Page 5 of Meeting Up with the Consultant

“Yeah.” I sigh with the resignation that I haven’t moved on from high school geekhood.

“I love these books.” He hands it to me, and my jaw hangs like a door off its hinge. “Have you listened to the audiobooks?”

I snap my mouth shut and shake my head.

“Oh, man.” Harding grabs his computer and sets it on his tray. “The author narrates them, and the way he portrays Hank and the other characters is perfect.” He shrugs and opens his computer. “I have them loaded on my phone so I can listen when I need a good laugh.”

“I’ll have to check them out.” I plop my computer on my tray and open it in a daze, amazed that someone else loves the funny books from middle school. “I saw it in the Austin airport and just had to grab it. Silly, really, since I already have a copy at home.”

“You can never have too many copies of a favorite. We could always keep the business for Monday and share my headphones to listen to Hank’s adventures instead.” He wags his eyebrows up like he’s suggesting we play hooky or something.

My heart pounds once, twice, hard in my chest as my brain circles around just what the something might be. “I—” My voice breaks, and I clear my throat, suddenly so dry the rushing Yukon River couldn’t quench it. “I really should get work done.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“But maybe another time.” I curl my toes and tuck my hands under my thighs to keep myself still. Too many jitters rush through my body, and I can’t be certain that my hands won’t clench his shirt in a desperate need for him to say yes.

His brilliant smile that probably makes hearts flutter around the globe lights up his face. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.” He turns and studies his screen. So, I quickly boot up my computer, though the rush of tingles through my body makes me lightheaded. “I’ve been studying your website, and I think I know how we can tweak some things to increase sales. Ascent’s website is slightly chaotic.”

Chaotic?

He must be mistaken.

“I’m not sure who built your website, but it needs work.” Harding glances at me as he pulls up Ascent’s website.

I clear the shock from my throat. “I built it.”

He cringes, then shakes his head. “Sorry. I see it a lot in newer companies like Ascent, especially with younger marketing managers.”

Heat, angry and quick, burns any remaining tingles to dust.

I clench my jaw as my vision blurs. He’s an idiot. I spent countless hours and weekends working on that website. It’s well thought out and on-trend with our competitors. If he doesn’t understand what I am doing there, then maybe Brad made a mistake in hiring Harding.

Maybe because Harding is a supposed expert at fixing businesses from top to bottom, he doesn’t actually have any expertise in focused marketing. I cross my arms ready to sink into that logic. But as Harding clicks through the website, pointing out the different things he notices compared to other companies, his thoughts aren’t all idiotic. My anger lowers from full boil to a simmer, with each short grunt of acknowledgment I give. By the end of the flight, I still don’t agree with everything he says, but I can’t say he doesn’t understand marketing. Whether he understands Ascent’s message is still to be seen.

4

-Kensie-

Istep into the elevator to go to Pike’s lobby the next morning. My head pounds and muscles ache with lack of sleep. I’d replayed the conversation with Harding over in my head so many times that when I finally fell asleep, I dreamed about it.

Of course, the dream had me watching in sick fascination as our feisty elderly row partner knitted a sweater to cover a shirtless Harding. The yarn had snaked and coiled around his body as he casually destroyed all my hard work with his suggestions. The more he talked about product placement and design, the higher the yarn went until it covered him in a striped turtleneck.

I’d woken with my anger simmering in my gut, but also with a keen sense of disappointment. I pull on my shirt to cool my suddenly overheating body. I just need to forget about that dream and move forward with what I had planned before I’d fallen asleep.

In my repeated mulling of his criticism, a realization has my nerves shaking, like I clung to a rock cliff. Where I place my hand next would either get me closer to the summit or send me hurtling down to the ground. While his suggestions aren’t changes I would have ever considered, they hold merit. More merit than I want to acknowledge. At least at that moment last night when exhaustion hung heavy on me and I’d struggled for sleep.

After taking a cold shower to wake up—and cool me down—I came up with an alternative plan. I’ll play nice, take his considerations, and analyze the heck out of them. I’m not willing to simply jump on board with everything he says just because Brad thinks the man is better than Spam. To my knowledge, Harding hasn’t spent three years immersing himself in all things outdoors. I have, and, though I have a mountain of work the size of Denali to do for the upcoming launch, I will do everything I can to make sure Harding’s suggestions won’t sink the company.

The elevator doors slide open, and I straighten my back to hide my exhaustion. Scanning the eating area, my gaze lands on Harding studying my favorite painting. That sense of fascination that had lingered from my dream starts at the base of my neck and raises goose bumps up my scalp. I gulp a breath of air and cross the room to stand beside him.

“Stunning, isn’t it?” My voice holds an awe I can’t and don’t want to hide. The white and blue tones of the polar bear painting always pull me in and tug at my heart. Maybe it is the sense of strength and resilience that is portrayed that makes me want to sit and stare at it for hours.

“Yeah, stunning.”

Something in Harding’s tone pulls my gaze from the painting to find him staring at me. My chest tightens, making it hard to breathe; like I was trying to squeeze into a shirt two sizes too small. A soft smile tips his lips up before he turns back to the painting.

“It’s kind of depressing though.” His forehead scrunches and his voice dips low and sad; like he didn’t mean to say what he did.

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