When the rep finishes, I ask her to send me the profiles of her top three choices so I can review them. It’s a stall tactic, but she agrees easily.
“And since we’re revisiting the celebrity spokesperson,” the rep says, “I’d like to run some additional ad creative by the team.”
“Sure.” Relief floods my chest as I catch sight of Lucy strolling across the parking lot, ponytail bouncing. “That sounds great.”
I turn my attention back to the presenter, determined to give her my full attention as Lucy opens the door and climbs into the Jeep. She presses the ignition and the engine roars to life, K-pop blasting from the speakers. Speakers that are about two inches from my microphone.
Several shocked faces stare back at me as I scramble to mute myself. Next to me, Lucy shakes with laughter as she turns down the radio’s volume.
She mouths the word “oops,” and when I return my attention to the screen, several of the junior marketing associates are snickering openly.
Look at the bright side. At least you’re wearing pants.
“Sorry about that.” I offer the group an apologetic smile. No one likes the asshole who doesn’t use the mute button. “I’m on the road, and it’s noisy here.”
“No need to apologize,” Hillary says. “We play K-pop in the marketing department all the time. It gets the creative juices flowing. Was that Blackpink?”
Is she fucking with me? She has to be fucking with me.
But, no, she appears to be waiting for an answer.
“I have no idea,” I finally admit.
Lucy snort laughs and claps a hand over her mouth. When she finally gets control of herself, she puts the Jeep in gear and we head out.
The Zoom conversation moves on to ad fees, and I mute myself again, turning to Lucy.
“What took so long? And why didn’t you answer your phone?”
She gives me the side-eye. “You can’t really expect me to answer the phone while I’m peeing. That’s weird.”
“You know what else is weird?” I shoot back. “Disappearing for twenty minutes at a rest area without explanation.”
It’s a slight exaggeration, maybe, but I was starting to think I’d have to go in after her.
“Oh, please. It was fifteen minutes tops.” She flicks her turn signal on and merges back onto the highway. “What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal?” I repeat. “You were MIA for twenty minutes and not answering your phone.”
“Fifteen,” she chirps. “And it’s not like we’re in a hurry. We’ll get there when we get there. Oh, and I met the nicest old man. He and his wife are travelling cross-country, and he saw that I was having trouble with the vending machine, so he stopped to help me out. Which reminds me—I got snacks.”
My eye twitches as I stare at her, incredulous.
“Dibs on the Sour Patch Kids,” she adds, pointing to her open shoulder bag, which, sure enough, is stuffed with candy, chips, and two bottles of water.
Water that will undoubtedly result in another delightful rest stop.
“Unbel—”
“Miles?” Hillary’s voice cuts through my mental gymnastics.
Damnit. Once again, I’ve lost the thread of the Zoom conversation.
Get it together, Hart. You’re the fucking COO.
I unmute myself and refocus on the conversation as Lucy tears open her Sour Patch Kids.
Thirty minutes later, when my connection has frozen more times than I can count, I finally call it quits and ask Hillary to send me the creative along with the list of potential spokespeople.
