Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
I picked up my wineglass to hide a smile. “No doubt, but I don’t need help with baking. Just marketing ideas.”
He inhaled deeply. “Fine. Listen, I can tell you’re not sold on fairy cakes, so I propose a soft launch. Try the DIY option for a week and see what your customers think. Who handles your newsletter?”
“Uh…I don’t know if I have one, but—”
“You do. I joined it when I found your website. I take it you don’t send out monthly updates. Does anyone on your staff do that for you?” he asked, looking genuinely concerned that the answer might be no.
“No.”
Theo sighed theatrically. “Okay. I can help there too. It’s a vital tool for growing your customer base. Having a pop-up is nice, but you need to let your fans know you’re there and that you have something fun in the works.”
“Like fairy cakes.”
“Yep,” he chirped, unfazed by my grumpy stare. “I’ll need a tour of your shop, and for you to tell me a few things about yourself and your baking that might be of interest to your fans.”
“You mean customers,” I corrected, idly spearing lettuce.
“No, I mean fans. Change your vernacular. Think of yourself as a rock-star baker. You want to create a brand people remember, and that starts with you.” He pointed his finger at me before diving into his salad with gusto.
I studied him curiously. “You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”
“I do,” he replied. He finished chewing and continued, “I have a master’s degree in sales and marketing from Stanford and worked for The DeMarco Palladin Agency for eight years. I don’t like to brag, but I was responsible for the ‘get the dirt out’ ad campaign for a certain well-known detergent. They ran my ad during the Super Bowl and for a year or so afterward.”
Theo resumed eating while I raked lettuce around my plate, mentally searching my internal data bank.
“Seriously? I remember seeing that commercial when I visited my folks. That’s the one with the cute little pigs running through sheets on a clothesline, right?” I returned his nod and grinned. “That was big-time, dude.”
“It was,” he agreed.
“And funny as hell.”
He dragged a piece of bread through the dressing on his plate and chomped into it. “Thank you.”
I squinted, hoping the effort might help me understand him. It didn’t. He looked uncomfortable, as if he regretted sharing that slice of himself. Which was odd since it was cool as fuck. Way cooler than fairy cakes.
“Your career must have taken off like a firecracker.”
“It did.” More chomping.
I gave him a taste of his own medicine and grasped his wrist but didn’t let go when he met my gaze. “Why would you walk away from that?”
He glanced at my hand until I moved it, then picked up his napkin and dabbed his mouth…slowly. “I didn’t appreciate being overlooked for projects and not getting credit for my work. I was responsible for some of the biggest and most successful campaigns my firm had ever been involved in, but they seemed to forget about me when new projects came up.”
“That’s stupid. Why would they do that?”
Theo pushed his plate toward the center of the table and shrugged. “I didn’t fit the mold. They wanted hip, sporty marketing agents interacting with their Fortune 500 clients. Maybe that made sense for the sporting goods ad, but not the yogurt one. And certainly not the winery campaign.”
“Am I missing something?” I scowled, indignant on his behalf. “What’s ‘the mold’? I mean, c’mon…making money is every corporation’s goal. There’s no benefit in keeping their most talented agent out of the mix.”
“It’s simple, Scott. I don’t know how to schmooze clients over three-thousand-dollar dinners, I fall asleep during sporting events, I’m a nervous talker…take your pick. My direct supervisor assured me I could make a great impact behind the scenes but failed to mention that someone else would get credit for my work. And make more money than me.” He balled his fingers into a fist and glanced away briefly. “It was disheartening. I didn’t know how to defend myself and I ended up hating something I used to love. I interviewed elsewhere, but honestly, I just wanted out.”
“I’m sorry. That sucks.”
His lips curled on one side. “Thanks. It’s in the past now. I took online classes and studied my butt off to get my CPA license. I’m changing direction and turning things around. It’s for the best.”
“It still doesn’t seem right. You’re obviously knowledgeable—”
“I am,” he intercepted. “So you should take me up on my offer to help you boost sales and put you on the right track for the new year.”
With fairy cakes, for fuck’s sake.
It wouldn’t kill me to try something different, and it was only a week.
A week of Theo. Hell, maybe a month of Theo. I liked that idea quite a bit.