One Bossy Date: Chapter 8

I have most of the marketing team assembled for the morning executive meeting including Piper and her friend Jennifer Landers.

Her email this morning named one condition—moving Jennifer into the same role, and dammit, I agreed.

She keeps her friends close, I suppose.

Though I wonder if bringing them into the meeting this soon was a bad idea.

The shape of Piper Renee’s mouth is so hellishly intoxicating I can’t focus on anything else.

And it’s not just her lips that have my attention.

It’s the memory, the taste, the way they burned against mine.

Knowing her whip of a tongue once played in my mouth while her nails raked my hair.

We kissed each other like starving animals who couldn’t get enough.

That’s why I laid down the law—for my benefit and hers.

Rules are rules and ‘no fraternization’ might as well be a commandment here. I never meant it as some backhanded slap to her pride.

“…but that’s not a strategy. Dropping twenty articles with all the keywords your heart desires isn’t going to accomplish much against a post that already has ten thousand views. You have to start getting engagement to feed the algorithm. The post with all the views is basically injecting steroids into the algo at this point.” Miss Renee’s words bring me back to the discussion.

“Forget the articles then. We can focus on video content instead,” Keenan says.

“Not a terrible idea, but I’m not sure it changes anything. Videos get way more interaction than any text-based content these days. But it still doesn’t solve the root problem,” she says.

“Which is…?” Keenan waits expectantly.

“Your problem isn’t the content, necessarily. It’s getting it seen by the right people.”

“We spend astronomical amounts on advertising every month,” Keenan says, looking at me to weigh in. “That must do something, right?”

I nod slowly.

“And how’s that working out?” she throws back.

I have to suppress a chuckle.

I forgot how hard to impress she can be, and it isn’t fair leaving Keenan to make excuses.

“Why don’t you get to the point, Miss Renee? What are you suggesting?” I bite off.

Her face falls. “I’m not sure just yet. I need more info to come up with anything really useful. But organic marketing does prompt more engagement than paid ads, and with platforms like TikTok taking over, organic engagement is king.”

“We’re trying. We’ve been working on expanding our organic reach and getting more influencers involved, but so far it’s been a slog,” Keenan says with a sigh.

“Or you’re letting the Chicago critic who turned us down stick in your head.” I say, holding Keenan’s gaze.

He doesn’t answer.

“Maybe we could look at changing up our paid ads?” Jenn suggests.

“We review ad spend allocation and its efficiency every few weeks,” I tell her, looking at Robert next. “How are the changes to the rewards program coming?”

“We implemented a new pilot program at the Vegas resort. We’ve seen a small spike in repeat rebookings, and dollars spent per booking have notched up ten percent since we started it. We’d like to study it for another two months to be sure before we do a partial rollout everywhere else. With your approval, of course,” he adds with a nervous grin.

“Finally some good news. Make it happen,” I tell him.

One glance across the table shows me Miss Renee glaring.

Better to have her disapprove of my style than the message itself.

“There’s still the problem Keenan touched on. I’m having a hard time attracting top influencers, which would be the easiest way to promote the program once it goes wide,” Robert says.

Fuck.

Again with the influencers.

“What can we do? Is there any sense we’re not tainted goods from those damned reviews?” I snap.

“It’s a challenge,” he says.

“Bull. There’s no way that many people are having appalling experiences at our hotels. I don’t believe it for a second. Nothing’s changed in our internal customer feedback.”

On the contrary, we’ve had the most highly rated resorts in the world for forty years. Our satisfaction surveys aren’t mirroring the same woes as the shit posted online.

I couldn’t have fucked up badly enough to undo all of that in the past two years if I’d wanted to.

“Clue me in. If people aren’t having bad experiences, then why are they posting bad reviews? You think they’re fake?” Piper asks. “Some of those reviews seem pretty detailed.”

“That’s the million-dollar question, Miss Renee,” I say, turning in my chair. “Someone’s getting paid to post them. That’s what my gut screams.”

“What? Who? When I have thoughts like that about a video getting troll comments, I always ask the same questions. And if there’s no easy answer, then I know it’s on me to improve my content,” she says with a self-assured smile.

Of course she does.

She’s sunshine and jellybeans and thousands of happy travelers eat from the palm of her hand like the birds she adores. I noticed the small silver hummingbird necklace around her neck today.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Keenan staring.

I meet his gaze.

He’s enjoying this too much.

He gives a slight shake of his head and rolls his shoulders. I know I’m bound to get an earful when we walk out this door.

He’s already the biggest skeptic, fully ready to strap a tinfoil hat on my head.

Still, I don’t give a damn how crazy it sounds. Conspiracy or not, the rotten reviews don’t add up.

“I stay in our hotels all the time as a matter of habit. I’ve been watching the internal surveys like a hawk for months. There’s nothing wrong with them,” I insist, my eyes snapping to Miss Renee.

Her green eyes sparkle like gems as she looks right at me and smirks.

“You’re sure, Mr. Winthrope? Because when I reviewed Winthrope Lanai, there was a pretty shocking mistake my first night there. I would have totally two-starred it if it wasn’t for the resort manager’s intense damage control.” I think she enjoys hearing my teeth grind. “Of course, if I’d known from the get-go that he was just after damage control, I may have still two-starred, but the past is the past. Maybe you should work on your customer service in crisis situations? Make sure your managers are always upfront and honest.”

She wipes that damnable smirk away and goes back to looking as innocent as a woman with curves like that can.

I look down and find I’m drumming my fingers on the table loudly.

Damn.

She’s completely unraveled me in the middle of a meeting.

“I prefer tactical honesty. I could say you look like a green-eyed devil, but I think you’ll prefer the term ‘confident.’” Not my best retort, but it does the job.

Her face goes deep red.

I reach for the carafe across the table to refill my coffee cup, taking my sweet time while everyone else watches in baffled silence.

“Are you well, Miss Renee? You look like you had more to say and now you seem rather flushed.” I lock eyes with her as I take a long sip of my peaberry brew.

The ambrosia in my cup makes this shit show bearable.

Her eyes narrow into slits so small I can barely see the green.

“I was going to bring that up with HR. It’s freezing in here,” she whispers, folding her arms dramatically. “There’s nothing hot about anything in this room at all.”

Mouthy brat.

A few people shift awkwardly in their seats as our verbal sparring match becomes impossible to hide. I hate that I can’t carry her out of this room right now and remind that mouth just how easily I can leave it in flames.

Keenan’s phone vibrates next to him and he looks at me.

“That’s our cue for the conference call with the furniture supplier. So I’m afraid we’ll have to pick up on the world review domination later.” Keenan stands and folds his laptop shut before I even nod a dismissal.

After I grab my computer, I follow him out of the room.

“We’ve got ten minutes before that call. Your office now,” Keenan says.

I rake him with a glance. “You realize I’m your boss, right?”

“Like you’d ever let me forget. Do you realize I just saved your ass?”

My lip curls. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Uh, okay. If someone didn’t shut down that little staring contest, I think you would’ve dragged your dick right into a harassment case. So, you’re welcome.”

I step into my office and slam the door after Keenan trails in behind me.

“Also, for the record, it’s one thing to start spouting off conspiracy theories in private. But airing them in a meeting with senior staff and top marketers—”

“Bah!” I wave off his concerns with a flick of my hand, standing against the wall. “The meeting was productive until that little hellcat pulled out her claws—”

“Boss, I don’t know how to say this nicely. Everyone else was thinking what she said—especially with the reviews being some kind of sabotage. She just had the guts to tell you to your face. And what happened in Lanai anyway? Because that shit you just pulled was right out of a Julia Roberts movie.”

I’m not telling him how well I really got to know Piper Renee.

I’ll carry that shit to the grave.

He doesn’t need to know about my ‘shocking mistake’ either.

Hell, is “shocking” good or bad?

Interesting choice of words. That wasn’t an idle slip of her tongue, knowing she’s a seasoned marketer.

“Nothing happened. I don’t know her that well,” I lie.

“Right.” Keenan rolls his eyes with his usual annoying ability to read me like an open book. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… Bossman, you can’t openly flirt with her—or anyone—in a meeting.”

“Flirt? I have no intention,” I snap.

He coughs into his hand. “You just did. Everyone saw it.”

My forehead feels like it could cook an egg.

“…she started it,” I grind out.

Keenan laughs—and then doubles over and laughs some more like the deranged hyena he is. “Man, get a grip before I have to make you take a sick day. If you give me premature grey hair, I will kill you, Brock Winthrope.”

“Grandma always told me everything happens for a reason. Miss Renee dropped into my lap to help with our marketing, not my sex life.” Goddamn, my throat feels like cotton.

“See, you’re snarling again. For what it’s worth, my grammy always told me club soda gets red wine out of white, but it’s not always true. Way to change the subject,” he tosses back.

“That green-eyed little—”

“There. Right there,” he says, stabbing a finger at me. “Probably best you don’t call her that. Unless you two know each other so well you’re on insulting terms—”

“I don’t know her!” I’m damn near shouting now.

“Yeah, not buying it. You suck at lying.”

“Hardly the point. She’s here to solve our reputation problem, Keenan. I need her suggestions, even if she continues to make a game of pissing me off.”

“You know she never formally accepted the promotion, right? HR said the document remains unsigned.”

“What?” I clip. “I brought her friend Miss Landers along for the ride, didn’t I? What the hell is she waiting for?”

“Let’s go easy on the teakettle impressions, okay? You are steaming. Anyhow, I’m not sure, but not growling out conspiracy theories like they’re gospel might be helpful.”

“You’re no help.” I turn my back on him and stomp to my desk. “Your opinion is noted, Mr. Dutton, since I’ve heard it a hundred times. I was raised to follow my gut, and I’m certain this is not a baseless conspiracy. We have corporate subterfuge on our hands, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”

“Good luck,” he mutters.

“Careful,” I snap, giving him a flaying look.

“Sorry. I can’t blame you for being stressed,” he says. “Still, I think you’d be wise to do your own investigation. Why air anything that’s unproven to our A-listers? It’s bad for morale.”

As much as I want him to be wrong, he isn’t.

I slump in my chair. “Fine, let’s take care of what we can control. Follow up with Miss Porcupine and see if she’ll accept the promotion.”

He nods. “And if she has any doubts? If she turns it down, do you want me to repost the position?”

No, goddammit.

I shake my head tensely.

I want Piper Renee working on my content almost as badly as I want to smother her insolent mouth.

Purely business, I tell myself.

A few bouts of blue balls are a small price to pay around here for competence.

After five I call Keenan. “Has she accepted yet?”

“She hasn’t given me an answer.”

“Most of Marketing is still here. Let’s go.”

“Not necessarily. I told you I’ll take care of it.”

“Keenan, we’ve had twenty-four hours, and she hasn’t answered you. I need to be sure this isn’t another game,” I say.

“Hopefully, your charm goes over better than it did this morning,” he says with a stifled laugh.

“Just meet me at the damn elevator.”

When we arrive at her desk, I hesitate, drinking her in for a few heady seconds.

Miss Sunshine has her headphones on, this mess of blond curls and slender shoulders, laser focused on reviewing one of our YouTube ads. I stand behind her for the longest time before she notices I’m there.

“Miss Renee?” I finally say, standing over her shoulder.

She practically hits the ceiling, throwing her hands up. Her chair lurches backward so fast I’m afraid it’ll topple over.

I throw a hand against the back of the chair to stabilize it. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Look alive.”

“No? So there’s another reason to leer over me?” she says bitterly.

“I need you to accept the offer with HR. We’re still waiting for an answer.” I gesture to Keenan next to me, who’s wearing that mask that says he’s loving every miserable second of this.

She studies me suspiciously.

“Whatever. I accept. Just don’t make me regret this.”

“The only regret is if you don’t start immediately,” I say.

“You know, I stayed at this beautiful hotel on vacation once.” She glances at the screen where the Lanai resort slowly pans out, her voice loaded like she’s baiting me to ask.

“And?”

“And you could learn a lot from the manager there. He seemed to actually care about people and their regrets. I wonder if it was an act, though. Everything else he did was.”

“Not all of it,” I whisper.

Fuck.

Why do I even bother?

She thinks I’m walking around on hooves with little horns, so odds aren’t great she’ll believe me.

Still, she smiles. “I’m sure you wouldn’t know. You weren’t there.”

I cock my head.

Why is she toying with me again?

I just need her to solve the reputation problem, not lecture me on morals.

“Give me one minute,” I say, walking off and waving at Keenan to follow.

“That was easier than I thought. You should be happy,” he says.

“Let’s collect Miss Landers now, and we’ll get them set up in their new office.” I look at Piper from a distance, hating how easy it is to picture her gold-kissed hair in my fist.

Once we’ve got Jenn Landers trailing behind us nervously, we circle back to Miss Renee’s desk and head to the elevator together.

I can hear them whispering back and forth, chattering excitedly about their upgraded workspace.

“So we’ll have a window?” Piper asks.

“I can’t give you an office without one. That’s against the fire code,” I say bluntly.

“So, we have a view? An awesome view?”

“It’s not quite the best on that floor, but it’s still lovely,” Keenan says.

“Score!” Piper beams.

My heart pounds like a war drum.

Damn her and that adorable chipmunk smile.

For a second, Miss Renee the pain-in-the-ass employee melts away and I’m just looking at the carefree pixie I captured in Lanai again.

But I’m not allowed to catch her ever again.

That shouldn’t be such a sucker punch.

We get the girls situated in their new shared office and I leave Keenan to it.

I’d love to stay and watch Miss Sunshine spin around in awe, but there’s too much shit to go over—and that girl’s presence is a fucking blow to the face anytime I’m near her.

The way her black dress hugs her body and dips into her cleavage still burns into my mind as I walk away.

I’d have the dress code changed for the executive floor, but this woman could make a trash bag erotic.

I wonder what the hell I’m getting into by moving her just a short walk away.

By the time I return to my office, I find my mail waiting on my desk.

A few old-school hard copy contracts from various properties with new conference bookings, and right on top is Forbes magazine with a human ass on the cover.

Apollo fucking Finch.

Yes, his name rivals his world-class greed.

And his Oasis Springs resort has a glowing write-up on page twelve that I don’t care to read.

Isn’t he lucky?

Nah. Luck has nothing to do with that jackass winding up with a major fluff piece from his media ass-kissers.

He got where he is by stabbing enough backs to make Saddam Hussein squeamish, and he’s managed to turn himself into my biggest damn rival in spite of having no talent, no originality, and no class.

His so-called luxury resorts aren’t even well maintained.

I chuck the mag straight in the trash.

Then I pick up my phone and text Keenan. Cancel my Forbes subscription.

He responds immediately. Should I ask?

Brock: No. Just do it.

My computer alerts me to an email before I’ve finished typing the damn text. The second I see the name Piper Renee, I know I won’t like it.

I open it with a sigh and read.

Dear Winthrope Lanai Manager,

My colleague and I are happy to begin work on your special new team that currently has two members. There’s just one snag.

I stop. What the hell does she mean? Keenan was supposed to have them both sign contracts and nondisclosure agreements. There better not be a damn snag.

Kindly inform us what exactly you want us to do. You kind of missed that part.

Regards,

Piper & Jenn (Mostly Piper. I just added her name as a courtesy. And she doesn’t like you either.)

Fuck. She’s never going to let me live down that blunder in Lanai enough to stop busting my balls, huh?

This girl is something else.

She might have a bigger mouth over the keyboard than she does verbally.

I grab my tennis ball and squeeze the damn thing until it almost bursts before answering.

Piper & Jenn (Mostly Piper. I just added Jenn’s name because I’m sure she hates me less than you.),

First, I want your total honesty on all future projects. An easy ask when you’ve never had a problem running your mouth.

B.W.

Chief Executive Officer, Winthrope International

I punch send and minimize my email so I can read some revenue reports. Barely three minutes pass before my inbox pings. I open it, glowering at the screen.

BW,

You want honesty? Manners would look good on you. Jenn still thinks you’re going to show up in her nightmares with razors for fingers if she makes the slightest mistake.

Also, most companies provide free snacks in the break rooms these days. Morale might go up if you feed your people more and bark crap less.

Thanks,

All Piper

What the hell?

Now she’s giving me facilities advice?

My fingers hit the keys so hard I cramp my thumb. I wince and shake my hand after the email goes out.

All Piper,

Please keep your honesty hyper-focused on advertisements and constructive solutions to our negative reviews. Internal staffing issues are outside your job description.

Now get to work.

B.W.

Chief Executive Officer, Winthrope International

More reports I read but barely comprehend.

More adrenaline the instant I see another email from her come in.

Big Wuss,

Okay.

You know I’m thrilled to provide honest feedback on the ads and negative reviews.

However, I feel a biting need to inform you I’m not an ad critic. I’m also not even a real copywriter.

I’m actually not remotely qualified for anything you want me to do here. Neither is Jenn, probably, though she’s way more qualified than me.

Rob seems like the guy you really need.

I still don’t understand why you want us spearheading huge, sweeping changes to your marketing. Unless there’s another reason that has something to do with me seeing you naked?

Thanks,

Annoyed Piper

My jaw tightens like a vise as I tap out a reply.

Miss Sunshine,

You’re the only person I’ve ever employed who knows I could make another billion dollars with my own X-rated calendar.

Thank you for picturing me naked again.

You’re also the only person on the entire marketing team qualified for this assignment, and Miss Landers is qualified by association.

Your marketing education comes from experience rather than a classroom. You know how to get views and please people in a rapidly changing content environment.

You also had a conniption fit when I tried to promote you. You’re okay with telling me things I don’t want to hear and you’re not afraid to stand up to me.

I need that kind of honesty covering my weak spots—even if you’re exceptionally good at pissing me off.

Thanks,

Endowed Gentleman

If she wants to keep bringing up that clusterfuck anti-meet-cute, so can I.

I wonder if it’ll scare her off, but her response is immediate.

Cocksure “Gentleman,”

Gentlemen don’t lie, and the pissing off is mutual.

Are you done annoying me yet? I have a lot of work on my plate and my boss is a tyrant. He might dock my pay or send me a naked calendar if I don’t get this done.

YUCK.

I also can’t help wondering what kind of timeline he’s looking at for turning things around. This is a lot for two people, you know. Even Rob pitching in won’t expedite things much.

This old content pile is so big I wonder if these ads go back twenty years. Do they?

Thanks,

Not Your Sunshine. Ever.

Oh, hell.

I’m horribly tempted to track down the best boudoir photographer in Seattle and send her a calendar she can sneak into bed.

If only Keenan wouldn’t have an aneurysm.

I settle for sending one last reply just to remind her who’s in charge.

Little Liar,

Just get it done as fast as you can. Pinpoint what’s relevant to our direction now and ignore anything made before 2012.

I’ll check in with you soon to see what you’ve accomplished.

And go home at a sensible hour. There’s no point in losing sleep over this so soon.

Thanks,

B.W.

PS Your seven-year-old reaction to my calendar idea tells me how much you want it. Go YUCK yourself.

Enough of this fuckery.

I’m going home early today because I have to get the hell out of here. Precious distance so I can get her out of my head. I log out and shut down my computer.

My phone lights up with a text from her.

No greeting. No closing.

Just, you’re so yucking full of yourself.

I don’t respond with all the ways I could fill her.

Something tells me that will just expedite our descent into hell.

When I walk out of the building, Fyo waits outside, parked on the curb and waiting like always.

I climb in the back seat, holding in a growl.

“Any news from Vanessa?” I ask.

“No. Nothing to worry about.” Fyo chuckles and pulls onto the road. “Have I ever let you down?”

Hardly.

And for the faintest second, I wish my new star marketer were just a bearish Russian man with a taste for Versace shirts.

Life would be so much easier.