Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Nash leans over and whispers, “You were nervous about this?”
I elbow him lightly.
“Pairings have already been locked in,” Timmy continues. “Lex and Nash—you two are our golden retriever duo. Bros to the bone.”
Lex chuckles. “That checks out.”
“Gonna kill it,” Nash says.
“Imagine this,” Timmy says, dramatically pulling off one of the easel’s silk covers to reveal an inspiration board. It shows computer renditions of Lex and Nash, trying to muscle each other out of the way in front of a washing machine. “You two—flatmates for a day. Think modern bromance meets barely controlled domestic disaster.”
Lex raises an eyebrow, amused. “Flatmates?”
“Yes! You’re sharing a space. There’s a wet towel on the sofa. Someone keeps leaving tea cups in the bathroom. The vacuum is a weapon of war. And yet—somehow—you make it work.” Timmy waves his marker like a wand. “We’ll stage it in a flat setup. You’ll be racing to make a bed, folding laundry the wrong way, assembling IKEA furniture without instructions—”
Nash grins. “IKEA furniture? That’s evil.”
“Exactly! But adorable evil,” Timmy says. “We want that effortless banter, the accidental camaraderie. And at the end of it all, you’re collapsed on a broken futon, drinking Drivex like it’s your reward for surviving each other. It’s authentic, it’s ridiculous, and it’s going to charm the world.” He clicks his marker closed. “Tagline: ‘Drivex. Fuel the rivalry, save the friendship.’”
Laughter ripples through the room from everyone but Ronan, who looks quite bored.
“All right,” Lex says with a chuckle. “That actually sounds fun.”
“Darling,” Timmy says, placing a hand over his heart, “it’s going to be art.”
My stomach sinks as Timmy turns toward me, grinning. “And that means Francesca and Ronan will be our fire-and-ice pairing. Smoldering tension. Rivals. Sparks flying. It’ll be brilliant!”
I sneak a peek at Ronan but he seems disinterested, quietly surfing his phone.
Timmy whips the silk off the second easel with a flourish, revealing a mock-up of a supermarket aisle, shopping carts in motion, and two blurred figures racing down opposite ends.
His eyes land squarely on me, then drift to Ronan—who now stares blankly at the board.
“Francesca and Ronan,” Timmy says, drawing out our names like a host announcing contestants on a game show. “Yours is the accidental encounter. A run-in. Totally unscripted… except very much scripted by yours truly. You’re both at the same grocery store. Normal day. You’re not there together—but you arrive at the same time.” He mimics a slow, awkward double take. “Maybe one of you asks where to find the new Drivex flavor. A stock boy says, ‘It’s nearly sold out—only a few bottles left.’ And then—” He spins dramatically on his heel. “It. Is. On.”
Lex chuckles under his breath. Nash exchanges a look with him, smirking. Ronan doesn’t move.
“The rest of the commercial is a low-grade war in a fluorescent-lit battlefield,” Timmy continues, pacing in front of the screen. “Aisle after aisle of chaos as you two race for the last bottle. You’re dodging shoppers, cutting corners, nearly colliding over a stack of tins.”
He gestures to the mock-up of us standing at a shelf. “You arrive at the Drivex section at the same time—bam! One bottle left. Tension. Standoff. Hands touch. You lock eyes.”
My spine straightens. Across the table, I can see the tension across Ronan’s face.
“And then,” Timmy adds, smiling like he’s saving the best for last, “you both end up at separate self-checkout kiosks, scanning your items at the same time. A double beep. You both walk out with a bottle. No one wins. Or maybe… you both do.”
He raises his brows, clearly pleased with himself. “Tagline: ‘Drivex. Fuel the rival in you.’”
Silence settles for half a second too long. Lex finally lets out a low whistle. Nash snickers. Ronan doesn’t say a word and I’m frozen in place.
It’s a cute idea but the disdain comes off Ronan in waves. He looks like he wants to throw something, and I know deep in my gut this is going to be a disaster.
“We want to get most of the filming done this week since next week’s all prep for Silvercrest. We’ll be shooting the first campaign segment tomorrow. Bring your game faces.”
Ronan finally speaks. “That’s not going to work. We’re preparing for a race.”
Tom from Drivex steps in smoothly. “Harley Patrick confirmed your availability for this week. She’s cleared you and Lex for full campaign participation.”
Ronan leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling for a long beat, then stands. “Of course she did.” He glances between Timmy and Tom. “Where do I need to be and what time?”
For the first time, Timmy doesn’t look so exuberant. “Um… I’ll text you the details.”
“Fine,” Ronan clips out. “But you get two hours of my time and that’s it.”
And then, without another word, he leaves.
Silence hangs for a second as Timmy grips his hands with worry. “We have Crown Velocity’s approval for this,” he says, almost on the verge of tears.