What if tall, sad, and handsome is one ofthosepeople? I had spent the better part of my high school and college years being part of group projects where I carried the load. I was an overachiever. Hell, Iaman overachiever. I’m also a perfectionist. Until this project, Sam essentially let me work on my own, occasionally giving me a junior designer to lord over if the workload was higher than normal. Regardless of my opinion, this is still a group project. Mr. Coffee Shop and I are on equal footing and we’re about to be spending a lot of time together.
“Well, we don’t need to work like that if it’s not your style, Mr. Barton,” I interjected, hoping like hell he would take the life raft I was tossing at him. “We could always just work through email. That way, you don’t have to worry about coming here daily.”
This is a nightmare. There’s no way the guy across the table can change my mind. No matter how his arm muscles bulge a bit with his sleeves rolled up. Or how good he looks in that damn paddy hat.
“Oh, about that.” My heart sinks, and all I want to do is slap my hand over Sam’s mouth for ruining my one hope. “You’re both going to have freedom in this one because I trust you. I won’t ask you to pull all-nighters here in the office—that doesn’t make sense. But on that same note, I do want you to work close together. I think Jamie has a great eye for photography, and Lexi, you’re a born layout designer. The two of you together could be an unstoppable duo, and honestly, that’s what I’m counting on.”
“What do you mean, not coming here to work?”
“Most of this project will be out in the field. You’ll work off laptops and tablets, and we can get you some more monitors or whatever you need for whatever you do from home.”
“Home?” I’m a little surprised this James guy hasn’t said much yet. Is he actually okay with this? He is. He’s probably calculating the money he’ll make while he’s slacking off and watching porn, and I do all the work. Batting those blue eyes at me while he tells me he couldn’t get his part done, so here’s some half-assed work and expecting me to fix it.
“Or wherever you want.” Sam held up his hands. “There is no stock photography. That means I need you both out there helping each other get candid shots, ensuring the model releases are signed, and whatever other paperwork we need. We don’t really have time for reshoots, so Lexi, if you’re in the field with him, you can give your feedback and get the shots you need. It also means you have free rein over when and where you work. Here, hotel, coffee shop, I don’t care.”
This is now my worst nightmare. If my mother found out I was working from home, she’d be at my door daily checking up on me. She’d drag my step-father along and they’d find me there with this Barton guy and make assumptions. It won’t matter that I’m 34, they just care about how it will affect their reputation. It doesn’t matter how many women Ronnie fucks, but it absolutely matters how many beds I hop between.
“You have the keys for the office, so if you need the equipment here, the door is open as always. But I’m not going to be keeping tabs on where either of you are for the next few weeks outside of a handful of progress meetings to see how things are going. It’s a tight deadline, and I trust you both.”
This was all too confusing for me. It’s a dream job, no doubt. Avoiding morning traffic and being left alone with my creative brain. But was I really being left alone? Was this guy supposed to be my babysitter? Was I supposed to be his?
“I’ve had Dani set you guys up on a new expense account. I’ll give you one of the company cards in a bit. If you need anything during the project, use that and just submit the receipt later. That will include dinners if you’re working late. I don’t mean hit up the steakhouse and order the biggest slab of meat they have every night, but I also don’t mean McDonald’s, either. If it’s running late and you’re still working, get food. Get drinks, too. Whatever you need.”
“Sam, can I ask how much this client is going to be paying you for all of this? Seems like a lot since they’re not even signed up for the full contract yet. Hell, you didn’t even go this crazy when HummingBird was here trying to hire us to clean up their brand.”
“HummingBird is a bunch of dicks. But these guys, yeah, they didn’t even balk at the number I threw at them, which had a lot more zeros at the end than our standard clients. It’s also a five-year contract, so all said and done, we’d be clearing over fifty million in the next five years. Big, Lexi. As in, you’re both getting a few damn nice bonuses from this.”
Sam winks at me, and I glance at the coffee shop guy, and he’s just staring at me like he hasn’t heard a word of this.
“Oh, not you two working together like this for five years. All this is just to get the first project out of the way; then, we’ll return to normal again with you dancing in your office.”
“Cubicle. Unless you’re saying I’m getting an office out of this.” Sam laughs at my joke, but it doesn’t help my panic.
I try to let it sink in. I don’t read the contracts for the jobs I’m on. Honestly, it doesn’t affect me, so I never care what the client is paying so long as I get my paycheck at the end of the week. This is a far bigger undertaking than we’ve handled in the past. Which explained Sam’s willingness to take this task to the extremes.
“Okay, well, uhm, Mr. Barton, I guess we should start getting things arranged and figuring out the schedule for what we need done.”
“Oh, actually,” Sam interrupts, which I appreciate since I don’t think the new guy is mentally in the room with us anymore. “I got you both tickets to the big convention in Long Beach this weekend. I only got you two tickets for tomorrow, so if you need more days, just put it on the card.”
“You want pictures of your niece?” Barton asks. Has he met Sam’s niece? Which niece?
“Okay, maybe that too. I’ll text you the booth number.”
“It’s, uhm,” Barton clears his throat, and I glare at him. “It’s actually a solid idea—the conference tomorrow. There are usually some pretty large corporate sponsors and vendors. It’s also really out of the box for what your client would do, so we’d get shots and graphic ideas no one else would think to use. Large crowd shots, too. It ticks a few of the boxes.”
“Yeah! Yes! That!” Sam shouts, clearly happy that James came to his rescue.
My mouth is wide open, but I can’t seem to close it. Not only is he already throwing out ideas that make sense, but he’s actively taking part in the decision-making and the work. This looks far more promising than I expected and leagues above where my college group project mates had left me.
James and Sam start talking about the convention when my phone buzzes on the table. I tilt the screen to check the message, and my stomach clenches. Her timing is impressively awful, as always. Is there ever a right time to deal with my mother?
?? Satan ??
Where are you?
I heard you broke up with Marc. Why would you do that?
Lexi
