Blame it on the Vodka (Blame it on the Alcohol)

“My marketing has gone a little stagnant. We’re halfway through the year and not making the same profit increases as before. Do you have any suggestions on who or what I should look in to?”

I froze for one second—a second I wanted to commit to memory forever. I’d been the life of the party, the silly one, the one that allowed you to assume I only cared about social media and my appearance. I was so much more and didn’t usually care if people saw it or not because I knew it was there. But maybe after the last year with Bodie, maybe because Austin was by my side, and maybe after last night, I wanted to be seen as something more. I didn’t know, but having the men around the table, laughing seconds ago, now lean in as if I was about to spill the most scandalous secret had me sitting a little taller.

“It depends,” I answered, barely dipping my toe into this new role amongst the men.

“On what?” he pushed.

“Where you’re at with your marketing now and how flexible you’re willing to be to adapt to an unconventional approach. It’s not just about your ad design anymore. You need more than a picture that lures people in. You need to explore every option of advertising, from billboards to finding influencers to mention you in a TikTok. You need to get to know your customer.”

“We know our clients,” someone objected.

“I’m sure your general market, but with the technology available, you can get to know them better—their purchase trends, their search trends—and apply that to your marketing in a more detailed way. Also, make your marketing more social. With the availability of connecting, people want to feel like they’re the only one you’re marketing to.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed. “We can’t market to each individual.”

“Of course not,” I agreed. “But that is what Artificial Intelligence optimization, predictive analytics, and quantum computing are for.”

“Quantum what? Do you know what she’s talking about?” he asked Austin.

I looked for his reaction to find him leaned back in his chair with a big-ass smile. “It’s all you, babe,” he said with a shrug before shoving half a donut in his face.

Everyone at the table waited for me to speak. I wasn’t one to ever let down a rapt audience, so without any more interruptions or insults, I set about revealing just how wrong they all were about me being nothing but a dumb girl.

After over an hour of questions, I was finally able to pry myself free without any promises of being available for the future. It served them right for doubting me in the first place. I may be wicked smart under all this style, but I still enjoyed being a petty bitch when I could—especially to a bunch of men who needed another man to help them pull their heads out of their asses.

I was beat, on the verge of sleep on the car ride home. Austin drove with music playing in the background, and I looked out the window, replaying his words.

She’s my wife because I couldn’t have imagined her as anything else since I first laid eyes on her.

I’m lucky to have her.

Grateful that she makes time for me.

“Did you mean everything you said to them?”

“Of course,” he answered without missing a beat.

When I didn’t follow up with anything else, he glanced over and winced, reading the question I wasn’t asking written on my face.

Then why did you say everything you did in Vegas?

As much as I wanted to blindly accept his compliments, his insults in Vegas left a mark I couldn’t ignore.

His hands flexed around the wheel, and he took a deep breath. “Listen, Rae, I said a lot of shit when I was mad—a bunch of bullshit. But what I told them about you was one hundred percent the truth.”

“Thank you,” I said softly.

His knuckles remained white, and I knew he had so much more going on in his head, so I waited him out.

“I—I had a temper growing up.”

My heart dropped to my stomach. Of all the things I wanted to hear, that was the last. A temper? Before my mind could spiral into a yawning hole around my chest, he continued.

“Not that I started the fights. Other than that one time the school bully was picking on a girl for her pigtails. Or that one time in high school I caught a guy trying to fool around with a drunk girl. Or that time in college when…” He laughed nervously glancing my way. “I’m not helping myself.” One of his hands released its death grip and dragged through his hair.

I almost laughed with him because while he thought he was incriminating himself, he only confirmed that I had been right about him all along—that my gut instinct about Austin Caldwell hadn’t been wrong like it had with Bodie. Relief buoyed my heart back where it belonged, and for the first time since that morning in Vegas, I could breathe easy.