“Everything is fine. Now, please take a seat and let’s begin.” I strode to the head of the table and clicked on the first slide.
I was so freaking nervous, but my months of practice paid off. The presentation went flawlessly until I accidentally looked into Mr. Frost’s icy blue eyes. It wouldn’t have been a problem, but I was using the tried-and-true method of picturing my audience naked. So Mr. Frost’s innocent gaze seemed a lot like he was eye-fucking the hell out of me while I talked about how important TikTok is for up-and-coming musicians. Or maybe it wasn’t aninnocent gaze after all.Gah! Focus!Chastity’s pro and con list was just stuck in my head.
As I tried to get back into my flow, Chastity brought in a serving tray piled high with sausage. All sorts of sausage. Dark sausage, white sausage, long sausage, fat sausage. Every type of sausage imaginable. It looked absolutely repulsive. But Mr. Frost and the owners of Masquerade Records were more than happy to dig in.
I kept going with my presentation while everyone stuffed their faces full of sausage. I tried to stay focused, but something about the whole thing was deeply homoerotic. When there were only two sausages left, the owner of Masquerade Records snatched them both up and double-fisted them.
“So, any questions?” I asked when I finished my totally awesome presentation. I was sure I had nailed it. They’d probably have a million questions, but I was super prepared.Wanna know your expected CPC on ads? Thirty-five cents. Wanna know the CTR on a banner placement? One to two percent. Yeah, I know those are good numbers. But I’m good at what I do.
Only they didn’t ask those questions. In fact, they didn’t ask anything at all. They just shook hands with us, thanked us for lunch, and walked out.
What the hell?Peoplealwaysasked questions. In my experience, more questions equated to a higher probability that the client would sign. So what did no questions mean? Did they hate my presentation that much? No way. I did awesome. They must have been insulted that I served them stupid German food. Because even though the sausage king was a badass helicopter pilot, it didn’t change the fact that no one liked German cuisine.
Mr. Frost had tricked me again. That sly bastard.
“Great job,” he said with a smug smile. “But next time don’t cut it so close. I put a lot of thought into that binder. Maybe you should try reading it."
Screw you.I nodded and walked out.
“How’d it go?” asked Chastity when I got back to my desk.
“I honestly have no idea. They didn’t ask a single question.”
“Oh. Well…that’s probably a good thing. Right?”
“I guess.”
“Great! Then let’s have some celebratory bratwurst!” She slid a plate across my desk. I nearly gagged at the sight of the tubular meat.
“No thanks.”
“Well at least tell me all about the sausage duke. Was he dreamy?” She absentmindedly smacked a bratwurst against her lips.
“The sausageking. You have your royal titles mixed up.”
“Right. His restaurant is The Sausage King. But he’s the Duke of Sausage. Or I guess technically the Duke of Wurst.”
“Say what now?”
“I looked him up while you were gone. Germany abolished their monarchy in 1918, but you can still trace the royal bloodlines. His family has ruled the village of Wurst for centuries.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.” She spun her laptop around and showed me the Wikipedia page for Wilhelm von Wurst, father of Otto von Wurst. “And check out this castle they own.” She scrolled down to a picture of a ridiculously awesome castle nestled in the mountains above the cutest little ski resort village.
“Well that explains the helicopter,” I said.
“The what?!”
I told her the whole story while she kept nibbling at the oversized sausage.
“Please tell me you gave him sky head.”
Really? That’s her takeaway from this whole story?“Sky head? Is that like road head in a helicopter?”
“So that’s a yes then? Oh my God.” She slapped my hand with her half-eaten bratwurst. “You naughty girl.”
“What? No! I didn’t do that.”
