One Bossy Offer (22)

Don’t realtors usually plaster their names and pictures all over everything?

Of course, I’m not ready to sell out to anyone, but if I have to, I should keep my options open. Never mind the ridiculous agreement I made with my boss...

So I tuck the letter in the front pocket of my purse for safekeeping, away from the junk mail.

Staging Pints at the Pinnacle takes most of the day once I arrive.

By the time we’ve got it done, the tavern opens for the evening crowd.

“Jenn, how’s this?” Sarah asks, a cheerful but shy blonde with a good eye for detail.

I lean over her laptop to see what she’s showing me. It’s a picture of the bar with the caption 'Drink to tomorrow!'

“There isn’t anything wrong with it, per se, but it looks more like the cover of Good Housekeeping than an Insta image. And photo slideshows don’t perform as well on TikTok.”

Her face falls. “I can do it better. No problem.”

Ouch.

I hate that she takes it personally.

“It’s not that I don’t like it. It just needs a few tweaks before—”

“What makes a solid Instagram image?” she cuts in.

I have to think for a minute. “Well, you’re thinking like a magazine, right? The cover has story teasers, page numbers, and photo credits all over it.”

She nods.

“With these platforms, the image is the story. You want to bring your viewer right into the scene and let them imagine what it’d be like to be here. But Dracula—” Whoops. I didn’t mean to call him that to her face. “Cromwell, I mean—”

“You call him Dracula?” Her face scrunches up with a smile. “Right on.”

“If the glove fits... Anyway, I think Cromwell wants us to focus on TikTok and Reels first. How’s the video coming?”

“I’ll check with Dave before I dive back in and let you know.” She holds up her phone sheepishly. “I got a few good shots of some drinks.”

I grab it for a closer look and nod.

Her casual photo set shows off glistening amber and moody dark beers mingling with classy cocktails. It’s not half-bad.

“Pretty decent. We can definitely use these on the website and foodie posts for the ’gram.” I smile and pass her phone back, loving how her face glows red. “Realistically, we probably won’t get great pics until more customers start coming in and ordering to make the tavern look busy. I want to go for a travel slash food mashup.”

“Mashup?”

“They’re all over TikTok. Can I show you?”

She nods and slides her laptop closer.

I pull up my account and show her my favorite travel shorts. They’re under thirty seconds, brief scenes with simple transitions showing heavenly scenery and drool-worthy food set to punchy background music.

“See? The destinations are breathtaking, but the grub steals the show. Together, they make you want to hop on a plane and bring your appetite. That’s the vibe we need.”

“Good thinking!” Sarah looks up with bright eyes like it all clicks in her head.

I’m suddenly excited to turn her loose with a camera later.

Then I feel eyes on my back.

I’m almost certain I know who’s ruining the mood even before I turn.

Holding in a sigh, I glance over my shoulder.

Sure enough, Dracula sits at a table tucked in the back corner, scowly as ever with a gaze razoring through me.

He takes a slow pull off a dark beer and sets it down, his eyes unwavering.

God.

Did he have to practice the whole intimidation look or was he born with it?

Before I can turn my head and pretend to ignore him, he’s up and stalking toward me.

He stops beside me without saying a word.

It takes every ounce of willpower to flash him a cheery smile.

“Right on time to micromanage me?”

“I just came for a beer, Miss Landers. Sampling the food for myself seems like the best way to make sure this marketing lives up to its hype. Managing you is Dave’s job.”

“Really?” My eyes flick to the other side of the bar where Smokey Dave leans against the counter, pounding back a craft beer between loud laughs with a waitress. I smile up at Cromwell. “You might want to rethink that. His videos are awesome, but I’m not sure he’s manager material.”

Dracula follows my gaze, his brow pulling down in grudging agreement.

“Also, if the goods don’t live up to their hype, that’s not on me. I don’t make the beer or the corned beef-cheddar ale tots.”

“No argument here. You can retract your claws,” he growls.

He’s still on that kitten thing?

Sigh.

And when did it get so hard to peel my gaze off him? There’s just something about him looking down at me like Zeus with lightning in his eyes.

For the faintest second, I have a terrible image of being on my knees.

“What argument? That’s against the rules at Murphy’s,” a happy male voice says behind me.

My eyes finally snap past the vampire.

Oh, no.

Ace steps forward and not so subtly tries to crowd out Cromwell. I turn toward him with my face on fire.

“Oh, hi! I was just telling him I don’t make the beer. I just have to make it look pretty for the tourists...”