That kicked Amery’s memory. Her mother had mentioned getting a phone call pertaining to Amery’s personal and professional life that same week. That pissed her off. She’d made an insurance claim one time and the company questioned her integrity? Behind her back? Harassing her coworker, her office mates, and her mother?
“I’m sure it’s just standard procedure,” Molly said diplomatically. “Especially since the cops were involved.”
“Maybe you’re right.” But something about it didn’t sit well with her.
“So, who called that made you bring this up with me?”
“Doesn’t matter now.” Although Molly would eventually work on the Okada project if Amery landed it, and she’d already signed nondisclosure agreements with Hardwick Designs, Amery didn’t want to discuss the potential project because she didn’t want to jinx it. “Who were you talking to?”
“Nancy at Grass Roots. They’re having some kind of members-only sale in three days. And she’s sorry for the late notice . . .”
Par for the course with Nancy, so Amery didn’t even blink. “What does she need?”
“An ad that goes out in an e-mail blast to their newsletter subscribers. And Q codes for the twenty products they’re putting on special.”
“What else?”
“Each store will offer twenty sale items. Fifteen are standard, and then five items are sale items unique to that store.”
“Which means multiple newsletters.”
Molly nodded. “A master, which will go out to everyone. And then another one for whichever store they’re registered at.”
Amery tapped her fingers on her desk and tried to sort through it. “Can’t we just list everything in the master for all eight stores? There are fifteen things that will be on special on all six locations. And then under that can’t we list the five unique items to each store? Like the Lakewood store is running a special on spelt flour, kumquats, organic beets, gluten-free crackers, and chemical-free dishwasher soap? And the Castle Rock store is running, X, Y, Z, A, and B?”
“That’s what I thought too. But Nancy swears their sales numbers can back up that a general ad blast, and then a targeted ad blast increases their sales by seventeen percent.”
“She’s got the data to back it up, and if that’s what she wants . . . she is the client.”
“Yep.” Molly smiled. “Plus, we get paid more, since it’ll be more work for us and we can’t afford to turn any extra jobs down right now, can we?”
With the downturn in business, Molly hadn’t asked if her position was at risk, but she could see the writing on the wall if things didn’t pick up. “No. So how detailed are her spec sheets?”
“Same as usual. She’s sending a courier over with the stuff you need to take pics of. And she warned me, like, three times not to unpack everything because it’s sorted and bundled according to store.”
“Fine. You’re working on the newsletters?”
“I’m loading the templates and I’ll start with the master.”
Amery had done a lot of work for Grass Roots over the past six years. The stores featured organic food from produce to meat and dairy. It was similar to the big organic national food chain with the exception that it was locally owned and the company of eight stores supported Colorado-grown produce, Colorado-raised meat, Colorado dairies, and other products made in Colorado. Most companies wouldn’t take actual pictures of the items and produce available in their stores; it was much easier to use stock images. But Grass Roots wanted their newsletters to be an honest representation of what their stores offered. So Amery’s photography skills were put to the test, taking shots of everything from Romanesque broccoli to free-range chicken carcasses.
She stood and grabbed her empty coffee mug. As she passed Molly’s desk, she said, “Want a refill?”
Molly handed over her cup without looking away from her computer screen. “Might as well load us both up because it’s going to be a late night.”
• • •
AMERY finished the last shot for the newsletter around ten o’clock and sent Molly home. Since she got to keep the items she photographed, she sorted items she didn’t need, like organic dog food, into donate and save piles. But after a long day she only had the energy to refrigerate the perishables.
Around eleven Ronin texted he was at the back door. Yawning, she hefted herself out of the chair and cut through the back room to let him in.
The man was on her even before she closed the door. She twined her arms around his neck and held on, letting the energy that always pulsed from him restore hers.
He broke the kiss and said, “I missed you last night.”
“Same here. I was just finishing up.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
She pecked him on the mouth. “Keep me company.” As she locked the door, she said offhandedly, “I should just give you a key.” When he didn’t respond, she backtracked, “Not that I’m making it into a big thing, I just thought—”
Ronin spun her around and framed her face in his hands. “It is a big thing. Next time you come over I’ll give you a key card and the codes to my place.” He pressed a kiss on her forehead. “I’m not doing this just to give you free swimming privileges—you know that, right?”
“Right.” Smiling, she took his hand and led him to her small studio.