“I know it was your idea first,” he emphasizes again. “And you know what?”
“What?”
“It was a damn good one.”
I smile. “It was, wasn’t it?”
He nods. “And I think your take on sex is something special.”
“You do?” I say, sniffing a little because I must’ve left the AC on in here when I left and it’s freezing.
“Desserts. It’s kinda perfect. I mean… yeah. Just perfect.”
“Well, thank you,” I say. “That part was all me. Well, no. Zoey was all, ‘We need a schtick. A thing. And your cupcakes are fantastic.’ And she was right. I do have the most fabulous cupcake recipe. So at first—“
“Wait.” He laughs. “You came up with this because”—and then he looks over at my giant cupcake picture over my bed—“because you actually bake the perfect cupcakes?”
“Yeah. My dad owns a bakery and I’ve been working in there since I was six. All those pink boxes? Those are my desserts we sell at our store. As I said. I’ve moved on. We’re keeping the Sexpert because, well… it’s just too lucrative to let it go. But we’re moving into consulting.”
“You are?” Pierce raises an eyebrow. “What kind of consulting?”
“You don’t need to know that. And before you make me an offer to take the Sexpert off our hands, my answer is still no. It’s ours.”
His hand goes to the slight shadow of stubble on his chin. Like he’s thinking about this. And then he says, “How many clients do you have?”
“Plenty,” I say. Which is a lie. We have my dad’s bakery and that’s it. But one is better than none. And I don’t owe Pierce an answer anyway. “Plenty,” I say again.
“Well, I’m only asking because I’m actually in the process of hiring some marketing consultants. Is that what you consult about?”
“Yes,” I say. “We’re social media experts.”
He smiles. And I do admit, that smile is super charming. “You know, you might not’ve heard, but my social media expert quit last week.”
“You don’t say?”
“Yup. She did. We kinda pissed her off. We’re very sorry about that, by the way. In case you’re worried about her. Very sorry. But that means I need to hire someone else—“
“No way. I’m not working for you again. You didn’t even know who I was last month. And I’m tired of stupid Gretchen stealing my ideas and then taking them up to you, pretending they’re hers. It’s bullshit.”
“Total bullshit,” Pierce says.
“I was the one who came up with the idea to repurpose articles so your stupid magazine could compete with my Sexpert. Did you know that?” I don’t wait for an answer, because I’ve been wanting to say all this to Pierce ever since I started working at Le Man and was forced to deal with Gretchen’s dictatorship because I had no choice. “And I was the one who retitled all your dumb blog posts and got them delicious graphics. Me. And Gretchen was thwarting me at every step. She actually ordered me not to do that. So. No. I don’t want your job. I’m a businesswoman. Not some cheap, entry-level hashtag maker.”
“Wow,” he says.
“Wow what?”
“I can totally see why Andrew is so devastated about losing you.”
“Yeah,” I snarl. “He should be! Oh, hey, wait a minute… did you say he’s devastated?”
I allow myself a moment of hope. Because after rewatching that day on film… that smile he was smiling as my world was falling apart… Well, that was some real eye-opening shit right there. I’d given up on him. I figured he was just one of those asshole guys.
But that doesn’t mean I didn’t miss him. Or what I thought we had.
I do.
And if he’s devastated, I mean, that’s a strong word.
“Devastated,” Pierce reiterates.
“But he was so happy about busting me.”
“It’s my fault,” he says. “It’s all my fault.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m like a… king. And I just unknowingly project this incredible sense of loyalty. Some say it’s in my genes. My family history. Or maybe my father’s corporate holdings, but I like to think it’s just part of my charm.”
I think he’s serious. So I don’t laugh. “And that has what to do with Andrew?”
“First, the offer. Because one has nothing to do with the other. OK? You can take my offer and it’s got nothing to do with Andrew. Or you can tell me to fuck off, because God knows, I deserve that. But that will not affect anything you do with Andrew going forward. So hear me out for a second?”
I shrug one shoulder and say, “Fine. Make your offer.”
“I need a marketing consultant. And when I say need, Eden, I mean it. I need someone to help me. To partner with me. Because if I don’t do something creative, something innovative, something that can capture the attention of men the way you did… well, I’m done. That’s all there is to it. This magazine was my one chance to prove to my father that I was capable and worthy. And I’m failing.” He throws up his hands and says it again. “I’m failing. And I need help. I need your help.”