Rugged(28)

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. Too bad it won’t do you any good. Are you ready for me to own your perky little ass?” he asks, popping a Tic Tac. He doesn’t even glance at Flint. “I think it’s so cute that you took this whole pitch thing seriously.”

Cute. Oh, classic Tyler. I notice Flint straightening up. He towers over the little *. Tyler seems to notice this, because he steps back. He takes Flint in, and I see the uneasiness register.

“What’s cute, Tyler, will be the look on your face after I’m done running roughshod over your shitty ideas.” I mock-ponder, tapping a finger against my chin. “Let me think. Did you decide to go with the elegant simplicity of the underage boob job idea? Or will you reach for the stars? Maybe inside the down and dirty world of Beverly Hills nannies and the over-privileged *s who use them for sex. You’ve got experience there.” I try to shove past him, but he stands in my way.

“Don’t give yourself airs, Young. I’ve banged girls who are a lot hotter than you. It’s not that hard,” he snaps, the ‘cool dude’ fa?ade dropping to display what an ugly little bastard he truly is. My ears buzz, and I’m about to tell him off when Flint steps into him.

“You need to be careful about the kinds of things you say in public,” Flint says. It’s basically a growl. “Someone might think that you meant them.”

“Yeah? What if I did, man?” Tyler tries to sound casual, but his voice goes up an octave. Flint leans down, enjoying watching Tyler squirm.

“Then someone would have to escort your spray-tanned ass outside to have a very frank discussion about attitudes toward women in the workplace. And afterwards, someone would have to drive said spray-tanned ass to the hospital, and someone doesn’t have time for that right now. Besides, blood is bad for the car upholstery. Understand?”

That stops Tyler cold. He goes so pale that his tan turns a weird orange-rind color. “Well. Don’t think you’re walking out with this, Young,” Tyler mumbles. He pops another Tic Tac and nearly runs away. Jackass.

“Thanks for backing me up,” I say. Flint shrugs.

“I know you didn’t need it; God knows you can handle him on your own. But I didn’t think it was right to stand by.” My heart beats faster as he grins at me. “So. Lead on to the big meeting.”

Mr. Davis is sitting at the head of the conference table, flanked on either side by glasses-wearing yes men. They look at him, then at me, then at him, probably trying to read the acceptable level of douchey behavior they can get away with.

“All right, Ms. Young. Let’s see what you’ve got,” Davis says, leaning back in his chair. I stand up, forcing myself not to smooth my skirt. Flint watches me.

“Reel World does an expert job of catering to the male gaze,” I say, giving them a big smile. If by ‘expert’ we mean sleazy, then we are the most expert around. “But it’s time to expand our demographic. More women watch reality television than men—fact. But to get a show that brings in both women and men, well, that’s the big dream. The ratings juggernaut.”

Davis nods. I’m not sure if it’s encouraging or not, but I proceed.

“Rustic Renovations will follow Flint McKay as he plans and builds an enchanted woodsy retreat high in the Berkshires of Massachusetts. The spectacular vistas bring in the people hungry for beauty. The hands-on, innovative design and construction will attract do it yourselfers and Architectural Digest subscribers alike. And the hunk factor will appeal to all young women looking for something sexy but substantive on television.” I manage to keep myself from blushing as I say it. Flint doesn’t respond. The yes men look from him to me to Davis. Their heads snap back and forth so fast I’m afraid they’ll break off and fall to the floor, still spinning around.

With that introduction, I gesture to the screen behind me, pressing play.

I’m just gonna go ahead and say it: our sizzle reel f*cking rocks. Even without the gratuitous views of Flint’s biceps and Berkshire sunsets, it’s compelling, genuinely interesting—no celebrity scandals or outrageous sex necessary. Take that, Tyler. When the video ends, I lift my chin and say, “In short, it has major crossover appeal. And, in a company inundated with celebrity boob shows, it stands out in a big way.”

There. I lobbed the ball, and Davis connects with it. He nods even more; hopefully, it’s a sign of enthusiasm.

But then, right on cue, Tyler comes to rain on my parade. “Like, this is all very nice if we’re watching the best of public access,” he sneers. I suppress a sigh. Tyler and I are the last pitches of the afternoon, and since they’re running us back to back we’re both in the room. What a lucky, lucky jackass I am. Davis doesn’t respond to Tyler’s outburst, and he glances at the yes men for a nice, juicy yes. “But what about the sex factor? Is he gonna be banging hotties in the back of his trailer? Are there even any hot women in western Mass, or is it just moustaches and cankles?” Wow, Tyler has brought the * brigade out for some fun. He knows Flint can’t touch him in here. Tyler grins while Flint sits staring at him. No reaction. Just staring.

“There is no ‘hottie banging’ on this show,” I say, keeping my voice level. I will kill Tyler.

“Great. Then it’s all the stuff America doesn’t want to see,” he smarms. The yes men are looking at each other with discomfort now. Davis still says nothing.