Page 64 of Spring Break Fling

Ugh. No. Too stiff. I groaned and flopped backward onto the bed, tossing the paper aside. “The integration of blah blah blah,” I muttered. “Why don’t you integrate a nap into your schedule, Hannah? You sound like a robot.”

I stared at the ceiling. Why did my big break have to come at the same time as a sexy, tattooed bad boy who occupied way too much of my mental bandwidth? Seriously, it was like the universe was mocking me.

I understood my client was a bit eccentric. He wasn’t going to appreciate the usual methods of presenting a marketing strategy. He was also not going to be interested in the traditional marketing campaigns.

He wanted innovation, something fresh and lively that could capture the essence of his brand while pushing boundaries. That was what I was aiming for, something that could not only appeal to him but also set a new standard in the industry.

It was like being told to color outside the lines after always being told to color inside the lines. It was being told trees were purple and the sky was yellow. I needed to forget all the rules and get out of my own head. It was difficult for me because I was a very black and white person. I didn’t step outside the lines.

But today, I had to. Today, I needed to be the kind of person who didn’t just step but leaped outside those lines. When I looked back at the scattered papers, they suddenly felt less like a mess and more like an opportunity.

I sprang up from the bed and started gathering the pages, smoothing them out as best as I could. Grabbing my marker, I began scribbling new ideas, connecting them with lines and circles, creating a web of creativity that spread across several sheets. It was messy, chaotic even, but also… it was freeing.

“Think outside the box. What would make you excited about this product? What would make you drop everything and listen?”

The room was silent except for the hum of the air-conditioner. My mind raced through possibilities. I forced myself to pretend I had never sat through a marketing class. I didn’t know the first thing about marketing. I was just a consumer.

I closed my eyes and thought about my favorite products. Like the eco-friendly skincare line that had transformed my dry skin last winter, or the quirky bookshop cafe where I’d spent countless hours. They were unique, personal, connected. They told a story.

I grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and started jotting down elements that made those places and products stick in my mind. “Storytelling,” I wrote in big bold letters at the top. “Experiences, not just products.”

That of course made me think about me and Nikko on the beach. What he said about me picking up seashells and creating stories. That was what I needed to do here.

I sat back, examining the web of ideas sprawling out on the floor around me. Each piece of paper had random thoughts and visions. I could do this.

“Please,” I murmured.

A knock at the door startled me out of my pity party. My heart skipped, and I wasn’t even surprised when my first thought was Nikko.

I smiled expecting to find another envelope. I told him I couldn’t go out with him again, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to be asked. Or be wooed.

I scrambled up and opened the door to find him standing there, looking like he’d just fought off a gang of angry bikers. His jaw was tight, his shoulders tense, and his eyes burned with something I couldn’t name but immediately wanted to fix.

“Nikko,” I said, blinking at him. “Are you okay?”

He hesitated, glancing down the hall before finally meeting my gaze. “Can I come in? I need to talk to you.”

Something in his voice—like anger and vulnerability—tugged at me. I stepped aside. “Of course.”

As he walked in, his eyes swept over the chaos that was my room. Papers were everywhere, like my brain had exploded and taken the room down with it. He paused mid-step, his jaw tightening even more.

“My god, were you robbed too?”

I glanced around the mess. “No, I’m just, uh, organizing my notes.”

“Right, you’re working,” he said, turning toward the door. “I’ll go.”

“No!” I blurted, grabbing his arm. “Stay. I was about to take a break anyway. Trust me, I need to step back for a second.”

It was a bald-faced lie, but I didn’t care. There was pain in him, and he’d come to me. The idea of him leaving now felt wrong.

“I don’t want to interrupt if you’re busy,” he said. “I’m not trying to burden anyone else.”

“Oh, please, it’s not a burden,” I said. “I’ve been considering throwing my laptop against the wall. So think of it as you saving me and my very expensive computer from myself.”

He hesitated for a long moment, then gave a small nod and sat on the edge of the bed, looking like he wasn’t sure whether to talk or implode.

“So,” I said, sitting beside him. “What’s going on?”