Jai's Pov
I stepped into Lute's office, the sleek, modern decor enveloped me like a cocoon. The stunning view of the city skyline seemed to stretch on forever, a canvas of twinkling lights and steel skyscrapers.
Lute's gaze met mine, and I felt a wave of nervousness.
"Good morning, Sir," I said, trying to sound confident. "Thank you for taking the time to meet with me today."
"Hmmm," Lute replied, rolling his eyes afterwards. "I'm looking forward to hearing your ideas for the summer marketing campaign. What do you have for me?"
"Well, I was thinking we could focus on social media and influencer partnerships," I began, pulling out my notes. "We've seen a lot of success with Instagram and Facebook in the past, and I think we can really capitalize on that this summer."
"Go on," Lute said, leaning forward in his chair. "But what specific strategies did you have in mind? What kind of content do you think we should be creating, and how do we plan to engage with our target audience?"
"I was thinking we could create a series of videos showcasing our product in action," I replied. "We could partner with some popular influencers in our niche to help spread the word and reach a wider audience."
"That sounds like a solid plan," Lute said, nodding thoughtfully. "But how do you plan to measure the success of the campaign? What metrics will we be tracking, and how will we adjust our strategy mid-campaign if needed?"
"I was thinking we could track engagement metrics like likes, comments, and shares," I said. "We could also monitor our website traffic and sales to see if the campaign is driving conversions. And if needed, we can adjust our strategy by shifting our focus to different platforms or trying out new content types."
Lute nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. "That's a good idea. But how do you plan to differentiate ourselves from the competition? We can't just throw money at influencers and expect results."
"I agree," I said, launching into a detailed explanation of my strategy. "I was thinking we could partner with influencers who align with our brand values, and have them create content that showcases our product in a more organic way. We could also offer exclusive promotions to their followers to drive engagement and sales."
Lute leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. "I like that idea. What kind of influencers were you thinking of targeting?"
"Well, I was thinking a mix of lifestyle and entertainment influencers," I said, pulling up some examples on my laptop. "Someone like Daphnie-X could showcase our product in a stylish and aspirational way, while Trent-entertainmentHub could highlight our product's entertainment value."
Lute nodded, making a note on his own laptop. "Okay, I think that's a good starting point. What about budget? How much do you think we'll need to allocate for this campaign?"
I smiled, confident in my numbers. "I've crunched the numbers, and I think we can achieve our goals with a budget of $1000,000. That would give us enough to partner with a few high-profile influencers, as well as some smaller ones who can help us reach a wider audience."
Lute leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Alright, I think that's doable. Let's move forward with the campaign, and see if we can make it happen."
"Is it approved?" I asked, my voice tinged with excitement and a sense of achievement fluttering in my chest. I couldn't help but feel pride swelling within me after putting so much effort into this.
Lute nodded slowly, but there was something in his expression—something that told me he was genuinely impressed. He rolled up his sleeves, crossed his arms, and fixed a steady, intense gaze on me. For a moment, I felt a nervous thrill run through me as I met his eyes, trying to gauge what was going through his mind.
"Can I go now?" I asked, quickly gathering my work files and shifting my weight nervously from one foot to the other, deliberately avoiding his scrutinizing glare.
Soo…" His voice hesitated as his gaze lingered on me, the corners of his mouth curling into a subtle, knowing smile. He seemed to be weighing his words, building a pause that made the moment feel charged with unspoken tension.
Then, softly but with a hint of admiration, he said, "You know, you're pretty cute."
I froze. The air around us suddenly felt thicker, my cheeks flushing as I processed his words. For a moment, I didn't know how to respond—caught off guard by the unexpectedly sincere compliment, unsure whether to feel flattered or shy.
"Sir," I managed to say, my heart fluttering nervously. A strange mixture of excitement and discomfort swelled inside me, and I couldn't quite shake the uneasy feeling about where this was headed or whom I was receiving attention from.
"Why are you so pretty?" Lute said softly, walking closer to me. His voice was calm, almost too calm, yet there was an undeniable intensity in his gaze.
"You don't like compliments?" he continued, inching dangerously close now, his presence overwhelming. I took a small step back, feeling the tension rise between us.
"Sir, you're being unprofessional right now," I said, trying to laugh it off, masking my nervousness with a forced chuckle. But Lute wasn't buying it. His eyes lingered on me, neither amused nor dismissive—just unwavering and intense, as if he was deliberately testing my boundaries.
I knew this wasn't just a casual exchange anymore. The air was thick with unspoken words and rising tension, and I wondered how much longer I could keep my composure before things took a unexpected turn.
He cupped my cheeks gently and looked into my eyes, as if searching for answers, a reaction, anything.
"But I like you," he whispered softly into my ear. "From the moment I saw you at the restaurant."
A scoff escaped my lips as I pushed him away, memories flooding back of that very day's events. My voice trembled, shaky and unsteady, but I held my ground.
"I know what you want," I said firmly. "To get into my skirt. And that's never going to happen."
My stance was unwavering despite the trembling in my voice, a mix of defiance and resolve in the face of his proximity and intentions.
"Fine," he said, his voice flat, completely devoid of emotion. "What do you want? Money, luxury? Just name it."
I couldn't help but notice the cold, detached tone as he spoke—like I was nothing more than a transaction.
"In exchange... to be my mistress," he finished, his words hanging in the air.
I gave a low, almost dismissive laugh. "Of course. I was right all along," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "You know what?" I arched an eyebrow, snapping my fingers right in front of his face with a quick motion. "Why don't you leave me alone and go find someone your own age?"
He tilted his head slightly, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "So it's about the age, huh?" He raised an eyebrow in return, but I saw the flicker of hurt behind his eyes.
I shrugged, rolling my eyes dramatically. "Yes. It is."
There was a brief pause as he released his grip on my face, his fingers lingering in the air before he shoved his hands into his side pockets. A frustrated tsk escaped his lips, and he began rubbing his temple, clearly trying to mask the frustration creeping up on him.
"You're impossible," he muttered under his breath, though there was a hint of something softer behind his words—something I wasn't sure I was ready to face.
"Get out," his voice cut through the air, cold and commanding, leaving no room for argument.
"I... I... don't—" I stammered, trying to defend myself, but my words only seemed to irritate him more.
"Get out!" he barked, his tone sharp, making me flinch. His anger was palpable, and I could feel it thickening in the room, suffocating me. Without thinking, I scrambled toward the door, desperate to escape before things got worse.
But just as my hand touched the doorknob, the door slammed open with force. My heart skipped a beat as I turned to see a new figure standing in the doorway. A brunette woman, her face still obscured by shadows, but I could tell she was someone important. Her presence was immediately overwhelming. The sharp clicking of her heels echoed against the floor, punctuating the tension in the room with every step.
"Hey, are you okay?" she asked, her voice soft and sweet—so sweet, in fact, that it almost felt unreal. It was the kind of voice you didn't hear every day, the kind that made everything around it feel more delicate. She wasn't talking to me, though. Her attention was fixed entirely on him.