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And John Hughes gets some credittoo.
My gaze pulls to the top of the screen, where an auto-retrieved photo probably pulled by bots from a social profile hovers in a tinycircle.
I can’t begrudge its origins because she’s beaming, her teeth flashing white against the familiar red lipstick, and her hair’s pulledback.
It would be reasonable if part of me was attracted to her simply for what she represents: the girl I could neverhave.
But she’s already forgotten that kiss. I havetoo.
I’ve forgotten how she smells. And tastes. And how that ponytailbounces—
“Wesley!”
I jerk upright, hitting my head on the counter and wincing as blood rushes up in a wave. “What?”
“You’re smiling,” sheaccuses.
“Amnot.”
Before I can object, Mom’s leaning over myshoulder.
Judging by the mix of triumph and delight on her face, I’m a beat late to turn off thescreen.
“It’s fromSixteen Candles,” I protest because the idea that my mom thinks she caught me flirting is strangely horrifying, like the time she walked in on me masturbating under the covers in highschool.
She pats the top of my head. “Sure it is,honey.”
7
Rena
Iknowit’s going to be a tough day before I make it to the office onFriday.
Scrunchie escaped first thing, and I barely remembered to grab my favorite lipstick on my way out the door. Then the guy I was supposed to get a parking pass from failed to show, and I ran out of time to find real parking, so I’m totally getting a ticket, if not towed, for the “spot” I squeezed intodownstairs.
It gets worse once I turn on my computer. One of my regular clients sent me a campaign we have to redo because some public interest group reacted to a joke we’d made. So, by lunch, I’m hauling ass in a milliondirections.
Today’s also our weekly team recap, which means an update on projects and newbusiness.
I give an update on the clients I’m working with, including the development from this morning. “And I have a prospect for newbusiness.”
Daisy’s chin lifts. My boss isinterested.
I tell her about Wes’s program. “They have a huge market researchpopulation.”
“And what’s theproblem?”
“How do you know there’s aproblem?”
“You wouldn’t be presenting it like you’re trying to sell me a bomb wrapped in cashmere with a satinbow.”
Damn, she’sgood.
“Wes—the client—is interested in flipping the company. He’d like to put together some marketing collateral with the purpose of selling it. He’s not looking for a long-termarrangement.”
Understanding dawns on her face. “I didn’t start this company to gouge clients for a quick dollar on a single campaign. We invest in their business, and we expect them to invest inus.”
“I understand.” I don’t tell her that I’m also not sure how he’ll pay forit.
