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“Make that two,” he shouts after her.
“So I take it you have a name then?” he says to me.
It probably doesn’t much matter now. I’ve already blown it with an opening line like that, but it pisses me off how all of these guys seem to think that any women in the room must be a waitress. Yes, the conference is heavily male-dominated, but it is obvious enough I’m not a waitress. At least to anyone who chooses to see past their own small-minded assumptions.
“Robin. Robin Blake.” I smile, holding my hand out.
Charles shakes my hand. A firm shake but not a power play.
“So you’re the famous Robin Blake.” He smiles.
“I’m not sure about that.” I laugh.
“Well, I’ve heard good things about you, Robin. But I hadn’t heard how feisty you are. There are not many people who want my business that would open the conversation with me by making me look like a dick.”
He doesn’t sound angry. He still sounds kind of amused. I decide to roll with it.
“That’s because they’re all ass-kissing drones. I’m good at what I do. I don’t need to have my nose up someone’s butt to make them want to work with me,” I say.
He grins. “And there’s also the fact I was kind of being a dick.”
“Well, you said it,” I agree with a smile.
“You know, I have a lot of people I have to pretend to be interested in today, and I like your style. I don’t want you to get lost in the noise. Maybe we could have lunch together tomorrow. I take it you’ve done your research, and you know the brand?”
I nod.
“Good. You can give me an idea of what campaign you would put together for us. Nothing too formal, just a brief rundown.”
I debate it. Lunch tomorrow could be the defining moment between landing the whale or not. It could also be Charles’s way of telling me I have to sleep with him if I want his business. It’s something I’ve never done and never will do. To give the man his dues though, despite his first comment, he seems like a decent enough guy. He’s probably not a sleazebag, and if he is, I only have to walk away. The Beverly Wilshire isn’t the sort of place where people make a scene. Nothing can happen if I walk away.
“That sounds great.” I smile.
“Fantastic,” Charles says. “One o’clock out on the patio of the Blvd.”
The waitress comes back and hands Charles his drink. She holds the other one out to me. I open my mouth to refuse and then I think oh what the hell. I’ve done the hard part. I’ve got a meeting with Charles goddamned Milton. How many people can say they’ve done that?
I take the glass. Charles raises his glass.
“To tomorrow,” he says.
I clink my glass against his.
“To tomorrow,” I agree.
He smiles at me and moves away, instantly accosted by the next eager vulture. Charles makes a comment about the suit the man is wearing looking cheap, and I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing out loud. He knows full well that’s a ten-thousand-dollar suit. Just like he knew full well I wasn’t a waitress. It’s a test.
“I … ummm. Sorry,” the guy Charles is talking to says, blushing profusely.
Charles rolls his eyes and moves on. I was right. I passed the test, but this guy didn’t. The test isn’t to see who can crawl up his ass and impress him. It’s to see who is strong enough to stand up to him. I decide I rather like him.
Now that I’ve landed a meeting with Charles, I could slip away. Colin would never know, and even if he found out, he wouldn’t care. If I get Charles, he’ll be happy. I decide that while I seem to be on a roll, I’ll stick around for a bit and see if I can line anything else up.
I check my cell phone first. A text from Denton waits for me. There’s another photo. His hard-on is still clearly on show. He has balanced a coffee up on it.
“I’ll keep it warm for you,” the caption reads.
I laugh to myself. I circulate around the room for a bit. My fake smile makes my cheeks ache, and if I have to have one more conversation where I try to convince an old dinosaur that online influencers are the way forward, I think I’ll die.
I text Denton again.
“I need saving from this.”
I wait for his reply.
“It’s like one of those bad first dates where you text a friend to get you out of there. Want me to call reception with an ‘emergency’?”
I am so tempted to say yes, but of course, I don’t. It’s worth a couple of hours of this torture to land some new and exciting clients. Generally, the dinosaurs come to these things to show their faces and drink for free for a day or two without their wives. But the actual work gets handed off to someone who actually understands marketing. And if I wasn’t so fucking horny I wouldn’t be so cynical about it all. I know that on some rational level that’s hiding behind the throbbing between my legs.
