“That’s what we’re going to figure out.” She opened her laptop and tried to power it on before returning to the box. “Hmm, strange. I could’ve sworn I packed my charger. I’ll just have to do it oldschool.”
After what felt like ten minutes of her sifting throughmorethings, and then her purse, and then a tote bag, even I was exhausted. “Need something to write on?” Iasked.
“Yes, please.” She came back, smiled sweetly, and took the spiral bound pad and pen I offered. Instead of sitting, she switched off the overhead light and raised the blinds the last few inches. “Do you mind? I can’t stand artificial light during theday.”
I followed her with my eyes as she returned. “Sure.”
“Thanks.” She shoved more gummy bears in her mouth and began to pace. “What did you think about what I said thismorning?”
I set my elbows on the desk, lacing my fingers in front of my face, and tried to think of a diplomatic response. “I thought it wasbullshit.”
I’d climbed every rung of my career ladder. I’d spent enough years kissing ass and kowtowing to rich kids to get here. Why was I still biting my tongue? So I could end up taking direction from anamateur?
She stopped walking and glanced up from the notepad. I waited for her reaction, hoping she wouldn’t rat me out to Vance, or worse—cry again. Women’s tears made me think of my mom and sister and the payback I’d exact on anyone who made them cry. Had my morning been different, and my job hadn’t been at stake, I would’ve gone after Georgina earlier toapologize.
She smiled. “Thankyou.”
“Why are you thankingme?”
“I work best with people who are direct. I have no time for men who think they might hurt my feelings.” She resumed pacing, making a note on her pad as she rushed out, “By the way, this morning was out of character for me, and I assure you it won’t happen again. That’s why I wanted toapologize.”
I lowered my hands from my face but remained wary. Was this like the time one of our editorial models had told me she was okay with no-strings-attached sex a month before my doorman had caught her graffitiing my front door while I’d been on a date with anotherwoman?
“So which part exactly did you think was bull?” she asked before I couldrespond.
“There were a few things.” I leaned in as if to tell her a secret. “But mostly, we’re not a women’smagazine.”
“I never said youwere.”
“So why would we market to them? Our female demographic is low because they’re not the heart of this magazine. Can’t win ’em all, know what Imean?”
“Mr. Quinn—Sebastian?”
I refrained from rolling my eyes. We’d already discussed breasts and stretch marks. She’d accused me of being entitled, and I’d called her an imposition. We’d blown right by formalities before we’d even officially met. I nodded for her tocontinue.
“Who do you think buys magazines? I’ve looked overMM’s reports, and for the website, focusing largely on the male readership makes sense. Men mostly browse and make purchases online. They subscribe to the magazine, andtypically, we have them for life after that because they’re too lazy tounsubscribe.”
“You mean the magazine’s too good to unsubscribefrom.”
“But the decline in print sales could set a distressing trend, and it’ll impact advertisers’ budgets,” she said, ignoring me. “Women are generally the ones out shopping and spending money during the day—grocery stores, malls,bookstores.”
“You’renot.”
She pulled back a little, her mouth opening. “That’s becauseI—”
“Don’t you think you’re generalizing a bit? And, on top of that, you’re not describing themodern-daywoman.”
“Show me yourresearch.”
“It’s sitting right in front of me. You’re a woman in our target age range. I don’t see you out shopping on a weekday, keeping house for yourman.”
“That isn’t what I—come on, Sebastian. I didn’t pull this out of my ass. My research is based on facts.” She returned to the desk for more candy as she fixed her eyes on me. Their crystal-clear lime color was unusual, yes, and a little distracting, but I was a goddamn professional. I’d get past that. “In the United States,” she said, “and definitely outside of New York, women are still the primary sex frequenting places magazines are sold. When that data shows something different, we’ll have a differentconversation.”
She shoveled more gummies into her mouth and stepped out of her heels, which probably put us about eye level now considering I was seated. I narrowed my eyes as she resumed walking around the room. She could show me a graph indicating women were responsible for a hundred percent of consumer spending for their households, and I still wouldn’t admit defeat. Not after a few measly hours with her. “What about singlemen?”
“I’m not looking for either-or. I want all relevant demographics. Over forty percent of your readers are married.” She hummed to herself as she chewed and swallowed, then scribbled on her pad. “Why are they reading about how to pick up women? Maybe they still like to surprise theirwives.”
“If we start writing articles and choosing layouts with women in mind, then we’re a women’s magazine. We’ll lose all brandrecognition.”
