Say You’ll Stay

by Carrie Lomax

  “You need to get one, then. Unless Julian has one you can borrow?”

  Good call. “Where are you?”

  “In my apartment.”

  “Can I have a tour?”

  A giggle, the sound making his skin go warm. “Sure. It’ll take thirty seconds. Here’s the kitchen, such as it is. Note the stove small enough to fit in a dollhouse and the dorm room refrigerator. The living room, complete with two-seater couch that’s seen better days. The desk doubles as a dining table. Behind this wall is the bed. Across from the bed is my one and only closet, and on the other side of the bed is the bathroom. Ta-da!”

  “Wow. It almost makes my boat look spacious.”

  “Yes, it does. So. For Friday, bring business clothes. It doesn’t have to be a suit—jeans and a sweater are fine.”

  “That’s what you call business clothes?” Bullshit. Alyssa was always put together. He never had to dress up, but if she wanted him to do so for the occasion, he wasn’t going to disappoint.

  “It’s advertising.” She shrugged.

  Oh, so she wanted to show him her office. Made sense. Jeans and sweaters were practical for freezing weather. Occasionally, Florida temperatures would drop into the thirties, so he owned a few warm clothes.

  “So, Friday morning,” Aly continued, “there will be a black cab driver at the airport to meet you. Don’t go with anyone who isn’t holding a sign with your name. You’re flying into LaGuardia. It’s a confusing place, but it’s the closest airport.”

  “You’re not picking me up?”

  “I have to be at work. You’re going directly to my office, so come dressed to meet my boss.”

  “Does this have something to do with quitting your job?”

  “Sort of. I have a proposal for you.”

  “Sounds serious.”

  “It is. You’ll find out about it on Friday morning.”

  “Why can’t you tell me now?”

  “Remember when you asked what else I could negotiate for, since I wasn’t getting a raise?”

  “Yeah. So? I figured you’d ask for a remote work option, to buy time to find a new job here.”

  “While you sail around the world without me? No way. I’m working on a proposal that, if it works out, will benefit the clients, the agency, me, and you. I’m going for broke. This week is all about negotiating what we’ll present to you on Friday. If you agree to the plan, we’re lining up client meetings for Monday.”

  “Do I have any choice in liking the idea?”

  “Depends on how badly you want me to go sailing with you.” She grinned wickedly. “That’s why we’re meeting Friday. If there’s anything you aren’t comfortable with, we can work through the weekend to change the pitch.”

  “I didn’t think this was a working trip.”

  “That’s an incentive for agreement. The sooner we wrap up, the sooner we can…play.”

  “What are you wearing?”

  “That’s an abrupt change of subject.” She smirked.

  “Don’t be coy. I want to see you.”

  The camera crept lower. Alyssa was lounging on her bed in a lacy bra and his favorite shorts.

  “Isn’t it freezing in New York?”

  “Yep. But the landlord blasts the heat. Sometimes I have to open the window. Or sit around in skimpy clothes. Or both.” Her smirk widened into a grin.

  “Can you change the ticket so I can come earlier?” It was so good to banter. He’d been on edge for days wondering what she was up to, where things were headed. Marc had had a lot of time to think about their last conversation, and in retrospect, he’d been kind of a jerk. Aly was right. He’d only considered his own desires.

  At least she was giving him a heads-up on what to expect. He hadn’t been kind enough to do that to her. He’d blurted out his fondest wish and it had burned when she didn’t immediately accept. He still had a lot of ground to make up in the relationship department, though he was learning as fast as he could. He’d been trying out the word girlfriend since she’d left. Saying it was starting to feel natural.

  “Ha. My employer is already suspicious this is a tax-deductible booty call.”

  “It had better be.” He was rewarded with another giggle. The pixelated video call facsimile of the sound sent tremors through his body.

  “You’re getting a hotel room,” she informed him. The camera bobbed as she shifted positions.

  “Mmm. Too bad. I wanted to see your apartment.”

  “This palace of luxury? I already gave you the grand tour.” She waved one hand in an elegant gesture and nearly knocked over a glass of water sitting on a shelf above the bed.

  “It’s bigger than a boat. You know what else is bigger than a boat?”

  “Your ego?”

  Marc laughed. “No, I have you to keep that in check.”

  Alyssa chuckled too. “I have to get back to work.”

  “Work? It’s after nine.”

  “I have to prepare for a meeting first thing in the morning. You have no idea how many hoops I’m jumping through to pull this off.”

  Marc disconnected, humbled by whatever Aly was up to. He tried to remember if he’d ever seen snow. As a child, maybe. The idea of snow was a little exciting, but cold wasn’t. He could live with it though. The wind at sea could cut right through you.

  The rest of the week passed so slowly that finding himself strapped into an airplane seat on an early flight out of Tampa on Friday morning was surreal. He carried his coat and sweater, his t-shirt damp at the pits and the small of his back as he lugged Julian’s weekender bag to the gate. He felt ridiculous wearing pressed wool trousers and t-shirt in the warm morning air, but most of the other passengers at the gate looked as overheated and overdressed as he was.

  Landing at LaGuardia gave Marc the sick feeling the aircraft was about to crash into the water. He sure as hell hoped Chesley Sullenberger was flying this plane, or his clone.

  It was as if he’d landed in an alternate reality. The airport was an unbelievably dingy, run-down hole packed with bodies seething around him. It smelled of bleach and damp wool. Marc couldn’t decide whether to follow the signs or the people, but since both were headed roughly the same direction, he let the crowd push and pull him along until he spotted a sign for Ground Transportation.

  Carried outside by sheer momentum, he inhaled and watched his breath crystalize in the cold air. Everything was gray, dirty, and cacophonous. Vehicles of every description honked and thrust and flowed in a river of metal and angst.

  A man of Middle Eastern descent held out a sign. Marc’s name was written on it in neat capital letters. “Are you waiting for me?”

  “Mr. De Luna?”

  “Yes.”

  “This way.” No introduction. No hello. This was another world, and a brusque one.

  Skyscrapers weren’t a new sight. He’d spent plenty of time in Tampa and Miami. Yet the scale and closeness and downright shabbiness of the city he glimpsed out the car window astounded him for the next forty minutes. It was nothing like he’d expected. New York was dirty and gritty, and he couldn’t figure out how Alyssa had lived here for almost ten years without losing her mind.

  The car stopped before a glass building indistinguishable from any other of the hundreds of buildings he’d passed in the past hour. The exterior bore a name. He recognized it as Aly’s employer. The car stopped. Marc stepped out onto the street.

  “Watch it!” A cyclist sped by, spraying gray slush on his not-warm-enough pants. Who the fuck rode a bicycle in snow?

  A veritable mountain of the stuff stood between him and the revolving gold door. Marc planted one foot into a crevice and launched himself over it. A woman in a black coat and sunglasses staring at her phone sidestepped him without looking up. A guy in a bright red coat didn’t move away in time.

  “Sorry,” they both muttered as Marc’s bag swung into the human obstacle.

  “Tourons,” another passerby muttered.

  Marc shook his head. Some so
rt of mashup of tourist and morons?

  The advertising agency gleamed across a sidewalk like a game of Frogger. So many people raced by that all he could do was count on them to move around him. Miraculously, they did. Then he pushed through the doors into the foyer and approached the long white lacquered desk and security guards in black suits. It was a goddamned triumph over adversity, if he did say so himself.

  “Security will let you through the gate. Take the elevator to twenty-two. There will be someone to meet you.”

  Good. It would be all he could do not to pin Alyssa against the nearest wall.

  20

  The doors pinged open. An attractive woman with brown hair, glasses, and tall boots stood waiting for him. He swallowed disappointment as anticipation cranked a notch higher.

  “You must be Marc.”

  “I am.”

  “Dana Larsen. I’m Alyssa’s boss. I’ve heard a lot about you.” She held out her hand. It was warm and firm and impersonal as he pumped it twice and let go.

  “All good, I hope.”

  She smiled. He guessed she was around forty, though she could have been anywhere between thirty-five and fifty. “I trust Alyssa’s judgment. I wouldn’t have promoted her otherwise. Turns out she had other plans. You are a part of those plans.”

  Dana opened a glass conference room door and held it with a knowing smile. “I can see why.”

  Alyssa sat across a round table, hair blown flat most of the way with a perfect blonde curl hanging right above her breast. Marc’s heart flipped in his chest and followed that stunt with a series of cartwheels. She wore a close-cut blazer over a tight-fitting black top. Stark gold earrings decorated her lobes. A silk scarf with a pink and gray pattern wound around her neck. Her lips were painted the same color from their video chat a few days before. It was better in person. He could think of several of his body parts the color would look great on too. His mouth. His finger. His cock.

  Her red lips moved. “Hi, Marc. Thanks for joining us.”

  This was her world. It was sleek. It was hard. It was cold. She was completely at home. He was captivated. Suddenly, his sailing obsession didn’t seem cool or fun or even interesting. He’d asked her to abandon everything she knew, everything she’d worked toward, without understanding what he’d asked her to give up.

  No wonder she’d laughed. Selfishness had a place, but it wasn’t center stage in a relationship. He’d fucked up, but he was here now. Listening. “Hi, Aly.”

  “Marc, Alyssa tells me you’re planning to sail around the world. The client we work on is a major player in the travel and hospitality category and looking for an interesting way to promote the brand on social media. The target audience is affluent, culturally literate, and seeks adventure, whether vicariously or in person. We believe we can convince our client to sponsor your journey.”

  Alyssa clicked on a large flat screen mounted to the wall to his left. An image popped up. It was similar to the brand boards she’d given him, but it had been adapted to feature the Escape instead of his rental properties.

  “Alyssa has a social media presence with over ten thousand followers. That alone is enough to merit a fee, but we believe she can do better with the right campaign support. The concept we’re proposing to you is this: Aly will pitch a sponsorship opportunity to the client on Monday. If the client accepts, we plan to approach all of our agency’s other clients in the category.”

  “What does a sponsorship mean, exactly?” Marc eyed Alyssa as she glanced up at the screen and clicked a button on the laptop before her. This was a version of her he didn’t know. Professional. Polished. Intimidating.

  “It means we’ll take over your social media presence in exchange for fifty thousand dollars for the first six months. We want to use your profile to build an audience amongst affluent males ages 25 to 50. We’d need access to all of your Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram accounts, the ability to create new profiles on platforms you’re not already on, and strict adherence to guidelines agreed upon in a contract. No reposting political screeds from your aunt, for example.”

  Marc glanced at Alyssa, unbelieving. “What if I want more money?”

  Dana didn’t bat an eyelash. “We might be able to accommodate you. It would be easier if you already had a substantial following, but we can leverage whatever you have. If we get the sponsorship approved, there’s additional opportunity with other clients for product placement and click revenue. Fifty is the minimum we are proposing for budgeting purposes.”

  Marc’s ass ground against the chair as he fought not to fidget. This was too weird. Fifty thousand dollars of basically free money. “What’s Aly’s role?”

  Alyssa clicked her laptop. The picture on the screen changed. He recognized several of the pictures she’d taken with him, but others were unfamiliar. “You know I have a small base of users across several social media sites. The primary platform is Instagram. I agree to expand my followers to one hundred thousand within three months. If I hit a million followers within a year, I have the option of selling the Instagram account to the highest-bidding client, a sale to be negotiated through the agency.”

  “How much is that worth?” Marc asked skeptically.

  “Recent sales of Instagram accounts of that size have netted into the six figures.”

  Marc sat back in his seat. “You have got to be kidding. All that for taking a few pictures and posting them online?”

  Alyssa leaned forward, her forearms crossed flat on the conference table. “All that for a lot of pictures carefully composed, edited, and posted at regular intervals for maximum impact. It’s work. It’s not a free ride.”

  “How are you going to increase your followers over tenfold in three months?” he demanded. This was too weird to be real.

  “I can answer.” Dana took over the laptop. “We’ll start with a contest. Every existing follower and all new followers for 30 days will be entered into a drawing to win a two-week trip anywhere they want to go. Alyssa will highlight their journey to her social media accounts. We’ll have a full PR campaign, all major media outlets covered. We’re bound to get some buzz. A hundred thousand followers in three months is a conservative goal. A million followers isn’t unrealistic, if Alyssa keeps up the momentum. The key to success will be frequent, high-quality posts from exotic locations. Your job is to provide the locations, Marc.”

  “Dana wants to pitch this project to the agency’s clients in the travel & hospitality, sporting goods, apparel, and beverages category. We may have to wear branded clothes or pose with specific beverages from time to time.”

  “Product placement.” He hated product placement, but he’d find a way to live with it if it meant Alyssa came with him. “Okay. What else?”

  “We need you to develop a travel plan. It doesn’t have to be overly specific. A list of places you intend to visit is all we need. We’ll have Studio mock up a slide for Monday with stock images of each location.”

  Marc nodded. He could rattle off twenty destinations off the top of his head. Cuba, for starters. He’d love to see his family’s country and meet the relatives that still lived there. Travel had opened up, but who knew how long it would last? “Can you help us arrange visas?”

  “We can ask HR. They arrange the international visas for employees,” Dana replied, jotting a note. The screen blinked dark behind them. Marc thought of his father’s cramped office with its dual-screen desktop for inventory and schedule management and papers neatly stacked on every surface. This was a completely different world. If he’d known business could be like this, he might’ve been more committed to his education.

  “Delightful to meet you, Marc. Alyssa will take you to lunch. I’ll join you if I can get away. We’ll regroup this afternoon with the strategist and the creative working on the proposal. Bring any questions you think of between now and then.” The women stood up, so he did, too.

  Alyssa leaned forward to push a printout across the table. He was treated to a glimpse of cleavage that k
ick started his libido’s engine. All-business Aly was even sexier than the down-home version.

  “Here’s a copy of the deck. We can go over it at lunch.” When she looked up, her red lips had quirked up at the corners. She knew damn well he’d peeked.

  “I have another meeting in five, and we’re using this room. Alyssa, will you show our guest around the office?”

  “My pleasure.”

  If her word choice wasn’t bad enough, Marc almost groaned at the sight of the high heeled black shoes as she picked up her laptop and stepped out from behind the conference table. The top turned out to be a dress, a clingy one he suspected she’d worn on purpose to torture him.

  He held the door for her so he could get a better view as she walked by.

  “You’re a gentleman too,” Dana commented. “Alyssa’s a lucky girl.”

  He agreed with Dana. Aly rolled her eyes at him as she passed by, not buying her boss’s comment. He followed her down a hallway to a room lined with windows and long tables with computers sitting on them. People sat at each station, some young, some middle-aged, dressed in business casual or hipster sloth. Alyssa went to the middle of the row and set down her laptop. Then she removed her jacket and placed it on the back of her chair. The dress hugged her body. His fingers tingled with anticipation.

  Marc deposited his bag beneath her desk and trailed after his girlfriend, the silly word that made his body flash hot. Curiosity made him hang on her every syllable as she narrated their way, though his gaze kept returning to her ass. He couldn’t wait to find out what she was wearing under the clingy skirt. She led him down an empty hall lined by glass walled conference rooms. A few were occupied.

  “And here is our view of Central Park. If you’re interested in seeing the city on this trip and not just undressing me with your eyes across conference tables.”

  Marc forced his gaze upward to find Alyssa and watched him. One eyebrow arched higher than the other. He glanced at the fishbowl rooms. “It’s been a few days.”