by Love Belvin
Turning my attention back to him I mumbled, “Yes.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Yes?”
“Yes, Jackson. I’ll accept the offer.” I sighed in irritation.
A huge and nearly Cheshire cat smile splayed across his face. His eyes glistened in the most annoyingly gorgeous way.
“Thank you, Elle. We’ll make a dynamic team—that I can promise you.”
After a lingering gaze into my orbs, he turned around to make his way to young Ashley and they stepped off, going back to the party.
I stood there, mouth agape, wondering why I felt a wave of his excitement. And why in the hell did I just agree to work with him without sticking to my plan and thinking my answer through?
Later that evening, John Wizer did announce Jackson’s new public relations team and named us Dynamic Branding. I stood there on the stage next to the other members with my raised hand linked to Jackson’s, once again questioning my judgment.
The following day, with much trepidation, I sent my acceptance letter over to human resources, and within twenty minutes of returning to my office, I received a series of e-mails regarding the first steps of Dynamic Branding aka DB. It was especially overwhelming. I was issued a calendar listing meetings, dinners and luncheons with prospective clients and associates. I also paid attention to the organizational chart where Senior Account Manager was listed underneath my name. A shiver of thrill undulated my body upon that revelation, annihilating all previous doubts and fears of my decision.
There were a total of seven people on the Dynamic Branding team. Bridgette Dobson, aka the redhead, was the account supervisor, making sure to keep an eye on the reservation when Jackson would be away, I had guessed. Marie Contez reigned as the junior account manager, and I had assumed I’d be working closely with her in my role. My favorite 6”5’ toddler, Jamie Smith, was the research specialist on the team. Lewis Gero won out the junior graphic designer role. A name that registered as unfamiliar to me, Tim Gunlow, was the assistant account executive—in other words, Jackson’s assistant. And Brad Barker was the media relations assistant. I’d heard of Brad’s cut throat work with the media. Purportedly, he wasn’t afraid to tell a reporter to kiss his ass in three different languages, but also possessed the ability to perform optimal damage control using the same media outlet. I could tell by his presence on the team alone that Jackson was going full throttle with this venture.
Seeing his name at the top of the organizational chart evoked a weird internal response from me. Jackson Q. Hunter was the strong and promising name of a leader. You would have never thought he was a twenty-six-year-old, seeing his name atop such talented acts. I decided right then that I would put aside all of the affairs from the previous Friday and chase my career with ferocity. I didn’t expect much opposition to that mission considering Jackson had already set his sights on his latest conquest, Ashley. It was just a matter of me setting a professional tenor; surely he would follow it without incident.
four
Over the next two weeks, there was an adjustment period for the team. We all had to pack up and move to a new floor of the building. It was the 15th floor, which was directly beneath the executive floor where John Wizer, James Goldberg and, now, Jackson’s office suites were. Jackson was given his father’s office now that he’d filled his role. I’d never been up there, but from what I’d been told, the offices were so huge that the three of them took up the entire 16th floor, including a conference room and full kitchen where they had a cook prepare many of their meals.
Our layout was unique. There were only two enclosed offices: Jackson’s and Bridgette’s. The rest of the team’s desks were neatly dispersed in the open space. We weren’t packed like sardines by far, but we didn’t have the privacy of barriers. I didn’t have an office as Susan’s assistant, however being just outside of her office gave the barrier of one of her walls and the wall separating us from the hall. Here on the 15th floor, there was nothing. Marie mentioned that Jackson wanted an open and family like layout, conducive to team building and information sharing. I thought that’s what the conference room was for.
We all came from different floors below and had to endure until our phone systems were set up, new e-mail domains were established, business cards displaying our new titles and team logos were printed, and for a missing Jackson to return from a business trip on the west coast.
Things got underway the almost two weeks following the company’s party. It was also the first day that Jackson was back in the office. Many people used the time to warm up their contacts. Much of public relations is who you know and your contact list is what makes you valuable. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a robust reserve of associates, but what I possessed was technique and readability.
After writing up a plan of attack, once I sat down to get a feel of the client, I would execute the kill. This had happened several times when I worked as an assistant for other senior account managers, only they’d get the credit for my subtle yet spot-on assessment and plans of action. Because of this, I had very little to do.
That morning seemed to have slogged by. Bridgette flew in at nine in the morning, announcing Jackson’s arrival to the building, but said he had a conference call to take before coming down to meet with us and hopefully provide a plan of action. In the meantime, his office here on the 15th floor was being decorated by a company who kept coming in and out with pictures, lush curtains, fancy chairs, delicate vases and even a damn sleek sofa.
I kept glancing across to Marie who sat across from me against the opposing wall. She rolled her eyes, expressing the same annoyance I had been feeling about being put on hold for half a week before getting our feet wet. She and I had been chatting over the past few days. Apparently she’s twenty-four with a penchant for rock, bad boys and tattoos. We really didn’t have a lot in common, but hit it off well so far. Our conversations were limited to people we did know in common. That was until Clarice exited the elevator.
“Morning!” she sang in high octave while sashaying her way over to my desk.
She seemed extra peppy in her dark gray mini dress, matching blazer and high, black patent leather pumps. I noticed Clarice had seriously spruced up her look.
With my brows narrowed speculatively, I replied, “Good morning to you, too. To what do I owe the impromptu visit in all of your fabulousity?” My expression was wry. I knew Clarice was up to something.
“Well, things are slow downstairs in digital design land, so I thought to break the monotony of brainstorming with geeks and come up to engage in some girlie chit-chat with my favorite non-girlie chit-chatterer.”
My chin was angled to my desk as my eyes were pinned to her with incredulity. “My boss is in the building after being incognito all week. Now may not be a good time.” My voice was monotone.
“Well, lucky for you, I happen to be in the knowledge of your boss not being available for at least another thirty minutes or so. So, come and humor me.” She inclined her head toward the conference room and I rose from my desk to follow her.
“Don’t leave me out!” Marie shrieked. “I like girlie chit-chat.”
We skirted into the conference room, keeping the blinds open.
“So, what’s so imminent that I must know in order to breathe my next breath?” I asked dryly.
“Well, I’ve been told Mr. Hunter has been in Vegas and L.A. chasing down top-notch celebrity figures to acquire as accounts for you guys. He’s been talking to folks like the rapper Kendrick Lamar, Columbus Short, Azmir Jacobs…all sorts of known figures.” Clarice boasted proudly at her grist, exposing her deep dimples.
“I would hope he was doing something to solidify this team. We’ve been sitting around, twiddling our thumbs, awaiting his majesty’s return. I was beginning to regret—”
“Don’t you say for one minute that you’re regretting your decision to come aboard. Aside from this being a huge boost for your career, you’re going to be surrounded by total young hotness,” Clarice purred and was
rewarded chiming giggles by Marie.
“Shit! I thought I was the only one excited about that!” Marie squealed, and in no time she and Clarice were a choir of squeakers, lusting over aged toddlers. I rolled my eyes in total aggravation.
“Please, Elle, don’t tell me you haven’t wondered what Jackson would look like on top of you, pounding his jimmy, and estimated how long he’d last,” Marie whispered forcefully.
My eyes swung open along with my mouth at the visual because I, in fact, knew exactly what he’d looked…and felt like, pounding into me. I could also give an estimation of how long he could go, too. It was so wrong…all wrong to even think about. I didn’t respond, only shook my head.
“Oh, Marie, don’t pay Elle here no mind. She thinks sleeping with young men is sacrilegious.”
“Well, father, forgive me for my sins because I’ve allowed my imagination to run wild several times and so have my fingers at times,” Marie belted out and handed Clarice a high-five. “Besides they’re not young to me. They’re my age.”
Oh, yeah…
“Honey, that Jamie thought he’d have me calling his name. I had that boy drenched in sweat by the time I got off that ass!” Clarice boasted and my eyes shot out of my head. I knew they had exchanged numbers the night of the party behind poor Candy’s back, but I had no idea they’d hooked up.
“You didn’t!” I cried, aghast.
“Girl, yes! A lot. And I plan on doing it again and again and again. Thanks for the introduction.” Clarice beamed.
“I would love to try my chance at that Jackson. I want to just lick that brown sugar off every inch of him. Word is the young Mr. Hunter doesn’t like to kiss in the mouth, but makes up for it in many ways.” Marie added.
“Huhn?”
“Yeah, our moms run in the same circles. I’ve heard small talk about his philandering ways. And those messages all consist of him being a stunner in bed.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. And most importantly, I knew I had to remove myself as far as possible from my encounter with Jackson. I didn’t want to be one of those who fawned over young pups. That was wrong.
“Shit! Bridgette is calling us,” Marie muttered as she jumped off the table.
“All right, ladies, I’ll see you later. Maybe lunch, Elle?” Clarice offered.
Still stunned about their exchange and now eager about finally getting some guidance for our team, I nodded my head and murmured, “Yeah, of course.”
We filed out of the conference room and as soon as we reached our desks, which were relatively in the center of the open space, Jamie and Jackson entered the room. Marie made some sort of siren sound that only I could hear, shaking my attention from what was taking place. When I whipped my head to her, Marie’s head was bowed surreptitiously toward the floor. At the same time, Clarice emerged between us, strutting toward the elevator. When she neared Jamie, he flashed a devilish grin her way, to which she hunched her shoulders like a kid, totally taken by his mild flirtation. I thought I would be sick to my stomach.
Then I noticed Jackson’s mesmerizing gaze, shooting into me.
Hot energy transmitted between us instantaneously. I’d never experienced anything like it before to akin it to and I hated it, every tantalizing second of it. I shifted in stance and redirected my attention to Jamie, who was crossing the room to deposit his coat at his desk.
“Okay, gang, Jackson is back and has a shit load of leads for us, so grab your pens and pads,” Bridgette enthusiastically announced.
I went over to my desk to retrieve my iPad and rolled my chair over to the flip board that stood near the front of the room. Everyone pooled around the board, giving our full attention like thirsty hounds.
Jackson took to the board and wrote out three names: Dale, an R&B singer turned pop artist in his mid-thirties; Erika Erceg, a reality show beauty made famous by a sex tape; and Blackboard Scratchers, an internationally known rock band, who were moving units so quickly that the industry was predicting them to be as big as the Beatles at their pace.
His eyes were heavy, his stubble unkempt, his clothes ruffled…Jackson looked exhausted. I would guess he’d been up for days. However, the spark in his eye for the passion he spoke of glistened. He was determined to kick this venture off and suddenly my frustration and doubts had dissolved and I’d privately committed to helping him. I tapped into the notes section of my iPad, eager for instruction.
“Introducing the first tentative clients on our roster… I’ve been across the country, chasing them down, begging for an opportunity to represent them.” He paused and mumbled, “I had to chase Ms. Erceg’s inflated ass between two states.” The room burst with laughter, mine being the sole exception. That’s because I was too distracted, realizing Jackson had never taken off his trench coat with the traditional Burberry check print in the lining.
“But, shit, was that the perfect inflated apple ass!” Jamie mused from the back of the crowd.
We all turned back to regard him swaying back and forth in his rolling chair, wearing a slick frat boy grin. I’m sure that was the highlight of his travels with Jackson.
Boys!
“Anyway, with much talking and compromising on my part, they’ve all agreed to a six-month contract with us—”
I cut in, “What are the clauses?”
Jackson’s eyes slanted as his forehead crinkled and lips twitched just slightly. He was impressed by my inquiry. It was a logical question; you don’t get into this business for short-term contracts. That’s hardly enough time to change the course of someone’s career. Building images delicately takes time and risks. Then it took more time to correct those faulty risks.
After a beat, Jackson responded, “Selecting these particular celebrities took a vetting process. We looked for people with flawed coverage, people who we could easily identify in need of a boost in their career or those that are huge PR risks. Clearly, our favorite rockers, Blackboard Scratchers, would fit the misfit bill.”
“So, why Dale? He’s a veteran, been at his career since like nine,” Tim questioned.
“Dale was on the sure track of becoming a pop icon, wanting to cruise the trails of James Brown and Michael Jackson. However his career has taken a nosedive since his failed marriage to a woman eight years his senior. His fans’ reaction to the marriage was an interesting phenomenon, one that has probably never been seen in the history of celebrity; they demonized her and gave him lukewarm support on subsequent albums. He fought hard, tooth and nail for her honor and acceptance, but in vain. He’s been on the charts since his marriage and divorce from her, but his career has met a stalemate, hence his entry onto our roster…” My voice trailed off as my mind churned with electrical synapses signaling.
“Impressive, Elle,” Jackson noted. “She’s right, and our job will be to pull him from the gray and back on to the green path he was on before he—”
“…took on a woman with a boatload of baggage and more demons than are in a sex shop.” My tone was firm and expression impassive. I appeared resolute on the outside, but I was reeling on the inside, asking myself where in the hell did that outburst come from!
Jackson’s head swung over to me, likely filled with the same questions I’d asked myself internally. His straining eyes conveyed so much, but his mouth remained placid as he continued. “I think we’ve just nailed Dale’s profile. He’s actually the only one eagerly awaiting our solution that I promised in ten business days.”
“If our advice to ol’ Dale the crooner is to stay away from older women and only fuck chicks his age, it ain’t happening. And I can’t blame him. There are some older women who are fucking bad!” Jamie swore from behind the crew.
I didn’t turn my head to look at him because I was stuck wondering where the motivation of that statement came from. On the one hand, I now knew he and Clarice were engaged in a sweat fest, but I’d also hoped that he wasn’t throwing a subliminal dig at Jackson.
“And what do you consider an older woman,
Jamie?” Brad asked.
Bridgette chimed in, “Yeah. You’re what…twenty-five, right?”
I was trembling in my seat, praying for a way to change the course of this conversation.
“Twenty-four. And an older woman to me is anything over twenty-five.” I could hear the Cheshire grin that etched his face.
“Shit. So, in four months I’ll be considered old?” Marie conked out in a revelatory tone.
I rolled my eyes.
“I have a whole year and a month before I’m old,” Bridgette informed with an appreciative smile.
“Don’t worry. I’ll still bend you over in the stall, Marie,” Brad offered.
“Shit. Thanks, Brad!” Marie gushed out appreciatively.
“Okay, people. We have to stay on course here. We’re working against the clock,” Jackson exhaled as he combed his head with his fingers.”
“My bad, Hunter. Carry on,” Brad nodded toward the board.
“The last briefing is on Blackboard Scratchers. They’re well on their way to legendary orbits, but their lead singer can’t seem to stop getting pulled over for DUI’s or getting into bar brawls. And the head drummer—”
Marie jumped in, “Can’t…keep his dick in his pants. A dick that I would love to put in my—”
“Okay, and moving right along.” Jackson shot her a piercing glower. “The group is a little disorganized and their manager is overwhelmed, but via a control war, I got them to sign a six month agreement.” He paused a bit to give us direct eye contact. Then his captivating gaze landed solely on me.
“Elle you’re the senior and are technically the lead of all clients. You can differ, but in this case only one client. Choose two and hand the other off to Marie, who needs to get her feet wet, too.” Jackson all but ordered.
I cut my eyes over to Marie, who peered over to me pensively. I didn’t understand why she was so nervous until I answered, “Dale and Erika,” and she collapsed her head, letting out an audible exhale.