Fling, p.11
Fling, page 11
‘Can I try a heavier weight on the bench press first? Sixty kilos didn’t feel very heavy,’ Colin said, eager to prove himself.
‘Right then, Mr Universe, let’s give you eighty kilos to kick you off your high horse,’ Rory teased, adding the weight.
‘Bring it on,’ Colin said, gripping the bar.
He lowered the weight down towards his chest and pushed back up. Admittedly, he felt a lot more resistance with this weight, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He finished his eighth rep and still didn’t break much of a sweat.
‘I’d say you’re wrecked after that,’ Rory said hopefully.
‘Not really, I still didn’t feel much strain,’ Colin said, hungry for more.
‘Are you serious? Eighty kilos is a very heavy weight. That’s like two hundred and twenty pounds!’
‘That conversion is definitely wrong,’ Colin said, running the numbers in his head. ‘Just give me one hundred kilos.’
‘Have you lost your mind?’ Rory shrieked. ‘My one rep max is only ninety.’
‘Afraid I’ll embarrass you by beating your personal record?’
‘I’m afraid you’ll hurt yourself. Even one rep of one hundred is too heavy.’
‘Wanna bet?’
‘As a matter of fact, I do. What are the terms?’ Rory said confidently.
Colin thought about what he wanted from Rory. He was already the most laissez-faire boss imaginable so anything Colin wanted at work he could get from him anyway. He suddenly remembered Rory bragging about his new golf membership at the Imperial Dublin Golf Club. Colin wanted to become a member but had put the money towards IVF instead.
‘OK, if I’m able to do one single rep with one hundred kilos, you have to let me play at your fancy new golf club,’ Colin said.
‘My membership only allows one player and one caddy,’ Rory said.
‘I know. Which is why I’m going to play and you’re going to caddy. And I get to choose when I get to play, regardless of your schedule.’
‘Ugh, fine! But if I win, you have to tell Karen in HR that her bone structure gives your bone structure,’ Rory said, smirking at the idea.
It took a second for Colin to wrap his head around Rory’s sentence. Once he made sense of it, the thought of saying it to Karen was horrifying. On any other day, Colin wouldn’t have taken the bet, but his new confidence convinced him he could lift the weight.
‘You’re on,’ he said, lying down on the bench and gripping the barbell. Rory stood over him, ready to catch the bar.
Colin pushed the weight up and immediately realized that the resistance was too much for him. Still, the bar was now in the air and he only had to perform one rep to win the bet. Colin lowered the weight down towards his chest where he held it for a second. He wasn’t sure if he had the rep in him, but then he imagined Claire watching. He imagined how much it would turn her on if he picked her up like this weight and threw her onto the bed as if she was a feather. The pressure on his arms was becoming greater and greater. If he didn’t push the weight now his arms would give out. He decided to give it everything he had. For Claire.
To Rory’s shock, the barbell began to rise back up as Colin gave out a massive grunt that made other gym-goers look over. He pushed until his arms were fully extended and the weight was secured back on the rack. Rory stood in disbelief as Colin got off the bench. The pump he felt earlier was nothing in comparison to this. He felt as if his entire body was erect.
‘How is that even possible?’ Rory said, visibly fuming. ‘You don’t even have big chest muscles! You don’t even lift. It’s beginner’s luck. Your body obviously kicked in some adrenaline response and went into overdrive. That’s the only explanation for how you could lift more than me.’
Rory was out of breath from pure annoyance.
‘Well, I’m no expert on jungle law,’ Colin said. ‘But I think this makes me the alpha.’
Chapter 13
Tara strutted back to the office with the unbridled confidence she had once believed was exclusive to women in their twenties. She loved the feeling of the lace lingerie underneath her pencil dress. It was a far cry from granny knickers and shapeless pantsuits. When they arrived back to Insight, Emily wished Tara good luck as she sashayed into the boardroom, looking and feeling like a million dollars.
‘You don’t mind if I sit in, do you?’ she said, emitting a charismatic aura the Lads had never seen before.
Tommy, Mark and Rob looked at her in complete and utter shock. She knew by their faces alone that she had already proved the point she was trying to make: Tara was not a Mary.
‘Tara . . . we’ve already started. I’m afraid you’re a little late,’ Tommy said, trying to exclude her.
‘Am I?’ she said. ‘Or did you boys just come early?’
At the back of the boardroom, Tara heard a quiet laugh from Richard Mulligan. He looked different than Tara had imagined. He was older than his voice had portrayed, maybe around forty-five. He was exceptionally well groomed but he had one of the worst receding hairlines Tara had ever seen, undermining his attractiveness. And his was definitely a face for radio.
Tara sat down on the opposite side of the desk to the Lads. She had every right to be there – and Tommy was still on the first slide of his presentation. ‘Shall we?’ she said, signalling him to continue.
Tommy began with a slideshow presentation of their proposed marketing strategy. As usual, Tara hadn’t been consulted on any aspects of their pitch so she had no idea what was coming. It was typical of the Lads to exclude her when products were considered masculine.
‘Well, Tara, we were just congratulating Mr Mulligan on his impressive launch,’ Tommy continued. ‘I don’t think there’s a person in the country who hasn’t at least heard of Fling by now.’
‘Thank you,’ Richard said, his face not showing any emotion.
‘Although just some feedback, Mr Mulligan, if I may?’ Rob said out of nowhere. ‘I joined Fling to . . . analyse the customer experience . . . but I discovered a glitch within the app.’
‘My tech team eradicated all glitches in beta testing,’ Richard said confidently.
‘Well, they must have missed one because when I joined, I didn’t get any matches. Not a single one,’ Rob said with an awkward laugh.
‘That sounds like a “you” problem, not a “tech” problem,’ Richard said, silencing him.
Tara laughed to herself and noticed Richard smirking when he saw her reaction.
‘As I was saying,’ Tommy said, giving Rob a dirty look, ‘you’ve certainly hit the ground running . . . but we think it’s just the beginning for Fling. That’s why we’ve put together a marketing strategy and advertising campaign that is going to take your app to the next level.’
Tommy clicked to the next slide to reveal an image of a scantily clad woman against a dark background. She was holding one finger against her red lips as if she was telling the viewer to keep a secret. Tara rolled her eyes at the image’s lack of originality.
‘This game-changing marketing campaign will be targeting married people exclusively, to ensure you get the most bang for your buck. The sexually suggestive images we’ll be using will arouse a very physical response for the target market and communicate the idea of temptation. We all know that sex sells, and that’s how we get them to click the ad and download the app. It’s not enough to think outside the box, we need to think outside the cube.’
Tara cringed. Another one of Tommy’s catchphrases that didn’t mean anything. And using sex to sell to men wasn’t thinking outside the box, let alone the cube. Tommy continued through his slideshow for what felt like a lifetime. The campaign was a tasteless, tacky attempt to arouse men enough to want to cheat. Tommy eventually wrapped up with his proposed slogan. ‘You have the wife . . . now all you need is a mistress,’ he said, genuinely proud of his work.
Rob and Mark began to applaud Tommy when he had finished. She wasn’t surprised. They were the type of people who clap when a plane lands: any excuse to make noise. But once they had stopped, a sudden silence came over the room. Everyone looked towards Richard Mulligan as he leaned back in his chair.
‘No,’ he said nonchalantly.
‘I’m sorry?’ Tommy said, certain he had misheard.
‘I hate it,’ Richard said unapologetically.
‘Mr Mulligan, we can tweak any aspect of the pitch that you’d like,’ Tommy responded, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead.
‘No, I think I’d better get going. Unless . . . you have anything better to add?’ Richard asked, turning to Tara.
All eyes were suddenly on her. She was their colleague and she didn’t want to insult their proposal. But she had been asked a direct question and she needed to answer. She considered saying as little as she could to end the meeting quickly, but something told her to speak her mind. She had been a little too quiet for a little too long.
Tara had downloaded Fling and got a 100 per cent match. If anyone knew how to pitch it, it was her. Anyway, the Lads had already lost the account, so she had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Under normal circumstances, Tara would never have felt confident enough to pitch an idea completely on the fly. But she reminded herself that she had given Tara the day off.
It was Claire’s time to shine.
‘As a matter of fact, I do,’ Tara said, standing up.
Tommy almost choked on the sip of water he’d just taken. Richard Mulligan leaned back in his chair once again. The spotlight was on her.
It was time to reel in a big fish and prove she was still on the top of her game.
‘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.
‘It’s Don’t Worry, Be Happy!’ Tara said, letting her frustration show a bit too much. She took a breath and readjusted herself. ‘Just wanted to make the kitchen a bit cosier. You know, seeing as it’s where I belong.’
‘I should actually put my vintage beer signs up in my man cave,’ Colin said, ignoring her dig.
Tara nearly choked. ‘I’m sorry, your . . . what?’
‘Man cave. Seeing as the couch is where I belong, that’s the room’s new name.’
‘Is that like a working title? Because last time I checked it was called the living room,’ Tara said, rolling her eyes.
‘I think my pub signs are in the shed actually . . . I must go out and get them,’ Colin said, knowing well that Tara hated his collection. When they had first moved into the house, Tara had forbidden them, just as Colin forbade tacky kitchen quotes. At the time, they had compromised and agreed to only hang wall art with no text on it. But now, Tara had broken the truce so Colin was ready to fight fire with fire.
‘Great, why don’t you clean the shed while you’re out there?’ Tara suggested.
‘I think I’ll focus on redecorating the living room first,’ Colin said smugly.
‘Well, let’s hope you don’t die in there from bad taste.’
‘That would be ironic.’
‘What would?’
‘Dying in the living room,’ Colin replied, taking another gulp of beer. ‘I have to say the couch is incredibly comfortable. I had one of the best night’s sleep in years.’
‘That’s so funny, I was about to say the exact same thing. I woke up so recharged. I had forgotten what it was like to sleep in a room without constant snoring,’ Tara said, adding a fake laugh for an extra touch.
