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"You know," he started, his voice taking on a faux-professorial tone, "I happen to be an expert at dream interpretation."
I snorted in disbelief, a bubble of laughter escaping me as I retorted, "You? A dream interpreter?"
"Does this look like the face of a joker?" Hank asked, somehow managing to keep a straight face. He quickly added, "Remember Joe's dream about that peacock, the one that didn't even feature Mike? I interpreted it and look where they are now."
That did give me pause. A part of me was skeptical, but my curiosity won out.
"Fine," I conceded. "I'll tell you the rest."
I drew in a deep breath as my cheeks turned red, recalling the intimacy of the dream—the man's commanding presence, the way he'd gently but assertively guided me into various positions, allowing me to touch him, but always leaving me wanting more.
Hank was the picture of attentiveness as he listened, his eyes betraying nothing but grave seriousness. I finished my recount with a hesitant glance in his direction, curious but also a touch apprehensive of his interpretation.
"Your dream," he began slowly, "suggests grave implications for your personal life. You must date the man from your dream. Otherwise, you risk remaining single forever."
My eyes widened in shock. "Are you serious?" I demanded.
It wasn't until I saw the corners of his mouth twitching that I realized the game he'd played.
"You jerk!" I laughed, slapping his arm lightly as he erupted into laughter. "You had me there for a second."
Shaking his head in mirth, he finally admitted, "Sorry, Lina. Couldn't resist. There's no such thing as an expert dream interpreter."
Feeling simultaneously relieved and embarrassed, I sat back in my chair, crossing my arms. "That's the last time I share anything personal with you," I huffed, attempting to regain some semblance of dignity.
"Come on," Hank chuckled, the laugh lines around his eyes crinkling. "You know most dreams don't mean anything significant, right?”
Despite his attempt to defuse the situation, the curiosity lingering in his gaze was a dead giveaway. He still wanted to know who the mystery man was. Well, I wasn't about to make it easy for him.
"Why do you want to know so badly?" I challenged. "Afraid I might've already asked him out on a date?"
Hank raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback. "You, dating a colleague?" he retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I pity the guy already. He's in for a lifetime supply of boredom."
"Jealous, are we, Hank?" I shot back.
Hank faltered, his demeanor slightly shaken. "Jealous? Of you going on a date with some other guy? Please, sweetheart, don't flatter yourself."
Yet beneath his dismissive tone, I detected a strange note. Could it be...? No, it couldn't. Hank being jealous? That was as likely as a snowfall in July.
"Alright," I said, pushing back my chair and stretching my arms. "Let's get back to work. We need to brainstorm some ideas for this ad after we’re done looking at the documents here."
As the night wore on, our world reduced to the blueprints scattered across the desk. The task was both exciting and daunting. We were to design an advertisement for a revolutionary eco-friendly electric car.
Hank's approach was methodical and meticulous. His mind was a machine, rapidly churning out ideas that considered every aspect of consumer behavior, market trends, and most importantly, profitability. I couldn't help but smile at his practicality. There was a certain charm to it, albeit somewhat cold and unyielding.
"That's one way to look at it," I acknowledged, giving him a playful nod. "But consider this. We're not just selling a car. We're selling an idea. The idea of change. Of hope."
The car, to me, wasn't just a machine. It was a symbol, a silent warrior in our collective battle against climate change. It was a story waiting to be told.
"It's like we're selling a superhero's car," I proposed, my eyes gleaming with excitement.
"So, you want to sell Captain Planet's car?" he laughed. "We're not in the business of selling fantasies."
The hands on the clock on the wall behind Hank were gradually inching toward midnight. We were two minds on a mission, each trying to make the other open to a different perspective.
"I still think we're overcomplicating this," Hank maintained, leaning back in his chair. His eyes were filled with the analytical pragmatism I'd come to associate with him. "Yes, it's an eco-friendly electric car, but it's also a luxury vehicle, a high-performance machine. We need to target the successful, the aspirational. They're the ones who can afford it."
"Profitability is important," I conceded, crossing my arms and leaning forward, my gaze meeting his, "But it isn't everything. This car, it's more than just a symbol of success. It's a beacon of hope for a cleaner, greener world. We're storytellers. Our duty extends beyond selling a product. We have the power to shape perceptions, to influence decisions. With this ad, we can inform our audience about the environmental impact of their choices. We can make them think, make them care."
