Secret Babies for a Bossy Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Romance by Ruby Emhart

Author:Ruby Emhart [Emhart, Ruby]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-09-09T16:00:00+00:00

9

TESS

“You can’t be serious,” I laughed.

Brady’s face lit up like a child on Christmas morning. “I’m dead serious, Tess. Think about it.”

“I am thinking about it,” I said, staring at the photo of me on the phone. “I’m in my underwear, and you can practically see my ass.”

“Listen, I wish I could say sex doesn’t sell, but unfortunately, in this day and age, it does. And you have a great ass.” His lips upturned into a smirk, and I playfully shoved him.

“You’re not helping your case. I don’t want my ass flashed around on billboards, Brady.”

He jumped up from the couch. “Hear me out,” he said, lifting his hands up in the air as if he had all the answers written on his palms. “You’re right, Tess. The line ‘Invigorate your Soul?’ It’s cliche. Dense, even. And to have a ninety-pound model say it. Who does that appeal to? Think about it.”

I gathered my knees up to my chest, curling up on the corner of the couch, absorbing his words.

Was that something I could do? What would my mother think if she was still alive? My mind drifted to those Saturday mornings where I crawled into her lap as she flipped through the pages of her magazines, the pile of her subscriptions towering like a monument on the bedside table. It was only later in life that I understood why the pages reeked of musk, the perfume ads sprayed with expensive cologne to entice potential buyers.

Sometimes, my mother read the stories out loud to me, but now, years later, I couldn’t remember a single article. The images, however, were lodged in my memory, stained and imprinted on my brain like permanent ink.

Women with smooth, tanned skin, their heads thrown back as they laughed in glee, their perfectly straight teeth the whitest part of the photograph. They were always in an exotic location—dressed in fashionable cardigans in the mountains or walking on a beach, their bathing suit barely covering their stick-thin figure. More often than not, there was a man in the photo, his jawline chiseled and biceps flexed, obviously.

I didn’t always know what the ads were selling. It could be a watch, a pair of sandals, hell, even braces…but the allure was evident.

‘Buy our product and you will be granted the gateway to this life.’ Love. Travel. Happiness.

“Magazines don’t sell products. They sell lifestyles,” I slowly said to Brady.

He clapped his hands together. “Exactly!”

“Exactly? Look at this photo of me, Brady,” I snorted. “I’m burning bacon, for fucks sake.”

“But you’re relatable!” he said. “Everyone and their mother can relate to burning breakfast as they’re trying to start the day and get their shit together. We’re not presenting perfection. We’re presenting real life with a product that eases the stress of trying to attain perfection.”

I sighed, not fully convinced. “I see what you’re saying, but c’mon, Brady. Advertisements are supposed to sell potential.” I glanced at the photo he'd taken of me. “What’s the potential here? That I’ll burn your house down next?”

Brady’s smile only deepened.

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