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I am so glad that Mason is not here to see this, the son of a ...
Between those headphones, this prank box, and him eating half my sundae, Mason seriously owes me.
I look at Rover. “What is in the box?” I ask him. The stuffed animal stares back at me with its button eyes. “I have ways of making you talk,” I threaten him.
He stays silent.
I pick up my phone and call Shelby.
She answers after a few rings. “Hey, what’s up? No, do not adjust that light. It’s fine where it is. What’s up, Rowan?”
“Do you think that Mason would mail something explosive?”
“Do I think that— what? Wait, did he send you something? He sent you something. What is it?”
“I don’t know,” I sigh patiently. “That’s why I’m asking. I promise you it’s not a birthday present.”
“My, my, my. Again, I would not take Mason Raker seriously at all, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take him to bed. He’s hotter than the surface of the sun. Seriously sexy. And sending you gifts? Wow. Maybe it’s edible panties. Maybe it’s—”
I make a wind tunnel noise and then yell, “Oops, I’m losing you.” before hanging up.
Then I stare at the box again.
Suspiciously, I grab a letter opener from the desk and pry the box open. And I make a gagging sound.
He sent me coconut balls. Gross. We all have that one food that makes us throw up a little in our mouth, and this one is mine. It’s not rational, I just hate shredded coconut with a passion that most people reserve for dictators of war-torn countries.
Ugh.
As I’m tossing the box in the trash, there’s a rap on my door.
“No. Go away.” Whatever else he’s sending, I don’t want any.
Probably a personally autographed CD of “Macarena.”
“Are you all right in there?”
Oh, hell. It’s Cecelia.
I am going to keep this campaign, and then I am going to torture Mason until he cries.
“Never better.” I cry out. The door opens.
“How is it going here?” Cecelia stands in the doorway. “I’m not coming in unless you promise me you have no chocolate in the vicinity.”
I set my pen down. “I have no chocolate in the vicinity.”
She strides into the room and leans on my desk, glancing over at my notes. As ever, my heart thrums nervously. I really want her approval, and not just because I want the promotion.
“How do you feel about the campaign so far?” she asks me.
That’s an easy one. I smile from ear to ear. “Well, you know that by all media measurement metrics, our campaign’s been a big success so far. Mentions of Mason’s drinking, fighting, and womanizing have decreased by a measurable amount, and positive mentions, tweets, and posts have increased by 127 percent.”
Cecelia nods. “I would agree. We’re still early days yet, of course, but the beginning of the campaign has gone off without a hitch. However, I wanted to let you know that Amanda has also been interested in the campaign from the beginning, and she’s been voicing her frustration that it went to you when she’s actually more senior.”
Yeah, by like three months. But of course Amanda would make a big deal over it. She’s known for being pretty aggressive in going after what she wants, to the point where she doesn’t mind shoving other people out of the way to get there. I wouldn’t necessarily say that she believes in playing fair.
Uneasiness bubbles up inside me. Cecelia’s expression has gone serious.
