Page 18 of Selfish Suit

“Take notes for him,” she says. “Very detailed notes.”

“You were serious about him not taking his own?”

“Ivy…” She glares at me, and I click my pen as someone dims the lights.

A tall guy in a navy button-down shirt takes the lead, flipping through slides on the wall-sized screen to reveal today’s client.

Skittles: Taste the rainbow. Bring back a sweet era.

“Ah.” He picks up a huge vase of Skittles candies from the floor and passes them around. “Our client wants us to design a campaign to make people fall in love with this candy again, and when I’m done showing you what we’ve done, I think you’ll be confident in us sharing this with them.”

I steal a few bags from the jar and watch.

He and his assistant break out six-foot glittery mood boards and early concept visuals.

There’s a lot of talk about summer pop-up shops and high-level immersion, but every few moments, he mentions an expense that makes me nearly choke.

“Two hundred and fifty thousand for the initial digital campaign…”

“Eighty-six thousand for the research and development for Gen-Z…”

“One hundred fifty thousand to capture millennials with our standard streamlining approach.”

“Enough bloated words.” Mr. Sutton suddenly interrupts him. “What are we doing with tone?”

The room stiffens, and the lead guy straightens. “Confident. Elevated. With a hint of edge.”

Mr. Sutton raises a brow. “Define ‘edge.’”

“Slightly less polished than the Chrysler campaign,” the guy replies. “More modern. But still aspirational.”

“Hmmm.” Mr. Sutton nods. “Continue.”

The room exhales, and the presentation rolls on for another forty minutes.

“Okay.” Mr. Sutton waves his hand. “Take lunch. All of you. Except Ivy. You stay. You too, Marcus.”

The room scatters without protest. Marcus—the lead pitch guy—stays seated, clearly irritated.

I stay too, heart hammering in my throat.

Mr. Sutton speaks before the door even clicks shut.

“What do you think, Miss Locke?”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“You were quiet and didn’t attempt to interrupt Marcus’s presentation at all,” he says. “I assume that means you’ve got thoughts.”

“Isn’t she an intern?” Marcus asks, looking unimpressed with my presence. “Like, the super problematic one?”

“Not anymore.” Mr. Sutton looks at me. “Do you have any thoughts?”

“I think everything looked good,” I say carefully. “But… it feels a bit hollow. Like a luxury brand wrapped in a fast-food wrapper.”

Marcus laughs.

“Oh, great,” he says, leaning back. “Let’s take branding advice from the girl who cost us the Costco campaign.”

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