“This is huge for Midnight Bay. There is no safety net, no acceptable margin of error where this tour is concerned. Is that clear, Miss Breeland?”
I’d “yes, sir’d” my way through the half-hour meeting that detailed just how high the stakes were. It was made abundantly clear that my career would either rise or fall based on my performance heading up this campaign. For nine months I’d planned the pre-release, launch luncheons, and post-party events down to every last infinitesimal detail.
I got this. I fought for this opportunity and I’m not going to screw it up just because this particular client makes me a little twitchy. The promotion to public relations specialist is as good as mine.
But every other week it seems the king of country music wants a change. Two of his opening acts have been replaced within weeks of each other for undisclosed reasons, so that meant all new print materials. He didn’t like his picture on the life-size cutout for the display so it had to be reshot several times. He also didn’t care for the original placement of Midnight Bay’s logo on the art for the entourage of eighteen-wheelers that hauls his tour equipment, and I’m pretty sure he’s here today to discuss the shirts and hats he’s supposed to wear on the tour to promote the company.
I get heartburn just thinking about his next request.
I used to have plants in my apartment. They all died. Because I was never home to water them.
But that’s okay. It will all be worth it eventually. And if you want something done your way, you have to do it yourself, as my dad was fond of reminding me. Which reminds me of the display towering beside me.
The ladder dares me to climb up and gift everyone in the reception area a flash of my lace panties. My OCD brain tells me to get over myself and get my ass up there and fix those labels. Slipping out of my stilettos and tugging my skirt down, I grip the metal rails and make my way up several rungs. No one seems to be paying much attention to me, so I continue my ascent.
My equilibrium dances out of my reach for a split second, but I compose myself and angle the top two rows as they should be before taking a step down. Once I’ve completed the top four rows, I breathe a little easier.
There. The hard part is over.
I step down a rung, but I must’ve misjudged the distance because my foot slips and I see myself fall through the air before it happens.
As every muscle in my body tenses, the air whooshes out of my lungs and I flail hopelessly in an attempt to grab something solid.
Surprisingly, I don’t hear the crack of my skull on the slate floor. What I do hear is a man grunt out a noise on impact when I land in his arms.
“Whoa there, darlin’,” my knight in shining denim drawls. “Not that I wasn’t enjoying the view, but I’d leave the stunts to the professionals.”
From underneath a black Stetson, crystal-clear green eyes gleam with a twinkle of mischief and flirtation.
I close my eyes and attempt to make myself disappear like that chick did in Bewitched.
No such luck.
When I open them, I’m still in the arms of Jase Wade, last year’s Country Music Artist of the Year and Midnight Bay’s biggest client. We’re sponsoring his upcoming tour and I’m in charge of the promotional campaign. He’s walking temptation in tight jeans and I’ve vowed to keep it professional where he’s concerned.
Professional as in not swooning in his arms. Like I am right this very second.
Awesome.
My face probably matches my crimson lip stain right about now.
“Um, Mr. Wade, now would probably be an excellent time to put me down.” I chuckle nervously.
“You got it, Red.” He complies just in time for my boss to round the corner.