For the next hour the room worked the way a room works when the first idea is a good one.

Trevor said very little.

He let Courtney talk, and she made several points that did not answer my slide.

At the door afterward, the two of them hung back while the team filed out.

Trevor leaned in, smiling for the benefit of the hallway.

"Glad you landed on your feet, Pipe," he said, low. "Really."

"Don't call me that."

"You used to love it."

Courtney slid her hand into his.

"You two should come to dinner Friday," she said. "Larkin's founder is hosting the pitch teams at her place. A little warm-up."

"Courtney, I'm not sure I'm invited to the founder's table."

"Everyone on the team is," Trevor said. His smile finally arrived. "Bring a plus-one, Pipe. If you can find one."

He patted the doorframe twice and walked out with her.

I stood there with my index cards.

Elliot's voice came from the conference room behind me, very quiet.

"Ms. Fairbrother."

I turned.

"That was personal," he said. "Not client."

"It was both."

He held my gaze for a moment longer than the rules allowed.

"Friday," he said. "I'll be at the table."

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