Justin grimaced. “Change?”
“Justin doesn’t do well with change,” Boris said. “He likes the status quo.”
“I’m the same,” I said. That was more or less true—no human being really loved change, especially in the workplace—but in past assignments, I’d made the most headway commiserating with the team’s resistance rather than fighting it. “It doesn’t have to be extreme. We’ll review and tweak, review and tweak, rinse and repeat. Baby steps to figure out why you’ve lost ground to your largest competitor—and how to regain it.”
Sebastian stuck the capped end of his pen in his mouth. It was a small tell, but perhaps a clue as to what he was thinking. How did he feel that his ship had begun to sink under his command?
“You can also think of me as a job therapist,” I said. “Feel free to come to me with anything. I’m here to uncover your untapped potential and exploit your strengths—and weaknesses—to the magazine’s benefit as I whip you into shape.”
“Uncover, exploit, whip,” Sebastian listed as he made notes. “Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. It’ll be nice to be on the receiving end for once.”
Some men chuckled. I sought out the only other woman in the room, who rolled her eyes with a shrug. Typical. If Sebastian thought this was a joke, he was about to learn a hard lesson.
“Don’t let them get to you,” Vance murmured.
I had no intention of that, but Vance’s under-the-breath comments wouldn’t do anything except undermine me. “It’s okay,” I whispered loud enough for Sebastian to hear. “A sense of humor will help ease the sting.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, but that earned me a smile from the woman.
“Miss Keller has my complete support,” Vance said. “For now, I request that everything go through George first, whether it’s story ideas, advice, events, web, or print—”
“It’s a shame we don’t already have someone for that,” Sebastian said. “Say, a creative director.”
“This applies to you too, Quinn,” Vance said. “Georgina lays eyes on everything.”
“You promoted me years ago to take this magazine to the next level, and that’s what I did. Now all of a sudden I have to run my ideas by someone else?” He glared. “I’m not doing that.”
“You will. I don’t care if Miss Keller wants to know the color and consistency of your morning dump.”
“That . . . won’t be necessary,” I said.
With a light knock on the door, a pretty blonde girl who couldn’t be more than twenty-one or twenty-two entered. She crouched in a way that the neckline of her billowy blouse exposed a nude bra. The room quieted as she rounded the table and smiled at Sebastian, but she whispered as she set a giant coffee cup in front of him. “Dunkin’ delivery.”
He smiled back at her. “Thanks, June. You saved me today.”
She winked and slunk back out of the room as the guys watched. Maybe it was the cynic Neal had awoken in me, but I couldn’t help wondering if Sebastian had slept with her or was working on it. Was anyone immune to his charms? Was I? Based on the way jealousy sparked in me—I wasn’t. He’d captured my attention this morning with practically no effort on his part.
My cheeks warmed when I noticed only Sebastian had turned forward again, and he was scanning my face. As if reading my every thought, he raised a dark, knowing eyebrow, then reassumed his perma-scowl.
I cleared my throat, calling their attention back once June had closed the door behind her. “May I continue?”
A man signaled that he had a question. “Are we in trouble?”
Vance opened his mouth, but I spoke first. “No,” I said, “but you’re headed for it.”
“Are you like Anthony Pellicano?” Justin asked. “You inflict pain and make things . . . go away?”
Sebastian sat back in his seat and spoke around the end of his pen. “She doesn’t know who that is.”
“You can think of me as Pellicano if that helps, minus the dead fish and prison sentence,” I said. Something like approval passed over Sebastian’s face, but he quickly schooled it. “But when I say ‘ease the sting,’ I mean there’ll be growing pains. Maybe an example will help. You’re all aware Modern Man is one of the country’s top ten men’s interest publications, but do you have any idea how it tests with women?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Sebastian said. “Women aren’t our demographic.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I said, then turned to Vance. “And therein lies one of your biggest problems. While I admit your publication has made great strides in the diversity arena, that only pertains to men. By ignoring the female demographic, you’re automatically excluding fifty percent of the world’s population.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Sebastian said.
“Is it? Take a look at this pie chart.” I picked up the remote and flipped the slide. “Women influence over eighty percent of consumer spending in the U.S. That’s trillions of dollars you’re leaving on the table by ignoring them. Of primary shoppers in a household, over fifty percent are women. Tell me, Mr. Quinn, who does the grocery shopping in your household—you or your wife?”
Sebastian flexed his right hand as his eyes flicked to my chest. I wasn’t sure how, but I instinctively knew he was thinking about our pre-collision flirtation that morning. “That’s sexist,” he answered.
“I see. So, you do the majority of shopping for you and your wife?”
“I’m single.” He smirked. “And I test great with women.”
“So I’ve heard.” I gave him my most sugary smile. “Unfortunately, I’m looking for someone who can score more than one night.”
“My wife does the shopping,” a man volunteered, and everyone turned to him. “I haven’t stepped into a supermarket since I got married, and I’m fine with that.”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Garth.”
“Thank you, Garth. That’s precisely my point. Do you know the average wait time in a grocery store checkout line? Up to five minutes.” I moved to the next slide without bothering to turn and check it. They could read. “What do grocery stores sell in the checkout aisles? Impulse buys.” I hit the button again. “Do you know how much more likely women are to impulse buy than men?” I looked out at a sea of blank faces. Only the woman nodded. “Exactly my point,” I said. “You don’t know, because you don’t know women. I do. And this is just a preview of the kind of research my agency has compiled.”
Sebastian turned to Vance. “Are you hearing this? She’s talking about single-copy sales in the grocery store aisle, a space everyone knows is dead.”
“True, consumers are no longer bored at checkout,” I said. “They have their phones, and the team back at my office is analyzing your online presence as we speak, but don’t discount print yet. It supports digital, enhances branding, and draws in lifestyle readers with more disposable income.”
“Anyone can Google statistics,” Sebastian said. “How do you suggest we implement all that without alienating our male readers?”
“My agency actually conducted much of this research,” I said, reaching under the table for my purse, “so, no, it’s not available to anyone with a Wi-Fi connection. Part of what you’re paying for is my data.” I pulled an August 2017 issue of Modern Man from my bag and flipped to a Post-it near the middle. “Here we have a ‘dating hacks for geeks’ article authored by Garth Hurley and presumably edited by Sebastian.”
Sebastian slid his tie through his hand. Its gold color only enhanced the idyllic green of his eyes, but he must’ve known that when he’d purchased it. He nodded me on.
“Your advice is that they use their brain power for ‘something useful’ such as memorizing Modern Man-approved pick-up lines or choosing books from the ‘panty-dropper library’ on the website.”