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Amused, I topped off my own glass and looked expectantly at Maureen. I was the CEO, but as head of Brand Development, this was her show.
“I don’t like him,” she said unnecessarily. Normally her mouth was a harsh slash of stiletto red that stood up to anything, but now her lower lip was curled down. “And I don’t know why the cats do.”
“Because cats are dumb,” someone across the table opined.
I ignored the playful bickering that broke out between the cat people and the dog people and reoriented my impression of Blake Morten, based on this new information. Blake’s big thing was that he was a 6 '4, model-handsome vet who had an affinity for tabby cats, and they seemed to have an affinity for him, too. I didn’t know much about the guy, but his online presence gave off an ‘aww shucks, I’m just a small town guy, I don’t know what all this fuss is about’ vibe. I knew better than to take it at face value, but I’d had high hopes he wasn’t an asshole. We worked with enough of those.
“He’s an asshole,” Maureen announced, quickly relieving me of that hope.
“I think he’s just blunt,” Gloria said.
“Because you want to bone him,” Joe said, clearly still nursing a grudge over the wine.
Gloria made a face at him but didn’t argue the point. “I mean, who doesn’t.”
“I don’t.” Maureen and the other dog people were quick to snap.
“Okay, okay,” I held up my hands and the table fell quiet. “BM–”
I paused for the snicker.
“–is our client, whether we like him or not, and he wants to build a brand around treating animals well. Even if he is an asshole.”
“He is,” Maureen assured me.
“Our goal remains the same. Make him the biggest cat-loving asshole in the world. So, what’s our plan?” I sat back and crossed my arms, throwing it back to Maureen.
Maureen outlined it quickly in a concerningly droll tone of voice. I knew she was a consummate professional who suffered assholes as much as she had to, but I also knew that two of her kids were teenagers. Her tolerance was already being tested. She was suggesting a team of three, with herself as point person, but I shook my head. “I think we need a fourth. This is a big client and it sounds like he’s going to be a difficult one.”
Maureen cut her eyes at me. “I don’t need a fourth.”
“I’ll be the fourth,” Gloria said.
“No, you won’t,” Maureen said. “You don’t even like cats.”
“I likevets.”
I ignored Gloria and caught Maureen’s eye so she knew I was serious. “I want you to have a fourth.” It wasn’t often that I overrode Maureen, but I felt like this situation called for it. She wasn’t going to sacrifice her pride by admitting she wanted more coverage on this guy so she didn’t have to interact as often, even if she needed it.
Maureen stared at me for a second, then rolled her eyes to the ceiling, aggravated. “Fine. I’ll take the new girl. She’s from LA–she’s probably used to dealing with guys just like him.”
“The new girl,” I echoed. My heartbeat lost its rhythm and I coughed, trying to jolt it back into step.
“Yeah, Layla Davis. Didn’t you meet her?”
“I did, I did.” I nodded and rubbed my chin between my thumb and my forefinger. I wasn’t sure if I was trying to mimic the memory coming back to me or whether I was trying to come across as some thoughtful grandfatherly figure. The truth was, her name disoriented me. Like missing a step or striding purposefully into a room only to realize you had no idea what had brought you there. “Layla Davis,” I repeated. Maureen was right; she would be perfect. So why did every muscle in my body go rigid at the idea of her on that account?
“Layla Davis,” someone across the table said encouragingly, like they were trying to jog my memory. “She starts Monday.”
“Right.” I knew the team was watching me, wondering what the hell was going on. I hoped there was no way they could tell that I was frantically trying to figure out a reason why Layla Davis couldn’t be the fourth person on the Blake Morten team. “Isn’t she too new?” I asked, grasping at straws.
“She just did three years of internships in LA,” Maureen said with a shrug. “Joe’s only been here two years.”
“Two and a half,” Joe said. “Coming up on three.”
“Yeah, in six months,” Gloria said. “That’s what the half means, Joe.”
I wished those two would bone, as they put it, and stop making the rest of us witnesses to their bitter foreplay. I tried to focus my thoughts. Surely there was a legitimate reason why Layla couldn’t be the fourth. But if there was… I couldn’t find it.
