#Hashtags
“How about ‘Your sexy little secret’?”
I shake my head at Aaron. “No. We can’t use secret. It’s too close to Victoria’sSecret.”
He continues to pace the meeting room we’ve booked for our planning session today. I figured it would help if we tried brainstorming alone, somewhere Aaron’s ego wouldn’t find anything to inflate itselfwith.
“What if we come up with a hashtag?” he asks. “Something we can use as a core base for thecampaign.”
I chew on my lip as I consider it. “I don’t know. It might come across asjuvenile.”
“Agreed,” he answers, “but not if we do it right. We need something quotable, something with the capacity to go viral. Hashtags do that. They get people involved. Just think of the #mycalvinscampaign.”
He stops his pacing and pulls up a chair at the table in front of me. I nod, still shocked every time something that makes so much sense comes out of Aaron Penn’s mouth. He only seems to be able to concentrate for about ten minutes at a time before he remembers to start smirking, but the rare occasions when he’s on task make me see why he’s one of the program’s topstudents.
“Plus they lighten things up,” he continues. “They make them fun, and that keeps themrelevant.”
I watch as a grin spreads across his face. His ten minutes of focus appear to beup.
“And speaking offun,” he adds, drawing air quotes around the last word, “how was datenight?”
I feel my mouth draw itself into a thin, tight line. “That’s a personal inquiry. You and I don’t dothose.”
“But I’m curious. How many of your little boyfriend boxes did he tickoff?”
“Boyfriend boxes?” Irepeat.
“You know, your list of requirements that keeps you from being able to enjoy a date unless he’s the exact definition ofperfect.”
“You didnotjust say that,” I retort, curling my fingers around the edges of the notebook to keep myself from smacking him withit.
“I mean, it’s kind oftrue.”
“You do not know anything about my love life!” I almost shout, growing less and less under control as he continues to sit there with his arms crossed over his chest, as relaxed as I amannoyed.
“I know enough,” he says with a shrug. “I take it the guy wasn’t up to yourstandards?”
“As a matter of fact, he was very polite and had good taste in music,” I reply, “but we aren’t talking aboutthis.”
Aaron ignores that remark. “Polite with good taste in music? You could be describing somebody’s grandpa. You’re seeing this guyagain?”
I hesitate for aminute.
“No,” I finally admit, “but that doesn’t make me picky. We didn’t have aconnection.”
“Oh so sparks and butterflies are on the listtoo?”
He wags his eyebrows at me and I decide that I can’t take any more ofthis.
“Why are you such an asshole?” I demand. “When is the last time you evenwenton adate?”
Something flashes in his eyes, a lightning strike of emotion so fast I can’t even be sure I saw it. He glances away, and when he turns back to me his face has resumed its usual doucheycomposure.
“Oh Peaches, I don’tdate.”
I roll my eyes. “Then stop trying to tell me how to doit.”
His face lights up as he picks up on the chance to exploit an innuendo. “I may not date, but if you’re asking for advice on how todo itI’ve got lots of tips.” He gives me a wink. “First one is to start withjustthetip.”
