I tap my teeth, staring at the computer screen. I’m supposed to be writing marketing copy for a wingback chair, outlining in exquisite detail its curved mahogany arms, its tall tufted back, the way its classic features are all so at odds with its modern grey fabric. It’s a beautiful chair, there’s no denying that, but the words just aren’t coming today.

Which is unfortunate, since as a junior copywriter, my whole job consists of … well, writing marketing copy. Which sort of requires words to come.

I look out over the low cubicle wall. The other writers and section editors in our area of the marketing department are all hard at work. I can hear their keyboards clacking away while I just sit here, completely braindead.

Last night, on the other hand … last night, the words had flown like water. No, something sexier than water. Like warm chocolate sauce. Like molten wax. I blush just remembering the barrage of dirty words that had flowed from my fingertips. I sneak a quick look around to make sure everyone is still hard at work and then click over to my personal email, checking to see if he’s replied yet.

Nothing. Damn.

Be patient, I tell myself. He always replies, even if he’s slow sometimes. And most importantly, he always makes it worth the wait.

Just then, our boss, Charlene, claps her hands loudly, drawing me out of my sweet anticipation.

“People, gather round.”

No one audibly groans but the painful sound of chairs slowly being dragged away from desks says all we don’t need to. Time for another one of Charlene’s oh-so-motivational pep talks.

“People,” she says again, making sure she has our full attention. “This is it. We are now officially less than a month away from go-day.”

Go-day. If I have to hear that word one more time, I’m going to shoot someone. Possibly myself.

I glance over at Sloane, my one work friend, and, as if reading my mind, she rolls her eyes and mimes shooting herself in the head. I suppress a giggle and try to focus on what Charlene is saying.

“This is not just any catalog we’re working on,” she’s saying, preening in front of us. “This is our September Vogue.”

A few people shift in their seats. One person yawns dramatically. We’ve heard this same speech at least once a week for the last two months, so it’s starting to lose a bit of its effectiveness.

Charlene is the head of the catalog team in the marketing department of Loft & Barn, a global home furnishings company. Which means we’re her minions, a fact that she absolutely delights in.

“For the next month, I expect your full dedication, commitment and professionalism. Wear your comfy pants,” she adds, trying to crack a joke. Nobody laughs.

Jim, one of the section editors, puts up his hand. “Do we have the rest of the photos yet?” This is pretty much the only piece of information that would make this meeting relevant.

Charlene tucks her bleached white blonde hair behind her ears. “Well, not yet, but…”

“What about the product list, at least?”

“No, not as such, but…”

Jim sighs and folds his arms. “They’ve never been this late before. What’s going on? I read in the Post that they’re closing some of their retail stores.”

There’s a nervous murmuring among our group. Jim is older than most of us and has worked here longer than any of us, including Charlene. Somehow he always seems to know what’s going on around here, way before the rest of us do.

“The store closures have nothing to do with us,” Charlene says, barely keeping the exasperation out of her voice. “It’s a natural evolution as more of our business moves online.”

Jim folds his arms, still looking skeptical. “So our jobs are safe?” Jim is clearly not going to let this go.

“Of course they are,” she huffs. “The catalog is the cornerstone of our marketing strategy, as you know.”

If Charlene were to ever have custom t-shirts made, they would no doubt say, “Catalogs: The Cornerstone of Our Marketing Strategy.” It’s her favorite thing to tell us — I think she likes the ego boost of running the marketing team’s most high-profile initiative.

She isn’t totally wrong, either. We do three catalogs a year and the fall catalog — the one we’re working on now — was the biggest piece of marketing we did. I’m pretty sure we must blow half our entire year’s marketing budget on printing and mailing the damn things. I mean, who even prints catalogs these days? Loft & Barn, that’s who.

“And anyway,” Charlene continues. “Trent and Luke have called a meeting for tomorrow specifically to talk about the fall catalog. We’ll all be going up to the thirtieth floor to join them.”

I can’t help but notice how she smooths her hair down when she utters the brothers’ names. Sloane and I sneak another glance at each other, grinning. Charlene is a reasonably attractive older woman but she’s been single her whole life, as far as we know, and it’s obvious to pretty much the whole office that she has it bad for the company’s founders, Trent and Luke Whittaker.

“Good, I’ll ask them then.” Jim crosses his arms. I have to stifle a giggle. That will get her going.

Sure enough, Charlene looks appalled.

“You will do no such thing. This is a meeting for them to provide us with information. Not to bother them with our grievances. I swear to God, if you make our department look bad…”

Jim rolls his eyes, even though it’s clear he has no real intention of actually asking a question at the meeting. Everyone knows these meetings aren’t really for staff. They’re exclusively a chance for the Whittaker brothers to remind us who runs this company and who we answer to, not an opportunity for actual information to be exchanged. In these meetings, we’re to be seen and not heard.

In other words, they’re a complete waste of our time.

Well, not a complete waste. The brothers do make for some pretty tasty eye candy. But that’s it.

Charlene seems to be done with her motivational speech so we all drag our chairs back to our desks. Sloane catches my eye again.

“Coffee?” she mouths, and dramatically mimes chugging an invisible drink.

I nod. I take one more quick peek at my email, but still no reply. Damn. Maybe he won’t respond until tonight. Sometimes he gets busy at work during the day and I don’t hear from him until late into the evening.

Be patient, I remind myself.

There’s a coffee shop in the lobby of our building but Sloane and I decide to go outside and walk to the one down the street.

“I need some fresh air,” she says with a sigh. “Charlene’s speeches are making that whole office feel stale.”

I laugh and push the broad glass door open. It’s July now, and the Chicago humidity hits me like a brick wall. So much for fresh air.

We get to the coffee shop and order iced Americanos, and then decide to find seats so that we don’t have to go back to the office just yet.

“That stuff Jim was talking about … do you think there’s any truth to that?” I ask. I don’t have to expand on what I’m referring to.

Sloane shrugs. “Well, it’s probably true that they’re closing a few stores. I don’t think it’s worth getting bent out of shape about though. Jim just likes to have something to stress out about.”

I let go of a little ball of tension I hadn’t even realized I was holding on to. I absolutely can’t afford to lose this job — not with my sister to support.

But more than that, I don’t want to lose it. After years of working in retail, finally breaking into a marketing job was a dream come true for me. I had dreamed of working in PR for forever — I’d even gone to school for it for a couple of years, until our parents died and I had to drop out to help care for my sister.

So losing this job is just … I can’t even think about it.

I trust Sloane’s judgement though. Even though I’ve only been working here since the beginning of the year, we became fast friends and she’s been great about giving me the low-down on all the office gossip and the different personalities we work with. Plus she’s gorgeous and hilarious — I might have a teeny tiny girl crush on her.

“I can’t believe we still don’t have the photos yet,” Sloane vents. “God, this summer is going to suck. What the fuck is taking them so long?”

I take a sip of my drink, savoring the cold deliciousness. Sloane had already warned me that the worst thing about the fall catalog was that it killed your summer — long hours, over-time, way too many of Charlene’s not-so-peppy pep talks. I was sort of secretly looking forward to it though.

“Maybe the brothers are too busy admiring themselves in the mirror to get any work done?” I offer.

Sloane snorts. “That wouldn’t surprise me. Although more likely they’re too busy banging cheap bimbos who gush over how hot they are to get any work done.”

“Hey, now,” I joke. “They’re talented men. Who says they can’t do both?”

Sloane grins. “Good point.” She slurps her coffee. “So which one do you think is hotter?”

“The brothers?” I can already feel my cheeks turning pink. “Oh, I don’t know.”

“Come on — don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it. Personally I’m a fan of Luke — just think about what he could do with those hands.” She closes her eyes and groans dramatically.

“That’s true,” I concede. Luke was the designer of the duo, and people said he still crafted every prototype in the collection by hand. I didn’t know if that was true or not, but he certainly looked the part — he showed up to corporate meetings rocking flannel shirts and Timberlands, and he had the rugged handsomeness of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors.

“I think Trent is pretty cute though,” I finally admit, although ‘cute’ is the understatement of the century. There’s just something about his expensive suits — and the way his muscular body almost rips through them — that totally does it for me.

“Pretty cute?” Sloane mocks, as if reading my thoughts. “That’s an understatement. The man is sex on a stick.”

I almost spit out a mouthful of coffee. I love how Sloane always just says what she’s thinking — sometimes I wish I could be more like her. The only time I have that kind of confidence is when I’m online, hiding behind a username. Then — oh, then I’m the queen of smut.

Speaking of which … I sneak a glance down at my phone and hold back a sigh when I see I still don’t have any new email.

He’ll reply, I reassure myself. He always does.

Sloane glances down at her own phone and sighs.

“I guess we should get back,” she says glumly.

We head out of the coffee shop together and make our way back to the offices of Loft & Barn, and I steel myself for a long afternoon of writer’s block.