Zero Forks - Cat Johnson Page 0,45
the graphic I’d created, I felt the bed shift. Then there was Boone, in bed next to me.
He leaned closer to my screen, so close that every breath I took brought with it the unique scent of Boone.
I should get up, move this to another area of the room. One that was less bed-filled. But I really did want to show him what I’d done.
And he did seem interested.
I decided to just control my lust and go on with explaining the concept to him since I really did need another opinion. To me, it seemed perfect. But I’d been wrong before. I needed a less subjective opinion than my own.
The truth was, either my boss would like it or he wouldn’t. But it wouldn’t hurt to have another set of eyes on it before I showed it to him.
Those eyes should be Boone’s since it was all thanks to his idea. I’d fleshed it out, developed it, but it was undeniably my chat with Boone that was responsible for the completed campaign in front of me.
He was so much more than just a pretty face and body—and that was the last thing I needed. A hot young guy I would have been able to resist easily—probably—but not one who was apparently a marketing savant.
For a woman like me, who got excited over picking fonts, that might prove irresistible.
I breathed deep and felt that deep down tingle of satisfaction as I admired what I hoped would become the campaign for MOD.
I was riding a high and I needed to share. I angled my computer screen to face him.
He read aloud, “Times have changed. Your entertainment should too. MOD.”
“That’s for a social media post so I kept it short.” I stepped beside him to glance at the picture of a woman in nineteen-twenties garb riding an old-fashioned bicycle. Over it was the few lines of text he’d read in bold, easy to read fonts.
There was another version too, same text but the picture featured a child rapt, watching an old black and white television.
I explained, “The idea here is to just stop the scroll and get them to click.”
He nodded.
I reached for the story board. Luckily my car was more like a storage locker at this point and I had all the supplies I needed to create the presentation without running out to buy anything.
“This is for the commercial.”
“The Super Bowl commercial?” He grinned.
“I can only hope. So we open on a party in the nineteen-twenties. Very Gatsby. The typical clothes, hair and music of the period. A woman walks in with her friends, looks around and says, ‘This place is the bee’s knees.’ Her friends all agree. A young man grabs her hand and they start dancing.
“Cut to modern times. A loud nightclub. The music is deafening. Pounding. Lights flashing. People dancing. One woman says something but the music is so loud the group of women she’s with can’t hear her. So she repeats herself, shouting loudly, ‘This place is the bee’s knees.’ Everyone hears her this time. It stops the dancing. The DJ stops the music with a scratch. Her friends stare at her like she’s crazy. So does everyone in the place.”
Boone grinned.
Encouraged by his reaction, I went on.
“Final scene, we cut to the woman coming home. Her husband is in the kitchen making popcorn. He asks how girls’ night out was. She says it was all right but she’s happy to be home. She says to the television, which is equipped with a MOD device, ‘MOD, I want to watch something set in the nineteen-twenties.’ A list of movies and TV shows appear on screen. She chooses one. He brings over the bowl of popcorn, and they happily snuggle in on the sofa together. The voiceover says, Times change. Shouldn’t your entertainment change too?”
Boone blew out a breath. “Wow.”
I spun to face him head on. “Don’t humor me. I want your honest opinion. What do you think?”
His grin spread wide. “I think it’s forking amazing.”
I laughed, my euphoria bubbling over. “Cuss jar back in play?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Stewie’s in the house. But seriously, you’re going to kick that Jerry’s butt with this presentation. And butt is not a cuss.”
I cocked a brow. “For a three-year old it is. But we’ll debate that later.” I couldn’t control my smile that he really liked my idea. “I can’t wait to get to work tomorrow.”
Boone frowned, looking at me closer. “After a good night’s sleep tonight. You look exhausted.”
I waved away