Page 148 of Rush of Jealousy

“Yes sir,” the team lead says calmly. If he didn’t have his tail between his legs before, he does now. He won’t even make eye contact with me.

I slide off my stool and walk with Graham to the elevator. He kisses my forehead as we wait. It feels weird openly advertising our relationship for everyone here to see. Yet I am thankful that he cares enough about me to not give a damn what others think.

“You have a knack for seeing the big picture.”

I shake my head. “I just tried to imagine what it would look like wearing the jewelry and then think of anything that may go wrong or not be comfortable.” I shrug. It was no big deal. “The point is to wear it without knowing you are wearing it, right?”

“Yeah. But you aren’t giving yourself enough credit. You basically walked in there and served them all their balls on a silver platter that they didn’t want to eat. In front of their boss. You are very badass.”

I scrunch up my face, covering it with both hands. “No. No, please don’t say that,” I cringe. “I don’t need more people here thinking negatively of me.”

“Wait, what? Who thinks that?”

“Sophia. And probably your entire security team,” I say, using my fingers to keep track of the running count. “Maybe even a few people who were crushing on their boss but then saw me here today. Oh, and perhaps those who saw me freak out when I came to attack you during your meeting.” I lose count and shrug. “So, practically everyone in this building.”

“No one thinks that way of you, baby. You just have these ideas,” he says with a pause, tapping a finger into my hair, “in your head. So, I would advise you to just stop thinking about it. Plus, Sophia isn’t even here today, and besides her opinion of you doesn’t matter.”

Which basically confirms the notion that she thinks negatively of me and has made her feelings known to Graham. Shocker.

We arrive at the floor that hosts the Marketing Department, which is probably one of the largest departments in the company, at least in comparison to the others I have seen so far today. Graham introduces me to his marketing manager—the woman pushing for Graham and Sophia to be seen publicly for the sake of sparking up buzz around the jewelry line. It is not a bad strategy. Except this is not a Hollywood scene where movies are being released. This is Portland.

This department is vastly different from the one we just left. This floor is decorated modernly with bright colorful abstract art on the walls, as well as mockup ads of the jewelry. Computer screens line glass desks, and fun chairs rest behind them in a variety of neon colors. On the far end of the room, a photo area is set up where I assume Sophia—the signature model for Jealousy—is photographed. There is a makeup section, wardrobe section, and a changing area. Everything is neat and organized. The director for this floor must have some major OCD. And I’m not talking about the healthy amount that most humans have. I am afraid to even walk on the perfectly polished marble floors and smudge them up with my heels.

“Come,” Graham says, pushing me gently toward a large conference table that is in the middle of the room. “I want you to see some of the layouts for our future ads and give me your thoughts.”

Huge poster-sized ads are secured to the table with a glass sheet protector overtop. Written notes made with washable markers accompany each ad. Team members can make comments or list out needed changes to any of the works-in-progress.

“What do you think?” Graham probes again, pulling me to his side.

I have been silent for several minutes as I try to take in the entire scene, and hopefully not have a repeat of what just happened on the design floor.

I look over at more lip advertisements—similar to the one that is in his main office. Everything is overly sexualized, close up, and featuring the jewelry for sale. My mind visualizes Sophia getting her makeup professionally done, and then flirting with the camera as she works. I do have thoughts. I am just not sure I want to voice them and have them backfire on me.

Graham cups my face and leans down to be level with my eyes. “Be honest. I can already tell you are trying to put up your guard.”

How does he read me so easily? Am I that obvious?

“You wear your emotions on your face and in the tightness of your shoulders, sweetheart. Like I said the first night I met you at the mansion’s pool, you would lose all your money to me at poker.”

My bottom lip pouts out. “I lost all my money to you at Monopoly too. And my clothes.”

He throws back his head and laughs, causing everyone in the large room to turn and look at him in shock. It is like they have never seen him laugh before. And once the newness of it wears off, the employees turn back to their projects and resume working again.

“Back to business, Angie. If you saw these ads in public, would you want to buy the jewelry?”

“For starters, I wouldn’t be able to afford anything you were selling.” I shrug. “So, doubtful.”

He looks at me deep in thought and rubs his hand down his chin. His skin is smoothly shaven, and I wish he would leave a little scruff because I find it sexy.

“Tell me what is in your head.”

“I don’t know, Graham. I have zero experience with any of this, and I don’t want to have mynobodyopinion sway you into something that is not financially wise.”

He rubs at my back in a casual manner. “Tell me anyway.”

“I think you should run two lines. Maybe have a sister company that is an offshoot for what you already have created. One company is higher end and luxurious, catering to those who want one-of-a-kind pieces and don’t scoff at the price tag that comes with such items. The other company appeals to those who want more than costume jewelry but at a more reasonable price. I think that both companies can still use similar designs for the products—just use less clear diamonds or less pure metals for the lower line. However, I would make the ads cater to those you are marketing toward. I think the higher end line appeals to those who are in relationships. Make the ads with flair and include couples in them.”

He nods his head, and I can tell he is letting my ideas marinate. It feels good being able to voice my thoughts without fear of him berating me or making me feel stupid—even if he may not agree. He is proving to me that I can be an equal in some respects.

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