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I wiped my hands on my jeans. “Naughty Ivy.”
She giggled. “You’re just as bad.”
After that heart-pumping session of phone sex with Ivy—the highlight of my otherwise exhausting day—I dragged my tired ass over to the sofa for some well-earned downtime.
The deadline to come up with a campaign for Elixir had expired. Having racked my brain all week over this supposedly magic rejuvenating powder, I’d failed to come up with any inspiring ideas.
Accepting defeat, I had something to eat while slumped on the sofa with the television on.
It was two in the morning when I woke up and saw Popeye on the screen, pouring a can of spinach down his throat. His muscles burst through his shirt, giving him the strength to knock out his muscular foe’s brains.
A sudden lightbulb moment pounced upon me. Grabbing a pad, I drew a picture of a scrawny cat and a container of Elixir spilling into its mouth, instantly turning the cat into a lion.
I got up, grabbed a beer from the fridge, then put the finishing touches on the pictures while experimenting with different slogans. It was strange how things happened. All week, I’d been struggling during daylight hours in the office to come up with ideas for this campaign, but suddenly, in the middle of the night—presto, the campaign took an exciting turn.
I finally dragged myself to bed. The ball was happening tomorrow, and I needed my beauty sleep. That ridiculous thought made me chuckle, as did my recollecting Ivy’s shock when I’d mentioned introducing her to my parents.
Am I really about to do this? Ask Ivy to marry me?
As I stretched out on my bed and unwound, I saw Ivy’s pretty smile and her eyes lighting up with suspicious curiosity, followed by a smirk, and I fell asleep with a smile.
