As for me, I throw back my head and laugh until there are tears in my eyes.
I put my arm around her shoulders, anchoring her to my side. “This is exactly what I’ve been feeling. The question is why? I am a fun guy, no?”
All motion behind us stops. I’m sure all of the Mirage employees are glaring at her but Casey squares her shoulder and looks me right in the eyes.
“Barbecues and basketball games are fun. You are not fun. You’re too sophisticated for such a simplistic word and that’s why this advertisement doesn’t work. I just don’t see you as a wild, crazy guy going out on the party scene.”
I eye the picture again. “You’re right. For example, I couldn’t see myself in that room with those people.”
“Exactly.” Casey points at the outfit the model is wearing. “I also can’t see you wearing that so casually. You’re just not a casual sort of man. This needs to be more elegant, more refined. The type of party where they serve champagne instead of beer.”
“Like Saturday night, hmm?” I keep my voice low so the others don’t hear.
Casey narrows her eyes and whispers, “Do not tease me about that. It should have never happened.”
There’s a sharp, pointed sound of someone clearing a throat. She peeks over her shoulder and then bites her lip. “It’s just my opinion. Like I said, I don’t know anything about advertising.”
I decide to put her out of her misery. “We’ve made good progress today. Let’s reconvene in one week’s time.”
The room immediately erupts into sound. Milo and Mya launch into a barrage of questions. James looks like he needs an antacid.
Surprisingly, in the midst of all the chaos, James’s assistant, Anya is the one who takes control. “So, we’re meeting next week again? What day will you be flying in?” She grips a small yellow legal pad, hand poised to jot down the date.
My eyes cut over to Casey quickly. “I won’t be flying in.”
All the air in the room seems to dry up as I hold her gaze. She shakes her head slightly. “Oh no,” she whispers.
“I don’t plan on going back to Italy until this is resolved.” With that bombshell, I lean over to Casey and whisper, “I’m picking you up after work. Meet me outside or I’m coming in to get you.”
The minute hand on my watch has barely passed five o’clock when the doors to the Madison building fly open and Casey comes storming out. Her eyes roam over everyone walking past before they land on me. The look on her face can only be described as rage.
Someone is definitely not happy to see me.
“What was that up there?”
I shake my head. “Somehow I don’t think you really want to have this conversation in front of your building. Come on.”
She follows as I lead her down the sidewalk, her legs working double time to keep up. “Where are we going?”
I don’t respond other than to take her arm and guide her around the corner to a small café I found while waiting for her. It’s a cute little French place with a green and white striped awning.
She looks around with interest. “I’ve seen this place before but never had time to stop.”
“Well, today we are making time.” I hold out a chair for her at one of the small wrought iron tables. “I’m in the mood for beignets.”
“I’ve had those before. Anya brings them to work sometimes.”
A waitress appears then, smiling flirtatiously before asking what we’d like to drink. Casey rolls her eyes as the simpering blonde writes down our order with a series of unnecessary hair flips.
Once she’s gone, Casey slumps back in her chair. “I’m sure your cup of coffee will come with her phone number scrawled across the bottom.”
I shrug. “And it will end up in the trash. She's not my type.”
“Yeah I’ve seen your type. Your Instagram page is fascinating.”
“It should be. I pay a whole team of people to make it that way.”
She looks away. “So, you’re saying that’s not accurate? You don’t really spend all your time lounging on yachts feeding grapes to supermodels?”