Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 159208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 796(@200wpm)___ 637(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 796(@200wpm)___ 637(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Anna rests her hand on her chin, a half smile slowly moving across her face.
“Y’know, that’s brilliant. Freaking out over little details never happens with a Haughty But Nice dress. Not when it’s crafted by the best designers in the industry using only the finest materials.”
I nod.
“Exactly. Use a Haughty But Nice dress to soothe a fire-spitting bridezilla and caption it with something like, 'be a bride, not a dragon.' Or maybe 'Keep calm. Wear Haughty But Nice and carry on.'”
“I love it!” Anna says, scrunching up her nose.
The murmur around the table grows, buzzing with ideas and laughs.
Thank God.
I’d much rather write copy about calming bridezillas than try to come up with a clever way to convince some poor girl she can keep a man around.
After all, the whole bridezilla thing acknowledges the fact that getting married isn’t all sunshine and roses. It’s one of the most stressful events a person goes through until the big—hopefully happy—day arrives.
“We’ll need a fire-breathing groom too,” someone says from the back of the room. “Don’t forget we sell to brides and grooms alike.”
I know that voice.
It annoys me and never has anything pleasant to say.
When did he even come in? And why is he hellbent on making my life harder for the tenth time today?
I turn around and glare. I look right at him, but somehow he manages to see past me with this diplomatic smile for the team. Of course, they look at him like they’re in the presence of a freaking rock star.
Asshat.
The royal purple vest under his jacket today draws attention to the broad cut of his chest and the color offsets his eyes.
Illegal. It should be against the law for a man to be this hot and also so heartless.
Also, I’d much rather write bridezilla than some jerkwad who can’t figure out he’s afraid of commitment until his bride is waiting at the church. There’s nothing cute about it.
It’s sexist as hell, mean-spirited, and the fact that it’s tolerated is ridiculous. I remember the last time I saw a wedding line advertising with a runaway bride...
Actually, I don’t.
I try very hard not to remember.
But it’s Lincoln Burns’ company. I’m hardly in the mood to argue with him in front of his staff.
If I do, I’ll probably be called into his office for another lecture about work culture and how we need a truce and how I’m being the bad gal for defending myself and blah, blah, blah.
I know.
I know I should just listen and keep my inner bitch in check.
“Uh, I don’t know about that, Mr. Burns,” a voice says nervously. “The bridezilla concept is cute and all because it takes a known idea to the next level. But groomzilla isn’t a thing. It just doesn’t work.”
“Point taken. If the concept can’t sell both lines, it’s not a working concept,” Burns says, snapping his fingers.
I’m a little surprised he actually took the feedback to heart.
“With all due respect, sir, why?” Cheryl asks. I can tell they’re not used to arguing with him, but I’m glad they are. He keeps glancing my way like he’s just waiting for me to come charging in.
No, bossman. Not this time.
“It’s normal for men’s lines and women’s to be marketed differently, isn’t it?” I say very neutrally.
For a second, his face sinks like he’s disappointed.
“I like a cohesive strategy. Something that’s fun but immediately lets you know it’s us. My mother always looks forward to the Match dot com commercials where the year 2020 and the devil meet up. Our content needs that zing, a relatable story people will look forward to,” he says through the laughter in the room.
“Deal! If you pose as groomzilla, I’ll write the content,” I belt out.
Oh, crap. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.
Lincoln’s eyes whip to me. I fight the urge to shrink into my chair.
“I’m perfectly willing, Miss Poe, but Shane rightly says groomzillas aren’t a thing.”
“It’s just not in the public mind,” I say. “Even if they do exist.”
“Then the concept doesn’t work.” His gaze drops from my eyes to my lips and then travels down.
God, what is he looking at? I hate to imagine he’s thinking with his teeth, his tongue.
Heat throbs under my cheeks.
Does anyone else notice him ogling or is it just me?
Well, screw it.
He’ll pay for these lingering looks and that damn vest that keeps catching my eye like a kid who’s been dared to look at the sun.
I lick my lips.
“I’d love to hear about your idea of a perfect wedding, boss,” I say.
“The perfect—” He stops talking as his brow comes down. “What?”
Surprise. He didn’t see that coming.
“It might help the team to hear your vision,” I say, reminding him of the spiel I walked out on. “Can you describe your idea of the perfect wedding?”
“Why would I do that?” he says, glowering, his body tight like an armed bow.