Free The Do It List (The Do It List #1) by Jillian Stone

be the first to admit, testing is going to be tricky. We need killer breakthrough ideas that can stand up to testing—”
    “Please save us the if-it’s-a-such-a-great-idea-people-will-recognize-it speech, because they don’t. That’s bullshit and you know it.” I had blurted out the remark and now it was too late to take it back. The very idea of testing Super Bowl spots made me crazy.
      “I was about to say…” Bradley stared at me with angry eyes. Like he really wanted to put me over his knee. “When something is truly fresh it often tests poorly. We’re not exactly sure why this happens, but we do know that consumers are often more comfortable with the familiar, even the predictable.”
    He relaxed a perplexed frown. “However, when you go deeper, research also indicates that fresh and original imprints, has staying power. The message appears to resonate longer.”
    Randall, our group metadata analyst, chimed in. “We might consider invoking the Super Bowl Exception. We all know the creative bar is set higher for Super Bowl spots. Which means the audience is predisposed to be more open and accepting of a unique or unusual message.”  
    Sarah snorted a laugh. “Did you just make that up?”  
    Randall shrugged. “It’s worth a try—see if we can get creative testing down to a simple thumbs up or down.”
    “Might even be bloody brilliant. Let me think about it.” Bradley scratched a shadow of stubble along his jawline. “Straight away, we’re going to want a naming system for the body wash scents. Keep it directional with brief copy, or visual examples. This is wide open—trust your gut—let’s see how far out you can go.”  
    His quick scan of the room ended on me. For some perverse reason, I wanted to provoke him again. “Be careful what you wish for, I can go pretty far out.”  
    His ice blue gaze flashed a bit of fire. “Bring it, Gracie.”  
    A number of phone alarms went off at once, which meant that people were off to other meetings or headed for home. Bradley wrapped up the meeting, with a reminder that he needed our interview questions by end of day Friday.
    A quick check of my e-mail and I was good to go. As there is no graceful way to get out of a beanbag chair I reached out to Derek and he pulled me up.
      “Thanks.” I had plans to leave directly after the meeting for dance class and could hardly wait to get there. I needed to work off the frustration of last night as well as the tension of being here in this room with Bradley Craig.
    I shoved my tablet into my messenger bag and looked around for my jacket. As luck would have it, Bradley and I were the last two people in the room. He stood beside the sofa with his shirtsleeves rolled up. A light mat of brown hair covered muscled forearms, not too much, not too little. I liked a man with a little fuzz on him.  
    He loosened his tie. “Do you always dress as if you’re about to raid a compound in Abbottabad?”
    “I change it up.” I pulled on my Scottish piper jacket with its broad epaulets and brass buttons. “It’s dangerous to wear skirts. Men want to fuck me in elevators.”
    He shot me a half-lidded sultry gaze. A reminder of last night when my dress had pooled around my hips. “You do have a certain style about you.”
    I made it as far as the open door before I turned around. “I never got a chance to thank you for taking care of the security tape. You risked a lot.”
    He shrugged. “Not really.”
    “You could be deported—or they could toss you in Guantanamo.”
    “I’m a dual citizen. I have constitutional protections.” He scanned the ceiling carefully. “I suppose”—he lowered his voice—“we could be shot down by a drone.”
    My gaze cooled. “Don’t say I didn’t thank you.” I turned to leave.
    “Close the door, Gracie.”
    I checked the hallway through the floor-to-ceiling glass by the exit. No one was about. Coworkers were in their offices, filling out time sheets, getting ready