They exchanged glances. He rested his elbows on the table and folded his hands, waiting. No one commented. Okay. He pushed himself to standing and a few people shuffled, seemingly confused as to whether the meeting was over. Rather than walk out of the room, he paused at the coffee cart and grabbed a hardening Danish from a tray. He took a bite, chewed, and watched his team expectantly.
“Mr. Downey?” A skinny guy wearing a checkered shirt, his hair shaved into a short Mohawk, spoke up. “I have one.”
Saved by the new hire. God bless him.
Landon licked the frosting from his lips. “Mr. Wilson.”
Kirk Wilson hesitated and glanced nervously around at the older, seasoned—jaded, Landon mentally corrected—team members, as if weighing whether this idea was the right one to share with the table of cannibals.
“When you say image”—Kirk cleared his throat—“you mean like… as in who they are. As a company. Like… as a brand?”
He was going to have to muster more confidence than that to land an idea in this room. Landon tipped his chin in encouragement anyway. Spit it out, kid. He hoped it was good. For Kirk’s sake. Margaret pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, ready to draw blood.
Kirk swallowed hard, surveyed the room one final time, and addressed his colleagues. “Windy City has a reputation of being the chip that sits next to a sandwich. But what if consumers thought of the sandwich as something that sat next to the chips?”
Margaret’s face pinched. Brenda craned her thin eyebrows. Stephen dropped his pen on his pad and blew out a breath, muttering, “Oh boy.”
Contrarily, a smile slid across Landon’s face. Nailed it. Kirk reminded him a bit of himself when he’d launched into the field of advertising.
Before Margaret opened her mouth, no doubt to chop Kirk’s tender, sapling-like hopes into kindling, Landon cut her off. “Chips as the main course,” he said. “I like it.”
His statement garnered a look of flattered shock from Kirk and one of betrayal from Margaret and Brenda. Look at that. Finally. Those two agree on something.
Landon repressed a chuckle. “Order lunch.” He dropped the petrified pastry into the wastebasket. “No one leaves this room until you’re solid on a concept.” He snatched up his pen and pad and walked to the door, pausing to tap the door frame. “Tomorrow, we’ll reconvene and hammer out the details of the campaign. I want it built around Kirk’s idea. Windy City. The main course.”
He shut the door behind him, and his team’s stone silence erupted into hushed chatter. Kirk was on his own now. Swimming with the sharks. It was the best way to learn.
Good luck, kid.
* * *
Kimber wanted to collapse on her bed and take a nap. She’d spent the morning chasing after Lyon, playing one game or another. First it was hide-and-seek, then tag, then a game he made up, which consisted of him hiding his Superman figurine in the house and charging her with locating it. At least she’d been able to cheat via the video-outfitted baby monitor when Lyon hid the action-figure in his bedroom.
After lunch, when he’d finally wound down, she took the opportunity to clean the kitchen. That task complete, she walked into his room and found him on the floor, Legos scattered around him, his face pleated in concentration as he built Batman’s dark domain, Gotham City.
“Some men like to watch the world burn,” she said in her best Michael Caine voice.
Lyon smiled, a dimple punctuating his beautiful brown skin and lighting his blue-green eyes. He was going to be a real heartbreaker, this one.
“You like that movie?” he asked, attaching a Lego.
“A lot.” Especially the Christian Bale parts. Her cell phone rang and she showed him the display before answering. He smiled at the photo of his aunt.
She put the phone to her ear. “Hi, Aunt Angel.”
“Hi, nanny Kimber. How is my adorable nephew?”
She smiled back at Lyon and answered Angel with a truthful, “He’s great.”
“Sucker. Felled by the Downey charm.”
She thought of Landon last night: his disheveled hair, crooked tie, the accidentally sensual smile gracing his firm mouth. You have no idea.
“… wondering if you’d talked to him?”
Oops. She’d tuned out her friend while lusting after Landon. “Not much. He came in late last night and looked really tired. He wasn’t all that conversational,” Kimber answered. “I offered him spaghetti, but he declined. Does Landon like spaghetti?”
Angel was quiet for a beat. “Yes, he does. But I wasn’t asking about Landon. I asked if you’d heard from Evan.”