Chapter 12
PIP
"How are you holding up, Pip?" whispers Kit, sitting beside me in one of the smaller boardrooms I've seen here at Woodward & Co.
Clare, immaculately dressed in one of her smart tweed suits, sits near the head of the table, speaking softly into her phone.
"Surviving," I say, flashing a smile followed by a shrug.
Clare stands as soon as she finishes her call, looking pointedly at her watch.
"Snickers is late," Clare says. "In the name of time, I'll kick this meeting off and?—"
She's interrupted as the boardroom door swings open. Snickers saunters in, all easy confidence and effortless charm.
"...And the prodigal son returns," he announces, dropping into the chair beside me.
I watch, somewhat incredulously, as Snickers kicks his trousered legs onto the gleaming boardroom table.
Such casual disrespect. Such insouciance.
Yet when he turns to me, with an irreverent wink and a grin, I melt. Despite my best intentions.
I quickly turn away.
"We were just getting started," Clare says to Snickers. "And you've arrived at the ‘good part.’ Kit and Pip were helping me brainstorm your ‘meet-cute.’”
“Ah, yes, our meet-cute,” says Snickers, looking directly at me. When his eyes lock with mine, I recall our first kiss. Against my will, the memory ignites exciting tingles all over my body.
“Pip and I met on stage at Rock Center.” He turns to Clare. “Wasn’t that cute enough?”
Clare shakes her head. “When Pip told the cops you were her fiancé that evening, it implied you’ve known one another for some time.
We need to storyboard your very first meeting.
Something magical, on-brand, and relatable for the public.
Our customers are already captivated by what they’re calling ‘the romance that saved Snickers Woodward.’”
“How about the truth?” Snickers sneers. “Pip brazenly kidnapped me from the stage like a star-crazed fan.”
“After you nearly stripped in public,” I snap. “I saved your bacon. Your company’s too.”
“Not quite yet. Time will tell,” says Clare. “You two need to stick to the script. You convince the public that the Woodward & Co CEO, heir to the family dynasty, has found true love.”
“Oh God,” Snickers mutters.
Clare’s perfect smile tightens. “Let’s focus on crafting the narrative our customers want to hear.”
Clare clicks her remote, and the PowerPoint display shifts. “Picture this. A snowy day in Central Park...” As she speaks, an image pops up on the large monitor.
My jaw drops. It’s a super realistic picture of Snickers, resembling a GQ model in his bespoke suit, and me walking in Central Park.
I don’t know how Kit photoshopped this so seamlessly, making it look like we were really in the shot together. Or how she mastered the look of love in Snickers’ eyes as he gazes down at me with tenderness.
But as I study the photo, I realize that despite Snickers’ many flaws, the look in his photoshopped eyes warms my soul.
“From Rockefeller Rebel to Romance: A New York Love Story,” Clare continues, in a dramatic, movie-announcer tone of voice. “Brought to you by Woodward & Co Greeting Card Company.”
She gestures to the screen. “Our customers will follow this whirlwind attraction that began at Central Park and flamed into an unforgettable story tale romance.”
“The hashtag #RebelToRomance is going to explode!” enthuses Kit.
Snickers scowls. “But my rebel days aren’t over yet.”
“For the next three days, they are," Clare says. "What’s with the attitude, Snickers? I was told you’re a willing participant?”
“Reluctant participant,” he says as Clare clicks a new image onto the monitor.
I look up to see a miniature version of Snickers and me standing on top of an oversized wedding cake. Our names are written below, encircled by a heart.
“What’s this 'Pip'? Pollyanna is my name,” I say to Clare. “The name’s also on-brand. If you look it up in any slang dictionary, you’ll see that to call someone ‘a Pollyanna’ it means that person is all ‘sweetness and light.’”
“Perhaps,” says Clare. “But this is a media campaign. And we need a short, snappy name the paparazzi can glom onto.”
“Pip it is,” says Snickers, tossing me a snide look. “And I’d appreciate some recognition of my brilliance in rebranding this pipsqueak here.”
“Rebranding! As if I’m some old-school vinyl record you can remix for one of your Euroflash DJ events.”
“Calm down you two. Let’s get back to the origin story of your meet-cute. Now let’s imagine that Pip was sitting on one of the rocks overlooking the Central Park lake, sketching a layout for one of her vintage outfit ensembles,” says Clare.
“Upcycled vintage pieces,” I add. “As long as we’re crafting this fantasy, it should include the correct terminology.”
“When Snickers saw Pip,” Clare continues, “he was captivated by her artistic soul, her unique vision...”
“Her weird hat,” Snickers adds with a sardonic laugh.
“And then what?” Kit says. “What happens after he sees her sketching?”
“He was so moved by her artistic soul that he wrote her a poem,” Clare says, clicking to the next slide.
“I don’t write poetry,” Snickers sneers.
“You do now,” Clare says. “Because your poem, printed on Woodward & Co’s hallmark vanilla cardstock, will represent the essence of our legacy: Eternal Love.”
“My heart skipped a blip, when I first spotted Pip?" Snickers says in a mimicking voice as he reads the words on the screen. "How sweetly sentimental...”
“Yes. Indeed,” says Clare, walking to the head of the table.
“That sentimental tone is exactly what your family worked to achieve these past two hundred years. It’s what bought you that ten-million-dollar penthouse.
It’s what paid the college educations and mortgages of hundreds of workers over the decades. ”
Clare bends forward to look Snickers in the eye. “And it’s what we need to reclaim if we’re to survive your thoughtless escapade of the other night.”
”But no one will believe I wrote these corny words.”
Kit turns to Snickers with a smile. “Back in your DJ days, your claim to fame was giving ‘old classics’ new life, an updated beat. Try giving the poem your own unique spin.”
Snickers looks me over before turning to Kit. "Something like: 'Remixed my life, played every clip—yet the only song that stuck is the one written for Pip?' Okay. Done. Now show me the venues, Clare."
Clare picks up her remote and flips back through the presentation slides. “Your first visit will be a pet adoption center.”
When I look at the slide, my pulse races with an unexpected surge of interest. The image shows Snickers and me kneeling with an adorable looking puppy gazing up at us. A red box with a ribbon stands to the side. All that’s missing is a Christmas tree for the perfect greeting card moment.
“How original,” says Snickers, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“It is original!” says Clare. “You’re going to adopt a puppy.”
“We don’t have a greeting card for that,” says Snickers.
“Not yet,” says Clare. “But after this incident, if social media goes crazy, we might consider one. Happy Pet Adoption Day.”
“Okay,” says Snickers. “What’s next?”
“I’ll email you the program,” Clare says. “But first, let’s finalize the meet-cute story. We already established that you met in Central Park and?—”
“That doesn’t ring true to me, Clare. I never visit the park. Too many tourists. Too many birds. Too many drones. And I’d never go out of my way to chat up a girl in pin curls wearing a geeked-out thrift store outfit.”
“Classic vintage apparel,” I say, glaring at Snickers. “If you’re to be my dream fiancé, at least try to speak fashionista lingo.”
“You must have met millions of girls in your high-flying DJ days,” Kit says to Snickers in a teasing tone. “From those tabloid stories I’ve read, you had a meet-cute story every day.”
Snickers nods his head. "More like every minute. But I’m uncertain how greeting-card worthy those meetings would be, but sure. Met lots of girls. In all kinds of fun ways.” Snickers leans back in his chair and winks at me.
Clare turns to Snickers. “If a Central Park meet-cute isn’t realistic for you, how do you think you met Pip? Fictionally speaking, of course.”
“How did we meet, Miss Pip?” he says, after giving me a long, lingering look. “It wouldn’t be very realistic for me to pick up a pipsqueak like you in a trendy bar...”
“As if I’d even allow a would-be streaker like you to buy me a drink.”
“I’ve got it!” Kit nearly jumps out of her seat with excitement. “You two met at the Chelsea swap meet. It has stalls filled with the vinyl records Snickers collects for his DJ gigs, and lots of booths with vintage doodads for Pip.”
“Yes. I can see it. The two stalls were next to one another,” says Clare, warming to the idea as she looks at us. “Your eyes met—and it was true love!”
I look at Kit and Clare, two crazy women caught up in their own make-believe drama.
Snickers’ expression suggests he thinks the same thing.
Seeing that I'm looking at him, Snickers favors me with a slow smile.
Then that sexy wink again.
My body pulses with that same delectable electricity as the first time I cast eyes on him.
Why is my body betraying me like this?
Like the singer Shakira sang, “Hips Don't Lie.”
I can't hide the attraction I still feel for Snickers. And even though he's been rude as hell to me since we first clashed in the cafeteria, I sense he's still attracted to me too.
But what's up with him? One minute he's taunting me like a school bully. And the next he's turning me on.
I distract myself by focusing my attention on Clare and Kit, enthusiastically brainstorming our meet-cute.
And it's abundantly clear: Snickers and I are both unwilling pawns in their ridiculous game.
"Since you two ladies are perfectly capable of crafting our origin story, I'll be going now," says Snickers, rising.
"Wait!" says Kit. "You haven't heard my media strategy yet. Give us a minute to finish the details of your story."
As the ladies continue to plot our romance, Snickers abruptly stands and leaves the room.
What does that mean? Is he pulling out of the campaign?
But a moment later, he returns with two steaming Styrofoam cups of black coffee, and a third cup filled with sugar packets.
"Here's some fortification, Sugarfreak. You'll need it to get through this meeting."
I flash a smile of appreciation as my core warms. Snickers remembers.