6. Terms and Conditions
6
TERMS AND CONDITIONS
SOPHIE
I smoothed the front of my navy blue dress, trying for an ultra-professional look, as I walked into Buchanan Ventures’ conference room. Armed with my laptop and mock-ups of the new Holly Creek Hops’ Hoppy Jolly Christmas cans, I had enough energy drinks in my bloodstream to power a small town.
Richard greeted me with a friendly nod from his spot at the head of the table, reviewing a thick portfolio of documents and speaking on his phone to someone.
Keaton sat slouched in a chair halfway down, flipping a bottle cap between his fingers like he was minutes away from bolting.
“Hey, you made it,” I said, settling into the chair across from him.
“Barely,” he muttered. Earlier today, he’d given me the excuse that he wasn’t sure he could make time for me. All week long, he’d been standoffish. Granted, Holly Creek was getting busier as July Fourth neared, and while a part of me wondered what happened between us for this change, another part welcomed it. It made it easier not to fall for him if he was a dick.
“Long week?”
He gave a humorless laugh. “You could say that.”
Before I could poke more, Richard closed his folder, set down his phone, and looked up. “I’m ready to see what you’ve been working on, Sophie. Have at it.”
“Absolutely.” I beamed and clicked my laptop awake. “I’ve finalized the Hoppy Holiday launch campaign for Hops—full integration with the brand refresh, the new can and label artwork, plus a launch party event to kick it all off on the Fourth of July. Perfect timing with Holly Creek’s summer festivities.”
Keaton straightened a little at that, seeming curious despite himself.
I pulled up the mock-ups on the screen. Vibrant, fun designs that still kept the rugged authenticity of Holly Creek Hops, just… more polished. Elevating what was already special without losing the roots.
“The launch party would start here in town with a VIP tasting night at the Hops,” I said, flipping through slides. “Then we roll out ads regionally across social media featuring the new cans and a behind-the-scenes video of you, Keaton, talking about the brewery’s story, adding that personal and authentic touch.”
Keaton grunted in a way that could’ve been marked as his approval. Or indigestion. Hard to tell.
Then his phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen, jaw tightening. Without a word, he hit decline and shoved it back in his pocket.
I kept presenting, highlighting projected growth, engagement metrics, all the marketing stuff that usually got clients excited.
A minute later, his phone buzzed again.
This time, he cursed under his breath.
Richard arched an eyebrow but said nothing.
“Do you need to take that? If it’s more important than this, I can wait,” I insinuated sweetly, masking my irritation.
“It’s nothing.”
I took that as translation for: It’s something.
We pushed through another few slides, talking about promotional tie-ins with the Holly Creek Christmas in July events, where Hops would sponsor. This town treated Christmas in July like the Olympics. Tourists, music festivals, pop-up shops, fake snow—it was about to get crazy, and I wanted Holly Creek Hops plastered on every cup and selfie backdrop in a fifty-mile radius.
Keaton’s phone buzzed again, and he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “For fuck’s sake.”
That was it.
“Take the damn call,” I snapped, slamming my clicker down. “We’ll wait.”
Richard coughed into his hand, either to hide a laugh or to emphasize my irritation.
Keaton stood, giving me a dark look that did things to my spine it really shouldn’t have, and stalked into the hallway.
I folded my arms and tapped my foot, seething.
“He’s a little wound up,” Richard said mildly.
“Think so?”
Richard chuckled and excused himself, saying something about checking with his team about another meeting. Which left me alone to stew—and to overhear.
The conference room door was slightly ajar. And Keaton wasn’t exactly whispering.
“No,” he growled. “I’m not flying to Vegas in August. It’s a hundred and ten degrees there in the shade. I don’t want to be paraded around for some reality TV reunion bullshit.”
Vegas? Reality TV?
I tilted my head, straining to hear more.
“No, I’m not bringing a plus one,” he snapped. “Because I’m not going!”
Pause. More grumbling.
“No,” he said again, agonizingly slower this time, like he was arguing with a toddler. “I’m not showing up just so Starla can stir up drama and get more podcast listeners.”
Ah. There it was.
I sat back, connecting the dots. Brewed for Love. The reality show previews had already hit the airwaves. From what I could gather, there was to be a wedding for the winning couple, including a reunion event, which to my marketing ears meant cameras and potential exposure for Keaton and his business.
And here he was, about to blow it off?
I interrupted, opening the door. “Keaton, I need you. Can you tell whoever it is you’ll call them back?” I implored and figured this would not only give him an excuse to get off the line, but time for me to knock some sense into him.
He followed me back into the room and looked about ready to punch a wall.
“Problem?” I asked innocently.
He didn’t answer, just dropped into his chair and stared at the table like it had personally betrayed him.
“You should do Vegas,” I encouraged.
His eyes snapped to mine. That got his attention. “You were listening in?” He glared like I’d grown an extra head.
“Hard not to, with the door open, and you weren’t exactly quiet.” I leaned forward, both palms flat on the table, which was cool from the air conditioning. Softly, I said, “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
With a heavy sigh, he launched into it, sharing all about the weekend in August he wanted nothing to do with. He added how he’d emailed his lawyers today to see how he could get out of the contract altogether.
I couldn’t let him pass this up. “Look, I understand how you feel, but think about it before you write it off. You’ll be surrounded by press, cameras, and influencers. If you show up looking like the badass brewery owner you are, it’ll boost the brand visibility. Ride the wave, Keaton. Use the fame.”
“I don’t want to use the fame,” he bit out. “I just want to brew beer and run my business.”
“And you can,” I said calmly. “But it’d be bad to waste an opportunity like this. Reality TV alums boost their careers all the time—book deals, brand endorsements, product launches. This is how you stay relevant.”
“Do I look like a man who cares about being relevant?”
“You should,” I shot back. “If you want Holly Creek Hops to grow beyond this town, you need to think bigger. And this is big.”
He opened his mouth, ready to argue, when Richard returned.
“What’s all the commotion?”
“Keaton’s being stubborn,” I said sweetly.
Richard looked between us, amused. “Tell me.”
Keaton scowled. “She thinks I should go to Vegas to whore myself out for publicity.”
“ Leverage your exposure,” I corrected. “Huge difference.” I continued to fill Richard in on the situation since Keaton offered few details.
Richard chuckled and sat down. “Well, she’s not wrong. If you play your cards right in Vegas, figuratively, your growth will spike and the national distributors will notice. They’ll come begging on their knees to distribute your brews.”
Keaton shot him a betrayed look. But after a few beats, he dropped his shoulders. He got up and sauntered with hands on hips to the slide show on the wall showing off all my work.
“Fine. You want me to go that bad?” He turned on me, eyes suddenly gleaming as if holding a tempting challenge. “You’re coming with me, Sophie. You’ll be my plus one. My date to the wedding.”
I blinked. Then blinked again. I had to remind myself that he meant professionally, and not actually taking this fan girl on a date. “Uh… what? Why?”
“Because I’m not going alone, and I sure as hell am not going to be with Starla again,” he put it bluntly. “That’s been her, calling me nonstop, begging to be my date. Then she got Melanie, the producer, involved, so she called and begged me, too. It’s a giant mess I don’t want to be in the middle of.”
I launched out of my seat and faced off with him. “You want me to be your fake date?”
“Yeah. Here you are saying we need to leverage this to our advantage. Who better than the marketing expert herself?”
Richard laughed again, clearly enjoying this.
I narrowed my eyes. “Dating isn’t on the menu of my offerings when I consult with a client.”
“Consider it an emergency assignment.”
I stared at him, weighing the options.
On one hand, traveling with Keaton could be a nightmare—to my quivering loins and heart and fantasies of being his date.
On the other hand… it could be very, very good for his business. And for my career. Being known as the brains behind his campaign to launch nationwide could take me to the next level. This was the opportunity I’d been waiting for.
But it all came wrapped in a sexy package named Keaton, and all the temptation it implied. More than a trip to Vegas, it would mean proximity to a man I considered dangerously attractive and held a crush for since his TV show aired. I would be pretending, starring in a role I might want too badly to believe was real.
Personally, it could prove too much. Professionally, this could be my shot.
I chewed my cheek a minute more weighing it out. “Fine,” I agreed at last. “I’ll go.”
“Good.”
We stared at each other.
“Good.” I bit my lip. His eyes zeroed in right there.
Richard cleared his throat and gathered his things, chortling once more. “I’m all for it. Whatever gets the job done. Although I expect you both can be professionals about it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you two to plan your strategy. I have fresh straw arriving any minute for my new cows. Don’t judge me.” With a wink, he exited the room, a little too excited about that.
I waited until he was gone to lash out at Keaton. “Are you nuts? Us, together, pretending to be dates?”
“What could go wrong?” He shrugged, his lips twitching.
“Everything. First of all, we’d be spending a whole lot of time together.”
“So? You’re already invading my space at the brewery as it is,” he pointed out.
“Invading? Is that your issue lately? You want to see less of me? Because I could easily work from here or the guest house and not step foot in your place.” I crossed my arms and arched a brow, waiting for his response.
“I didn’t say that. Don’t mind having you around at all.”
“Then why the grumpy face all week?”
He stepped away on a huff, scratching the back of his head. “It’s this whole business with Starla and the show, that’s all.”
I felt for him. He was too nice of a guy to have gotten paired up with the likes of her at the start of the show. “I never understood what appealed to you about her back then, anyway? Is that the type of woman you go for? Fake breasts and frosted hair?” Oof, I needed to dial back my jealousy.
He arched a brow at me at first, then shook his head, taking a moment to answer like he was self-analyzing. “I don’t know. She was super nice to me when I arrived, and then… one thing led to another. By the time I realized she possessed a rather devious personality, it was too late. We were paired up.”
I bristled at one-thing-led-to-another. With the editing on the show, the producers made it appear as though he and Starla slept together almost the first night, a fast-paced affair. I bit my tongue not to ask for the truth—and I had no right to be jealous.
Except if I were his fake date, I’d want to know what I was walking into here. “Starla’s going to hate me if she sees me by your side, won’t she? I don’t relish being the focus of her drama.”
“Starla doesn’t matter. Besides, there are plenty of other couples she could mess with, and I won’t let anything bad happen to you. You’re safe with me.”
“Safe unless… one thing leads to another ,” I implied. His lips twitched at that. “We’ll need rules to survive that weekend together.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” He nodded, but before we could hash anything out, his phone buzzed again. He sighed and glanced at it, reading a message. “It’s Jessa. She needs me to get back. Can we hash out our rules of engagement another time?”
“I suppose we have some time before August hits. You might not even like me by then and want to call the whole thing off,” I snickered.
“Highly unlikely.” A crooked smile planted on his face.
“Before you go, can I have Melanie’s phone number? I’d like to see if the producers would be open to some brand placement on the show.”
“Great idea.” He brings up her contact on his phone for me. “Hey, thanks for everything you’ve been working on so far. I am truly impressed.”
“Oh? You’re saying my snooty marketing expertise is making a difference in your business?”
“Fine. I admit you know your stuff, Soph.” He grinned, his eyes twinkling once again as he walked out compared to how he was when this meeting started. What a relief to see.
I could get addicted to those smiling eyes. What was I saying? I already was.