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Baby Bargain: A Billionaire Baby Contract Romance by Vivien Vale (86)

 

Claire

 

I feel very out of my element.

I'm downtown, in a big box building, with a lot of executives.

Most people in my position—those from a little agency like mine—might be sweating under the pressure, but not me. I have no trouble working with that extra energy pumping in my veins.

This is what I live for. I like to take the business away from the big sharks. There's something that gets me off about knowing that I can bring high-quality clients into the boutique range of advertising.

For now, the meeting is going well. We're all seated around a very long glass conference table in a very prestigious building. All the big guns are here, trying to land this big campaign for Velvet Luxe.

It's a lingerie company that's gaining traction every year.

For me and my little company, it would be a very big steal and a great amount of business. This is the big break we’re waiting for; it would set us up for life to have a company like this under our belt.

It's my turn at the front of the room to present my very rough proposal. With nothing decided yet, it's hard to know what to go on, what the client needs. I have to second guess what specifics the company might like.

I take a deep breath and put on a smile. I'm here to show my best work and I'm gonna give them everything I've got so that we can land this campaign.

I'm the last presenter of the day, and I try to hide my nervousness as I make my way up to the podium. A PowerPoint shines brightly behind me and it showcases our newest ideas.

"So our agency, Epica, would like to represent Velvet Luxe in a new way. We anticipate that since this is a winter campaign, there should be lots of faux fur linings, snow, and sparkles, everything glamorous and chic to get people into the holiday spirit and into the spirit of buying."

I look around the room to see what the sharks are thinking and to see what the executives from the agency think. So far, so good. Everyone seems satisfied, except for the sharks.

"So, I suggest a gold on white color scheme and anything else that might add to the newness of the season. I think this could carry well over into the New Year's looks and so the ad marketing campaigns could run through Christmas and up through January at least."

My designers have come up with an array of ideas that are flashing on the screen behind me. I can tell the executives are happy. Everything is white and gold and shimmering, everything you'd want in a lingerie company.

"I have complete faith that my company can handle a marketing campaign this big and this intense. What we specialize in is bringing the impersonal experience down to a personal, intimate level. We operate out of a small building and we keep things close and this is reflected in our work. You'll see that we're able to reach the trendiest new audiences to the most traditional. That's what we pride ourselves on, having scope."

My presentation ends and the executives look very interested. They tell us all to come up with a more specialized campaign mock-up for them to review more closely. It's standard in the industry, but my heart sinks at having to go up against the sharks once again.

It's not like I don't like their work, I just find it very distant and fundamentally shaped under the broader umbrella of corporate enterprise. I don't think that's what this company wants. I think they want to shine brightly on their most loyal clients and yet also attract new ones.

Nobody wants a marketing scheme like we've all seen a million times, especially over Christmas when you could capitalize on the season for more sales. People want something special.

Just then something very special indeed walks into the room.

“Hi, I’m Liam, this is my assistant Trish. Sorry we’re late.”

He takes a seat and I’m dumbfounded by the pure amount of hotness in the room. My eyes glaze over as I imagine this 6’4 hunk of man between my legs.

He takes a seat and as he does so, a couple locks of sandy brown hair fall over his piercing green eyes. He peers up at me and I blush. Fuck. I’ve been caught staring.

He flashes me an incredible smile and I have to squeeze my legs together to prevent the wetness from oozing all over this fine, leather chair.

I’m not usually one to come in my panties for just anyone. It takes someone...unique to make me even enjoy the experience.

My friends call me frigid, but I know I just have really high standards and nothing will make me waver from that...nothing except for him. He’s my standard. I don’t even know the guy yet I can tell he embodies everything I would want in someone.

That is until I see his assistant, Trish, make her way to the front of the room.

“On behalf on my boss, Liam Alton, I’m going to present the ideas from Dignity Creative,” she says.

Two things are running through my mind. First of all, he’s Liam Alton, as in the playboy Alton who owns the biggest ad agency in town. This guy is not just a CEO...he’s a billionaire.

My stomach tightens, and I get a little bit nauseous as I realize this handsome man—my dream guy—is also my competition. Suddenly, my little company seems smaller than ever, dwarfed by the presence of this man.

The second thing that grabs my attention though is the fact that he can’t even be bothered to present his own ideas. His assistant is doing it. This to me screams of smugness and arrogance and I realize that you can’t judge a book by the cover. Liam’s hot. Like fantasy-level hot, but it speaks a lot about his personality.

“Our firm would like to take Velvet Luxe up to a new level. We can bring this lingerie brand to an international level with the ad ideas we have in store. We are used to dealing with clients of this magnitude and more than that, we propel them to even greater heights of success.”

God, this assistant seems to be bragging more than presenting any ideas of consequence. All the while that she’s talking, I see him staring at me. He’s brooding and dark, and his eyes are all over my body. It makes me uncomfortable to be the focus of his gaze and I squirm in my seat.

Trish continues with the details of their presentation.

“Our campaign will feature rich tones that reflect the lingerie. Deep reds, blacks, and purples will get people in a sexy mood toward the end of the year. There will be nothing light and bright about this. The campaign will get a sensual and dark treatment.”

Damn. Their pitch is polar opposite to my own. I’m imagining lots of white and gold while Dignity Creative wants to make things dark and shady. I wonder what the executives think? I wonder if I still have a chance at this?

Finally, the meeting is over. I can’t get out of there and away from Liam’s prying eyes fast enough.

Yes, I felt flushed being the center of his attention. But no, I can never date him. I know his reputation. He was probably staring at me with such intensity because he figured I could be another notch on his bedpost.

What he doesn’t know is that I have self-respect and I don’t go for guys merely based on looks, or for one night flings. I’m in it for passion, transparency, and longevity...which is probably why I’m frequently single.

I leave the giant building and get into a cab, trying to shake Liam from my mind. I mentally go over the additional ideas I come up in my head. I'm so creatively inspired by this company. I love lingerie and I love this time of year. What could be a better project for me? Any way to use my artistry is just a bonus for me.

The cab winds its way down the busy New York City streets and I write some notes in my little notebook. I have a lot of ideas for the campaign, which may or may not be fueled by the fact that Liam’s, or rather his assistant’s, presentation was so great. I have to win. I deserve this account and I intend to earn it.

I place one heel on the sidewalk and then the other before thanking the cab driver. Then I breathe in a sigh of relief as I see my brick building, Epica, the company I’ve made from scratch.

I’m home. But I also have to get to work...my new motivation is beating Liam and proving to him that he shouldn’t be so cocky as he thinks.

 

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