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She rejected the call, and her eye caught on the stream of WhatsApp messages underneath.
Jenna has added you to the group Blues Team Chat
Jenna might as well have added her to a group called Man-Eating Shark Tank.
But as she scrolled, the tension eased. It was mostly noise: banter about training, someone complaining about kit, a debate over whose turn it was to wash bibs. Then Lauren popped up.
Who likes discounts? Carly runs a whole chain (yes, a CHAIN) of gyms and she’s having a relaunch event for the latest one next week. Free trial AND the club have done a deal for money off membership if you want to join. I’m also throwing in discounted sports massage so you can recover afterwards. Sign up here…
Carly stared at it.
It had no structure, no branding and no thought for tone or positioning, and it had already been hearted a dozen times.
Sounds good, I’m in.
Can I bring the wife?
You had me at discount.
We need all the help we can get + everyone should be there.
Lauren rubbing my legs? Sold.
Carly rolled her eyes at that one, then forgot all about it when she pulled up Beth’s sign-up form. A handful of submissions had already come through. All from the team.
Five off-the-cuff lines had done more than a week of her drafting. They trusted Lauren, obviously. But it was more than that. The message had no armour on it, and people had answered it the same way.
Carly could work with that.
The office door clicked open and Beth stuck her head round it. “Still alive?”
“Barely. Can we get rid of your protein tubs yet?”
Beth came in with a mug in one hand and a biscuit balanced on top. “All repairs on schedule. Anyone signed up to come and enjoy them?”
Carly held up her phone. “Lauren finally posted.”
Beth read it, snorted, and claimed her biscuit. “There you go, then. Get Lauren to write everything from now on.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why not? Your posts got us nowhere, and hers has people offering up their spouses.”
“Only because they know her.”
“So? Where do you think the phrase it’s not what you know came from?” Beth crunched into the biscuit. “You can’t fake rapport.”
“No. But you can direct it.”
“Sounds ominous.”
It wasn’t meant to. It was practical.
A knock sounded on the doorframe. Lauren stood there in shorts and a polo shirt.
“Thought I’d take a leaf out of your book,” she said, tugging at the embroidered logo. “I got myself branded.”
“Very snazzy,” Beth said. “All set for your next shoot?”
