Fuck It (Yama Yama)

Damn social expectations.

“Right now, party-popping is hot. Especially if you use a cat drinking a beer or something. That’s trending.”

I clutch my ink pen as I gawk at Tommy, horrified. Really?

Anderson told me this is part of the process. Everyone reviews what some have worked on, and we all pitch in small things to make each campaign the best. Jessica—the only other woman in here—pitched with some guy named Fred. Honestly, I thought the campaign they presented was perfect. Then Anderson told them to replace one word with another word. And suddenly it was brilliance.

I want brilliance. Not a cat drinking a beer!

We only do this for the larger accounts. I’ve been in here twice, and twice I sat back and watched brilliance happen. Never once was a cat suggested as an alternative.

“No one can actually drink a beer on a commercial,” Anderson states flatly. “Not even a cat.”

Jessica turns away like she’s trying not to laugh. Fred snorts and tilts his head down as he studies his open folder. I’m silently seething. The other two guys in here have been mostly quiet, though now their eyebrows are raised and they look just as appalled as I feel.

“But the cat angle is huge in party-popping right now.”

“What is party-popping?” I ask the reject.

He bats his hand, ignoring me. “I think it’s the right angle to go with. I could have an entire presentation drawn up by the end of the week.”

“Sicily’s the lead on this one. We’re not here to tear it apart. This is a good angle, and we’re sticking with it,” Anderson tells him blandly.

I sit a little higher. He just told them I’m the lead and never once tried to take all the credit. That’s the first time in my career that’s happened.

“Of course she is,” Tommy says under his breath, but it’s still loud enough for everyone in the quiet room to hear.

That has me bristling.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Anderson asks calmly.

“Just that she hasn’t been here long and she’s already the lead on one of our biggest accounts,” Tommy fires back, eyes narrowing. “And everyone here knows what you two were doing in her office.”

Oh, that’s it. I’m shifting all my murdering fantasies to Tommy. The first one will be a horde of cats turning on him and eating him alive. I’ll probably have to inject them with rabies or something to make them attack. I wonder if raccoons are in this area.

Anderson’s lips twitch. Really? That’s his reaction?

I’m trying to figure out how to steal rabies from raccoons, and he’s got a case of the twitching lips?

“Is that so?” Anderson asks dryly.

“I brought in the Bradshaw account,” I decide to point out, rolling my eyes when Tommy doesn’t break his gaze with Anderson.

“It’s not like it’s a secret,” Tommy goes on.

Anderson tugs at the top of his tie before reaching down and rolling both of his sleeves up, exposing those sexy forearms. It’s forearm porn.

Thinking of porn puts a sour taste in my mouth, and I decide to never use the word again. At least it stops me from staring at his arms like they’re meant for my pleasure and making this situation worse.

“Go see if Roman has a spot for you on his team.” Anderson’s words have my head snapping to attention, and I look around at everyone who seems to be unsurprised.

Tommy’s eyes widen. Besides me, he’s the only one who looks shocked. “Roman kicked me off his team,” he babbles.

“And now I’m kicking you off mine. Find another one to be on. It’s not up for debate. Or just box your things up. Your choice,” Anderson says with zero anger or emotion of any kind.

Jessica taps the screen of her iPad and looks over at me. “I think you should use blue on the words instead of red. Bradshaw is written in blue most of the time. I think it’d be cohesive and give a better overall effect,” she points out helpfully, as though Tommy isn’t having a meltdown right beside me.

I glance at the screens, trying to visualize the words in blue. “That’s a great idea—”

“This is supposed to be the room where we can insist on better production. You said anything goes in this room!” Tommy bellows.

“Anything productive,” Anderson tells him. “You’re being petty. Not productive. And I don’t have the patience for it. Leave now or I’ll get security to remove you. Your choice.”

I’m a little worried…

If Tommy takes his issues to human resources, and someone backs his claim that they saw Anderson and me in our compromising position, then…shit.

Anderson doesn’t seem the least bit worried though.

“I like the wording on eight of the ten frames,” one of the quiet guys—Grant, I think—says, gesturing to the frames behind him. “The last two could use some shortening. People want to read and see the visual at the same time. Phrases need to be shortened to a sentence or two apiece. Or maybe one sentence briefly leading up to the second sentence before the frame ends.”