“Thanks again for meeting with me today,” he says, setting his espresso back down. “I know it was short notice.”
Itwasextremely last minute. In fact, I’d thought DRM was out of the running completely at this point—particularly since Elite seemed to be banking on it with their contract. For once I’m pleased to have been wrong.
“I always have time to chat about new ventures,” I say smoothly. “And beyond that, it’s just good business to have friends in the industry. To be honest, we’ve never had a strong contact at Maxilene, so it’s my pleasure to host you.”
His eyes stray to the arrangement of framed black-and-white photographs on the walls. They’re all DRM models; Emzee switches the photos out every few months to keep it fresh.
“You’ve got a lot of unique faces here,” he says admiringly. “I appreciate the diversity. The last meeting I attended, they showed me nothing but smoky-eyed stick figures with lip injections. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but…” He sighs a little, then points at one of the photos. “Now this here’s a model that really draws the eye. Reminds me of my wife.”
I get up to look at the photo he’s gesturing at. It shows a grinning dark-skinned model named Tessa Wilde from our Curves division, roller-skating in a pinup-style party dress.
“She’s new,” I tell him. “My sister Emzee shot that for her portfolio, down at the Fleetwood Roller Rink.”
“Your sister’s instincts are great,” he says. Then he sets down his mug and leans back in his chair. “Look, I like you. And I like your agency. I think what you and your brother have done in the wake of KZ’s scandal took a lot of guts and a lot of hard work. You’ve been straight with me from the get-go so I’ll be straight with you, too.”
“Glad to hear it,” I say, though I have no idea where he’s going with this.
“I’m here today to give you the rundown on our plans for the new campaign. We’re always on the lookout for fresh faces, but it’s essential that we find exactly the right model to represent our brand. Personally, I’m always open to unknowns. I like setting trends, not following them—and I hate when things in this industry get stale and predictable. You see the same face everywhere, you stop paying attention to the product.”
A blip of excitement turns in my gut and I take a seat in my chair. “Agreed. I can’t wait to hear what you’re up to.”
“We’re talking a full-spectrum campaign, Luka. Cosmetics of course, perfume, skin care, and wellness products. This is print, it’s television, maybe some live pop-up appearances at The Grove in LA, Bloomingdale’s in New York, Macy’s here in Chicago. We’re gonna take Maxilene’s new face to industry events, fashion shows, all of it.”
“International?”
“Of course. Come on, you know this company is everywhere. We’re going for total brand recognition here, the world over.”
“I got you. World domination, essentially.” We both laugh, but I’m still not sure if he’s telling me all of this because he already has one of our models in mind, or just to make his intentions clear.
“I know you do,” Guy says. “That’s why I flew out here. I went to meeting after meeting to cast this campaign and they were all exactly the same. Finally I was like, if anyone has what we need, it won’t be one of these stodgy old agencies we have legacy deals with, all full of the same old, same old and run by a bunch of egotistical grandpas in their retirement years. It’s gonna be one of these upstarts with a lot of balls and nothing to lose, an agency that isn’t afraid to take chances with their client list. That’s you guys, am I right?”
My heart ticks up. I know this game. And itisa game.
“Absolutely,” I say with a grin. “Between us, my brother and I were just talking about the former head of the agency—and though I won’t go into detail about our father for obvious reasons, I have to say we’re both glad to be at the helm now. It’s not just about taking over the family business with more of a punk aesthetic in mind, but making sure we’re really representing the faces of America and not being afraid to rewrite the book on how an agency is run.”
“I love that. And you’ve sure as hell been through a lot. I respect that.”
I raise my coffee mug in a toast. “Appreciate it, man.”
There’s an opening here. He’s relaxed in his chair, obviously in no hurry to leave. Despite the genuine camaraderie between us, I still can’t totally read him, and he hasn’t ponied up his intentions. If I can just get him to open up a little bit more…
Time to take a calculated risk.
“How about this,” I say. “Let me take you to the South Side, buy you a beer at this locals-only sports bar that won’t be full of executives on their lunch breaks. What better way to keep this conversation going than by tipping back a pint and getting some Chicago deep-dish?”
He regards me for a moment and I have a twinge of discomfort that I’ve pushed too far. If I screw this up, Stefan will never let me forget it.
“You know what? I’m gonna take you up on that. This city has the best pizza in the country, and I skipped lunch.” Guy checks his watch. “Now good for you?”
“It’s always a good time for me.”
We rise and he slaps me on the shoulder. Brooklyn would be losing her mind right now if she knew who I was schmoozing. As I walk to the bank of elevators with Guy, I send my wife a quick text, knowing full well how happy she’ll be.
Taking the campaign head for Maxilene out for a drink.
Almost immediately, I get back a series of astonished face emojis, followed by a paragraph’s worth of pink hearts. I grin.
I’m pitching you, I text.Keep those fingers crossed.