“What the fu—” I grab her elbow before we enter and whisper in her ear, “Why is everyone here?”
“Because this is huge stuff, Tyler. We’re going over the results of the last eight weeks of this campaign.”
I try to stay along the perimeter of the room with my hat down low, praying nobody notices it’s me. The last thing I need is everyone dissecting the shirtless social media posts and raunchy-ass comments from horned-up women online.
“There’s the stud muffin!”
“Oooh-weee!”
Wishful fucking thinking.
While I’m incredibly proud of Brooklyn as she walks through the results of the first several weeks of the social media campaign, it’s also like watching my nightmare unfold in real time. She clicks through a few images and I quickly avert my eyes, pulling the brim of my hat down a little lower to avoid anyone’s eye contact.
“Here are some examples of the kind of posts we’ve been using, and you can see here . . .” She points with a laser at the hearts and comments at the bottom of the photo.
“Wow, that’s a lot of likes and comments,” someone says, and I can’t help but lift my eyes and look at the photo of myself on the massive screen at the front of the room.
It’s one of the photos Brooklyn took on her phone. I’m walking in the meadow by the lookout, leading Misty by her reins. My head is tilted down and the sun streams across the photo like it’s been edited, but it hasn’t.
I stare at the photo then glance to where Brooklyn is speaking. Her eyes are lit up as she talks about the success of her efforts. She’s not bragging or cocky—she’s confident, proud, and happy. I feel my stomach flutter as I watch her in her element.
Then I look down at the numbers at the bottom of the picture. I squint my eyes to make sure I’m seeing it correctly: 14,567 likes, 782 comments. She’s fucking amazing at this. Guilt instantly creeps in when I remember all the times I belittled social media and her job.
“Miss Dyer, I think I speak for all of us when I say how impressed we are with what you’ve done in just a few short months here at Slade. I don’t know much about social media, but I do know that if all the likes and clicks and such don’t translate to sales, it’s not worth much . . . but seeing as how we’re already up 15% from last quarter because of these efforts, it’s impressive.”
Pretty sure that’s the most I’ve ever heard my father speak in one of these meetings, and he’s not done yet.
“We—and I do mean all of us—hope that you plan to stay on with us for a long time. Maybe grow your team here at Slade and help us take over the industry.” He gives her his smirk of approval. “Hopefully Colorado has been as warm and welcoming to you as you’ve been to us.” I see his eyes look casually over to me as he readjusts himself in his seat.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Slade. Truly, that means so much, especially coming from you. I can’t thank you all enough for giving me this opportunity.” Her eyes travel around the room slowly before she settles them on me.
“And, yes, Colorado has been amazing and wonderful, and honestly, more than I could have hoped for. I’d even go so far as to say that I—” she hesitates, as her eyes look down at her hands then back up at me, “I’m in love with it.”