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1
Branson
When Lisa, the Creative Director of BPC Advertising, messaged me about firing a rookie designer, I requested to do it myself. For the last decade, I’ve worked my ass off to create one of the most acclaimed ad agencies in New York City, and whatever has Lisa so riled up needs to be addressed personally. Not often do I take it upon myself to do the hiring and firing, but today is different. I lean back in my chair and wait as Riley Harper makes his way to my office. I envision a scared designer, whimpering for mercy after I give him a piece of my mind, but when she walks in, I realize how wrong I was.
For some reason, I thought Riley Harper would be a man.
Instead, I’m faced with a sassy, young woman with a gaze that pierces straight through me. Dark chocolate-brown hair is pulled into a high ponytail allowing me to see the smirk planted on her face. Judging from the length, her hair would hang to her waist when she let it down. For a moment, I wonder what it’d feel like to run my fingers through her hair. Faded skinny jeans hug her legs and hips. A bright red blouse hangs loosely over her frame, and I can’t stop imagining the small hills and valleys that hide beneath.
Emerald-green eyes are full of determination as she watches me intensely. As she takes a seat, not a single word is exchanged between us. She’s sizing me up, and I wish I could read her mind. I lift an eyebrow at her as I open the email Lisa forwarded to me.
Riley is fierce, and confidence oozes from her. The part that intrigues me about her the most is the way she sits so cool and confidently in front of me with skin as pale and smooth as bone china. Riley Harper is not a man.
I pull up the design that offended Lisa, surprised to find desire course through my veins when my eyes briefly meet Riley’s again.
I search her face, waiting for a hint, wondering if she’d felt it too, but she gives nothing away. I’m a force to be reckoned with in the advertising world, and I’m used to designers eager to please me. Her defiance is a breath of fresh air. Already, Riley Harper has my attention.
As a test, Lisa always gives new designers a challenging project during their first week at the firm. Riley was given the latest Martinez campaign, which is one of our biggest clients. Martinez is famous for their high heel shoes worn by fashion designers, royalty, and actresses. Oprah, the Kardashians, and even Princess Kate strut Martinez at social events. They’re more comfortable than a Jimmy Choo or Manolo Blahniks, with a comparable price tag.
Glancing at the design on my screen I try my best to hide my expression. It’s completely different from anything we’ve done before, and I understand why Lisa had such a strong reaction.
“This is your design?” I ask trying to sound non-partial as I move my monitor around where she can see it. It’s almost as if she created this as a joke, as a way to poke fun at the agency, but when I look into her eyes, she’s dead serious. Before I fire her, I give her a chance to explain herself. I want to know the inner workings of her thoughts behind this concept that’d more than likely get our Martinez contract canceled in a heartbeat.
“Yes.” Riley nods firmly. There’s no sign of apology in her eyes.
“And you believe this is appropriate?” I ask stunned.
Riley slowly shakes her head before she lets out a soft laugh, shocking me even further. The sound is melodious, and her smile lights up her whole face.
“Appropriate? That’s really the word you want to use?”
I’m amused by her, but I’m still to be respected, especially in my building and in my office. “Do you really want to use that tone?”
“I’m getting fired either way, so I might as well have my say and be myself.” The laughter stops and her eyes harden, but a light flickers behind them.
“Then let’s hear it.” I sit back and cross my arms. She might be the only entertainment I get today considering I’ve got deadlines upon deadlines at the moment.
“All the designs you’ve created for Martinez has revolved around sex. You can’t even deny it. Women in lingerie wearing Martinez heels. Women in sexy black dresses. With each and every one of the designs, you’ve stuck to the age-old concept that ‘sex sells', and I’m not selling sex. I’m selling comfort and an innuendo, which some people like Lisa find highly offensive. Unfairly so, if you ask me.” She intertwines her fingers and places them on her crossed leg. I watch her jaw tighten, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say her nerves finally got the best of her.
I glance back at the design and try to see what she sees. Instead of a beautiful supermodel, I study the stark white background with a single six-inch red stiletto on it. At the top, in a bold cursive font reads: Because size does matter…
At the bottom is a short tagline: Martinez… comfort and style in your size.
“This is… I don’t know. I can’t imagine they’ll go for it. I’m not even sure I would.” She does have a point about it being different from anything we’ve ever offered them.
Riley sighs and points at the screen. “Look at it, Mr. Carter. To women, it means comfort and style in a design that will suit their shoe size. It’s the ultimate shoe. For the last twenty years, Martinez has banked on the idea of being the shoe for every woman. To men, it’s a play on words and innuendos which will get their attention. You’ll get your desired results, if not more guaranteed. Also, you’re marketing to both women and men in a more classy manner. I firmly believe this design will achieve visibility, shock, awe, and sales, which will directly affect your bottom line. Isn’t that what this is all about?”
