Page 40 of Fling

‘Well, although I can see where my colleagues were coming from,’ Tara said, as she began to saunter around the room, ‘they missed the target. Quite literally. Mr Mulligan, I’m willing to bet that when you look at your user data, you have a lot more men on the app than women. The advertising proposal you just saw would only make that problem ten times worse. Your challenge isn’t going to be getting men to join, it’s about making sure there’s a perfect match for everyone. And to do that, you need women. The campaign you saw panders to the male gaze and, quite frankly, makes it seem like an escort service. The women who join Fling aren’t the models in those stock photos. They’re regular women who feel trapped in their own lives. Women who feel that the more they do, the more they’re taken for granted. Women who feel completely alone in their marriages. She doesn’t want to leave her husband, but maybe her match on Fling will awaken something in her. Maybe her match will make her feel like the woman she used to be. Maybe her match will make her feel alive. She’s already found Mr Right but maybe she needs Mr Wrong, even just for a night. Mr Mulligan, you don’t need a big controversial advertising campaign. Everyone is already talking about Fling. Your strategy shouldn’t be to outrage the Marys of the world. It should be about showing them that it’s OK to be someone else for a day. To take a break from your own life. To have a day off from being unhappy. I don’t have a fancy presentation ready for you right this minute, Mr Mulligan, but if you were to give me the chance to put one together for you, I’d start with that. Women are flowers. And your target market are the ones who are wilting.’

The room went silent for several excruciating seconds as everyone absorbed Tara’s improvised pitch. She had no idea what the reaction would be, and held her breath in anticipation. Richard was looking at her intently, the way a lion looks at a gazelle.

‘Yes,’ he said at long last. ‘Finally, someone who gets it.’

Tara was shocked. She let the breath she was holding leave her lungs. She had pulled it off.

‘I’m happy to give Insight the account,’ he said, getting up.

‘Can’t wait to work together, Mr Mulligan!’ Tommy said, sticking out his hand, trying to imply that he had landed the deal.

Richard looked blankly at Tommy’s extended hand and then back at his face.

‘Under one condition,’ he said, turning to Tara. ‘I want you to take the lead.’

The Lads were visibly raging. Richard smiled and extended a handshake to Tara. She was in shock at what she had just pulled off. She hadn’t imagined doing anything like that when she entered the meeting. Was it the dress? Her make-up? The lingerie? No, it was something deeper, like an inner confidence that had finally been unlocked. The clothes and make-up may have been the key but the power had always been within her, waiting to be unleashed.

She had spent so long trying to be one of the Lads that she had stripped down every aspect of her femininity to get a seat at the table. She always thought gaining power meant acting like a man but she had just been proven wrong. Here she was after closing a deal in a pencil dress, with a full set of lace lingerie underneath. It was her secret coat of armour that gave her the confidence to charge into battle. After four long years, she had finally proved she still had it.

‘Tara, let’s schedule a full pitch meeting in two weeks. I’ll want to see specific targeting, creative copy, advertising strategy, the works. Have your assistant arrange somewhere nice for us to have lunch and you can give me a full rundown. But Tara, you’ve set my expectations very high so I expect this pitch to be a knockout. Shouldn’t be difficult for you,’ he said flirtatiously.

‘I promise, Mr Mulligan, you won’t know what’s hit you,’ Tara said, excited.

‘Please,’ he said, with a carnivorous smile. ‘Call me Dick.’

Chapter 14

To celebrate landing the Fling account, Tara decided to do a little shopping on her way home from work. She bought a sign that said ‘Live, Laugh, Love’, just to spite Colin. She also bought one that read ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy’ as a not-so-subtle dig for his whinging over not getting his preferred dinner.

But the most deliciously spiteful thing that Tara bought was her very own state-of-the-art air fryer. She chose the most obnoxiously large one she could find, to ensure it didn’t go unnoticed. It wasn’t cheap but it was a small price to pay to prove a point. Colin still hadn’t unloaded the dishwasher, so she would be cooking for one for the foreseeable future. She had bought herself a week’s worth of food that was all air-fryer friendly, most notably her favourite thing in the world: cheesy garlic bread. Tara normally avoided such an indulgence but after such a successful day, it was time to treat herself.

When Tara and Colin finally sat at the kitchen table for their separate dinners, they were both hell-bent on letting each other know that they were having a wonderful day and completely unbothered by their fight the night before.

Colin began to dig into his meal which consisted of the two rib-eye steaks, sweet potato fries and onion rings. He cracked open a can of cold beer in such an exaggerated manner that the noise rippled through the entire house. ‘Ahh,’ he said, taking a big slurp directly from the can. ‘Fit for a king.’

Tara’s blood began to boil at the sound of his slurping, but she’d sooner take her grave than let Colin see he was getting to her. Tara poured herself her usual generous glass of wine but this time she did it without an iota of guilt, humming a chirpy tune. She had air-fried a Cajun chicken breast, a bed of vegetables and three pieces of cheesy garlic bread in under ten minutes. Now was the moment of truth. She took her first bite into her garlic bread and began moaning euphorically.

‘Oh my God,’ she said in an almost orgasmic manner.

‘I didn’t know garlic bread was an aphrodisiac,’ Colin said, raising an eyebrow.

‘Not just any garlic bread. Air-fried garlic bread.’

‘Sounds like you can really taste the air.’

‘Mmm . . . Better than sex,’ Tara said with a smug grin. ‘And it’s such a healthy way to cook.’

‘I’m not sure if it air-fries the calories out of the food. But you know best, darling. You’re the garlic breadwinner after all,’ Colin said sarcastically.

‘Well, I might as well eat whatever I want considering I’m a barrel.’

‘Not sure if those were my exact words.’

‘No, I remember it perfectly. Elephants never forget,’ Tara said with a spiteful smile.

Colin knew what Tara was doing. He hadn’t called her a barrel or an elephant. She was choosing to misinterpret what he said so she could play the victim. He wasn’t having any of it. He looked to his left to see Tara’s new kitchen sign. The four words were stylized in a confusing, artistic way with an awful squiggly font.

‘Don’t Be Happy . . . Worry?’ he said, squinting at the sign.

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