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How old is this guy?
After two shots of vodka, his voice got higher and his words slurred together.
He’s a lightweight and a selfish prick judging by the way he’s monopolizing this meeting.
“I get the picture.” I look in his direction. “You want to produce a commercial starring a couple of geriatric actors. Your suggestion is to not air it during football games. That’s your plan, right?”
Mitchell nods and then shakes his head. “It might be better if we cast a couple of guys my age and showed it during games.”
If I wanted to follow the same advertising path as Estey Vodka, I’d call his approach a win, but I’m looking for something fresh.
I lean forward and glance across the table at Linny. “What have you got for me?”
Her eyes meet mine, and I see a flicker of something; something that was there when I opened my hotel room door two months ago to find her.
My cock swells at the memory of how beautiful she was that night and how devastatingly sexy she is right now.
I want to clear the room and bend her over the table so I can finish what I started in Vegas. I need to touch her, taste her, fuck her.
“If your target demographic is my age, your primary focus should be on social media.” Looking down, she brings the pen to her lips again.
I stare in fascination at the way her plump lips circle it and the brief flashes of her pink tongue as she flicks it against the tip.
This is a first for me. I’ve never battled a hard-on in a meeting, but that’s because I’ve never wanted a woman’s mouth on my dick more.
“How old are you?” I blurt out.
She stiffens. “I’m within what should be your primary target market. Consumers between the ages of twenty-one and thirty-five are gravitating toward flavored vodkas. If your marketing efforts aren’t appealing to them, you’re wasting your time and your money.”
“She’s twenty-six.”
I turn at the annoying sound of Mitchell’s voice. I expected him to be passed out with his head on the table by now.
“My age isn’t relevant.” Linny’s shoulders go back as she straightens in her chair. “I was referring to what I believe is Rizon’s target consumer.”
“Age is relevant.” Mitchell’s lips curl into a sneer. “With it comes experience and that’s a requirement to handle an account this important.”
Ignoring his comments, Linny faces me directly. “I’ve had a look at Rizon’s social media accounts, and I see room for improvement, Mr. Weston. I’d strongly suggest you invest a good portion of your marketing budget in online ads. The people who will purchase your vanilla vodka use social media on a daily basis. You need to go where they are and create a buzz so they’ll feel compelled to try the product.”
She speaks the truth.
I’ve followed my grandfather’s rulebook for too long.
He launched the company in an era where a billboard or magazine ad could sell hundreds of thousands of bottles of vodka.
I’ve piggybacked off his success, but our new products demand an innovative approach.
The time and attention we’ve devoted to social media have been extensive, but it’s not enough. We need to do more.
“Also, I suggest we run a contest,” she goes on, her gaze shifting to the bottle of vodka in the middle of the table. “It would be an easy way to engage our target market.”
Our target market.
I know it’s a job to her, but working side-by-side with her for this launch is exactly what I want.
“What will the prize be?” Mitchell asks.
The urge to knock the smirk off his face with my fist is strong. It’s a wonder Faye & Sons has the reputation they do with this asshole as part of their team.
