Page 31 of By A Thread

Next on the agenda was a beauty brand that was jerking us around, demanding prime product placement after backing out of an advertising deal.

I nearly fell out of my chair when a junior beauty editor asked me, “Do you have any suggestions, Mr. Russo?”

I took a breath and looked her dead in the eye. “Call me Dominic. Please.”

She blinked rapidly several times, looking stunned.

As a matter of fact, I did have a suggestion. This was my area of expertise. Risk assessment. Managing inflated egos. Applying the right pressure at the right time. I had plenty of personal experience with that.

“Tell them we’ve decided to go in another direction. Name drop Flawless,” I said, mentioning another skincare company.

“We’ve had a relationship with La Sophia for years,” Shayla reminded me. But she didn’t sound like she hated the idea.

“Maybe it’s time to break up,” I said.

That got me an honest-to-God smile out of the woman. She’d looked at me with contempt, barely controlled her eye-rolls when I made stupid suggestions, or just frowned outright when we passed in the halls.

But this was a look of approval.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” she confessed.

“Then I’ll leave it in your hands,” I said.

“Do you want me to reach out to Flawless or just say that I am?” she asked.

“If there’s a brand you want to work with that you think would be a good fit for our readers, do it.”

Shayla’s smile got a millimeter wider, and I felt my Proof of Asshole score drop a few points. Not bad for a Tuesday.

A surprisingly spirited discussion broke out around the table about how best to illustrate the results of the magazine’s online polls rating what readers looked for in spring jackets.

“Why don’t you put them in motion?” an annoying voice from the far end of the table piped up.

“Because this is a print magazine. That means it’s onpaper,” I said heavy on the sarcasm.

Ally rolled her eyes. “Your sarcasm is noted, Dom. But I was talking about linking the print graphics to an animated one online. You want more crossover traffic between your print and digital content, right? You do something cutesy like this…” She stood up and walked to the whiteboard.

I divided my attention between two things. The way those pants hugged the curves of her ass and the competence with which she drew. She sketched out a rough trench coat with arrows pointing to parts of the construction and then another version mimicking motion.

It was fucking charming. That annoyed me.

“Then down here, you put a custom smart label that your reader can scan with their phone, and it takes them to the website. Link it to a cartoon or actual videos of models wearing each of the products, and break down the construction, best ways to wear them, where to buy at different price points.”

Linus was pursing his lips and polishing his glasses, his tell that he liked an idea. “That’s…”

“Not a horrible idea,” I filled in.

“Thanks,” she said dryly.

“Can you do a mockup of the illustrations for me?” Shayla asked her. “Something in that style?”

Ally shrugged. “Yeah. Sure.”

We wrapped ten minutes late. A first. Usually my meetings ended early because everyone was in a hurry to not be in the same room as me.

I took a moment to scroll through messages on my phone and purposely walked out behind Ally.

“Sausage Fingers?” she hissed at me.