Page 3 of Steel

He was now staring at me and I was no longer able to tell if it was with amusement or mentally preparing my termination notice. “What would be considered sexy enough for women?”

“I don’t know. Cowboys, although they’d been done to death in a calendar. Mafia men, although I honestly doubt a single member of any crime syndicate looks anything like what’s represented in romance novels. Firefighters. Surfers. You do remember that the campaign was handed to my team without a single recommendation or even a brief thought about the subject matter. We did our best with what we had to work with.”

“But models aren’t good enough?”

“I can guarantee you that if one of our purchasers also selected a previous version of our calendars even from six years ago, she’d find the same guy in both. In two different professions. While our purchasers want a fantasy fulfilled, they also want to believe in that fantasy. They want a real man who will provide them with hopes that one day they can find their own… sexy. Calendar. Hunk.”

“So you’re suggesting we find the real thing.” Eric had yet to blink. He was definitely a vampire.

Was I? I was no fool. Models were used for a reason. They were handsome. The chances of finding real life men who were buff, beautiful, and secure enough in their masculinity to pose for a calendar and all the social media goodies that went with instant fame were slim to nil. But I’d backed myself in a corner and in truth, what did we have to lose? “That’s exactly what I’m saying, although I will admit that that might mean going outside of theLA area is necessary depending on the genre of man candy we choose.”

Why not shoot the moon and see if we could get the hell out of Los Angeles for a couple of weeks.

Eric took a deep breath and busted my theory by blinking several times. “Alright. The idea has merit. However, we are facing a printing deadline. Do you believe in your team?”

“One hundred percent. No, one thousand percent. We are extremely good at what we do if we’re allowed off our leashes.”

I’d finally shocked him with my brazen words, both his thick eyebrows shooting up.

Great, Vi. You just put your foot in your mouth and rent is due next week.

“Well, Violet, I’m glad to hear that. Given your… expertise in the area of handsome men, then I assume you’ll very easily be able to come up with another campaign in a timely fashion.”

“You bet we can.”

He stood, returning to his perch in front of the window, which meant I was about to be dismissed. “Then I will expect you and your team will have something to me by this evening and before I leave for my dinner meeting.”

What? What the hell did he just say? Tonight?

The man was out of his mind. “There is no way I can have photographs taken of a mock calendar created by tonight.”

“That’s what designer software is for, to provide a proof of concept. You don’t need the real photographs, just a basic layout with the idea.”

I ran through the logistics in my mind. “What time are you leaving?”

“Seven. Sharp. You can do this, yes?”

He’d boxed me in. No, I’d done this to myself. One big test, the arrogant prick. “Absolutely. Thank you for the opportunity.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Ms. Livingston. If your campaign is unacceptable then I’m afraid I’ll need to make some changes to personnel.”

Had he just threatened to fire me and my team? Oh, I hated this man with a passion.

I resisted reacting as I walked out, still holding my head high while I was freaking out inside. What in the world had I just talked my way into? Hell. That was the only logical answer. I headed back and my entire team was on their feet. “Let’s go to the fantasy room,” I told them, not breaking stride.

“Uh-oh,” Sheila moaned. “I feel bad news coming on.”

A laugh almost bubbled to the surface. I waited until everyone had piled into the room, the area something the former creative supervisor had seen depicted at Google and had re-created. Shortly afterwards, she’d been fired.

The crew stood staring at me, waiting for the shoe to drop. “Well, we still have a job.”

“Thank God,” Wayne breathed.

“But,” I continued, “Mr. Dannon hates the campaign. In truth, we did too. We’ve been given a reprieve, including full creative authority.”

“Woo-hoo!” Mark chirped first, a couple of others clapping.

“Not so fast. We need to have the new idea fleshed out, a mockup crude representation completed and in his hands by seven tonight.” I waited as the news settled.