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Suits and Sunscreen
Suits and Sunscreen
Suits and Sunscreen
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Suits and Sunscreen

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Jade Thompson's heart beats to the rhythm of a single, all-consuming passion - the unparalleled soap opera sensation, Gregry Tinsley. In her wildest dreams, she would defy the laws of reality and plunge into her television screen to be with him eternally. The stage is set when the advertising agency she toils for orchestrates a corporate retreat beneath the golden Florida sun, coinciding with the filming location of his hit show "Surf's Up, Dude."

 

Will reality live up to Jade's fantasies of a TV star romance or will she find something different in the midst of awkward team-building activities, friends turned foes, and a mysterious Suit Guy joining the company?

*** This is a "clean"/sweet romance / chicklit novel suitable for readers both under and over 18 ***

LanguageEnglish
Release dateOct 21, 2023
ISBN9789198812824
Suits and Sunscreen

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    Book preview

    Suits and Sunscreen - A. J. Hill

    Suits and Sunscreen

    A. J. Hill

    image-placeholder

    Grouse Hill Publishing

    Copyright © 2023 Grouse Hill Publishing

    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

    The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

    Cover image under license from Shutterstock

    Cover design by Colleen Kelley, The Magenta Quill Book Design

    All rights reserved.

    Copyright © 2014, 2023 A. J. Hill

    Contents

    Foreword

    1.1

    2.2

    3.3

    4.4

    5.5

    6.6

    7.7

    8.8

    9.9

    10.10

    11.11

    12.12

    13.13

    14.14

    15.Epilogue

    About the Author

    Foreword

    For grandma.

    Author’s note for the 2023 edition:

    I first wrote this novel during NaNoWriMo many years ago, and published it in 2014. As you will notice, this was a different time... it was before social media was flooded with influencers of various kinds (I’d certainly not heard of them), and Twitter was big among fans of various TV shows (fandoms).

    The object of Jade’s obsession is a poorly disguised homage to my personal obsession back in those days. Unfortunately, the leading man is not based on any person in my life (unlike the people I’ve met over my years working in admin that inspired some of the characters).

    This book is ripe with pop culture references - and if you grew up in the 80s and 90s, you’ll likely spot them all. If not, there’s always streaming services...

    Enjoy!

    1

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    Gregry Tinsley.

    Just thinking his name makes my mouth water. That face. Those abs. That… Oh, crap, incoming email. Seriously, where is the mute button on this thing? Not for the first time, I jab aimlessly at my phone—one of those office-issued cheap phones we’re meant to carry around with us at all times in case of emergency. Like paper cuts. And printer jams. Yup, I’m a very important person at the office—so says my title: Media analyst. Which basically means I spend my days cutting out ads in magazines and restocking the supply room. Very glamorous, indeed. I think Hart & Finch Advertising has someone on the payroll to do that, actually, but I’ve never seen her anywhere near the supply room. Unless she really really needs thumbtacks. I’m not sure where all the thumbtacks go, but they’re always on the to-order list. So are the plastic cases, come to think of it. Maybe someone’s building a kite. Or just really doesn’t like punching holes.

    With all the money spent on office supplies, you’d think we could get phones that actually have more than an on/off button. Maybe in the old days, you could. You know, B.H. Before Harpy. I’ll get back to you on that—I need to figure out how to turn down the sound on this thing first.

    There. Off. Considering I’m at my computer for about 95 percent of the workday, having a shrill alert on my phone for incoming emails seems a bit redundant. Personally, I think it’s a tracking device—designed to reveal where I am at any given time. Heaven forbids I’m found by the water cooler engaging in non-commercial conversation. In the old days, people enjoyed a refreshing stop at the water cooler. Again, that was B.H. How times have changed.

    After dealing with my email, I click up my browser window again. Ah. Gregry Tinsley. Did I tell you what’s so great about him? You know, besides everything? He has such an amazing sense of humor. You can totally tell from all his interviews. He’s the most popular star on Surf’s Up, Dude and he gets invited to all these awesome parties. I subscribe to his YouTube channel, but the Harpy disabled Flash Player at my workstation, so I have to watch when I get home. I gotta say, it’s getting hard to catch up. I can’t imagine how I’ll survive on our four-day conference this year. Surf’s Up, Dude—or Suds, as I like to call it—well, not just me; the entire fandom. I think I was the first to tweet about it, though—airs every day, so when we get back, I’ll have four episodes to catch up on—plus the re-runs and the YouTube vids. I wonder if I can call in sick… It’s not like I haven’t been to these corporate retreats before. It’s always the same: embarrassing bonding exercises designed to humiliate and torment. Great fun.

    Oh, what if Gregry Tinsley could do a campaign for Hart & Finch? His picture would be on every wall, and he would like it so much here that he would stop by every now and then, and bring everyone cupcakes, and then he’d be an honorary guest at our corporate retreat, and he’d be my partner in that trust-exercise where you throw yourself into someone else’s arms and trust they’ll catch you. Sally Baxter and Todd Baker can’t be trusted. I speak from experience. My shoulder still acts up in winter.

    Winter in New York City isn’t so bad—if you compare it to like Canada or something. Or the North Pole. Definitely warmer than the North Pole. At least I think it is. I haven’t seen any red-nosed reindeer around yet. But hey, it’s only May. This might be the year. It certainly feels like it’s getting colder with every year. I’ve been here for about eight years now. First college, then working at different ad agencies until I got this job—as media analyst. I have my eye on the creative department. I’ve always felt very creative, you know. Too bad no-one’s seen my potential yet, but at this year’s conference, I’m bringing it.

    Every year, we do one of these conferences, and aside from all the hilarious bonding exercises, there’s like a case competition. The partners are looking out for new talent, someone to groom and promote. I’ve been to two. Third time’s the charm, right? I wonder who came up with that? It’s like, in baseball, three strikes you’re out. Same with the legal system. So maybe if you don’t succeed on your third try, you’re doomed forever? Gulp.

    Oh, look at that. New email. Joy.

    My job is actually pretty great. I can look at pictures of Gregry Tinsley all day and say it’s research. I mean, it is. I’m researching today’s ideal man, building a profile of what women want. How many people can say that? Certainly not Mel Gibson. I mean, points for efforts and all, but come on! He was totally stealing Helen Hunt’s ideas.

    Jade.

    I jump. I’m not proud of it, but I do. I also hurry to close down my browser window. Then I spin in my squeaky office chair to face my arch nemesis. Everyone, meet… the Harpy.

    Hello, Glenda. What brings you to my neck of the woods? I say, my voice as sweet as sap running down the trunk of a tree in springtime. Not that I’ve ever tasted it, but I’ve heard things.

    Office equipment is for work purposes only, she huffs, and I peer to see if there’s smoke coming out of her nostrils. There’s not. Maybe she’s given up smoking for today.

    "I am working," I say as calmly and non-defensively as possible. Ergo, not a lot.

    "Looking at dirty pictures is not appropriate content use," she snorts, her nose jerking upwards. That’s where it feels best, I suppose—turned up to the sky.

    I was not looking at dirty pictures, I scoff. Honestly, what’s cleaner that Gregry Tinsley rising from the waves? I’m researching. Part of my job.

    "Well, part of my job is to make sure we don’t have people like you slacking off during work hours."

    Oh, seriously, could she get any snippier? That is so not in her job description, by the way. It’s a voluntary assignment.

    And a fine job it is, I say, putting as much patronizing into it as I dare. Ergo, not a lot. I should get back to mine.

    "I’m rebooting the server tonight. If you want anything saved, I suggest you do it on the allocated drive, and not on your desktop."

    I get it, desktop saving is bad. It’s the evil of corporate life. But come on, it’s not like I’m keeping state secrets on there. It’s the latest stats from TV Guide and what’s trending on Twitter. I’m sure Bill Gates is feeling very threatened.

    The real reason The Harpy insists on us saving everything on our personal drive is so that she can go through it whenever she feels like it. Well, the joke’s on her. I have all my Gregry Tinsley info saved on my flash drive. So there.

    I’ve personally never experienced life B.H., but I’ve heard stories. Wonderful tales of coffee breaks and office parties, balloons and rainbows… wait, no, that was my cousin’s birthday party. Anyway. Apparently, before The Harpy came into existence—or, well, came onto the payroll, same diff—people liked coming to work. Then someone decided we needed an office manager, and Hart & Finch Advertising entered the age of A.H.—After Harpy. Or, as some like to call it, 2009. I came along in 2010, in the post-harpyan era. It was all downhill from there.

    It’s still shrouded in mystery who actually hired The Harpy. We know it was one of the partners, but no-one’s talking. Understandably so, as that person may just end up looking a pie in the face at one of our bonding activities.

    I’m just about to pull my browser window back up when I see the clock ticking away. Two more minutes and the workday is over. Whoohoo! Finally, I can get home to my TiVo and indulge in a new episode of Suds. Bliss.

    4.58… 4.59… 5.00! Yes! With the speed of lightning, I switch off my computer and kick off my shoes. Heels are a must in the office, and my feet breathe a sigh of relief every day they’re released from their patent-leather prison. I shuffle into a pair of flats and wrap a scarf around my neck. If I had a hat, I’d put that on, too. But I don’t. So I grab my designer bag—70 percent off at Marshalls—and head out.

    Hart & Finch Advertising is located smack in the middle of Manhattan. My apartment, I regret to say, is not. So I head off for the subway and settle in for my daily commute. Queens isn’t too bad. It’s close to the airports. Convenient for when I jet off to Paris for the weekend. You know, if I could afford it. Which I can’t.

    My apartment is nice enough. It has four walls, mostly intact, and both a ceiling and a floor. What more could you ask? I have the comfiest couch slash bed, and I can fall asleep watching Suds re-runs. Not that I do, but I could. I also have a shower with mostly hot water. It depends on how many of my neighbors are using it at the same time. My kitchen has a microwave, two hotplates and a small fridge. I can fit about two cartons of Ben ‘n’ Jerry’s in my freezer.

    I don’t mind the commute. I always have my headphones on so that I can escape the hustle and bustle of the subway—and the crazies trying to strike up a conversation. I also have a copy of Gregry Tinsley’s latest book. He doesn’t write them himself, but his ghostwriter is amazing—it’s like hearing the words fall directly from those perfectly sculpted lips… Okay, time to check for drool. Just kidding. I never drool. A tiny speck of moisture in the corner of my mouth hardly counts.

    An old lady is looking at me funny and I shift. Avoid eye contact at all costs, that’s my mantra. I raise my book to eye level and focus on the page. Gregry Tinsley had such an amazing journey to get to where he is today. That’s what keeps him grounded, you know. He knows where he came from and where he’s going. Truly an inspiration.

    I unlock my apartment door—five locks and a deadbolt—and step inside, locking it behind me. If there ever was a fire, I’d have a hard time getting out the front door. But hey, that’s what the fire escape is for—and hunky firemen in baskets waiting to lift you into their arms. Oh, what if Gregry Tinsley moved to New York and volunteered as a firefighter? He’d probably start more fires than he put out.

    Just as I’m about to get comfortable in front of the TV, the phone rings. I groan and reluctantly reach for it. I only get two types of calls on my house phone—is it called a house phone when you live in a one-bedroom apartment?—family and telemarketers. I’m almost hoping for the latter.

    Jade Thompson?

    That’s me, I confirm.

    "I’m with—insert random name here—and I’m wondering if I may have a moment of your time?

    Well, I… I start, glancing at the TV, beckoning me.

    Great, the polite yet sneakily pushy telemarketer slash interviewer chirps. If I say Candor’s Crisps…

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    30 minutes later, I end the call, having a gazillion brand names floating around in my head and no idea what kind of products any of them represent. I think Bob—the interviewer—was disappointed with my knowledge of brand names, and frankly, so was I. I need to step up my game if I’m going to get a promotion. Starting tomorrow. For tonight, I’m going to sit back, relax, and let the waves carry me off into the sunset.

    I’m just about to press play when my computer bleeps. I turned it on while I was listening to the interviewer and it logged onto Skype on its own. I grab my laptop off its desk and put it on my lap. Great! Lexi’s on.

    Lexi’s my best friend since forever. More specifically since first grade, when she traded her Barbie lunch box for my brown paper bags. She said it was because her mom always put pickles in her lunchbox, but I didn’t see any.

    ‘Wanna chat?’ she types and I grab my headphones and type a reply.

    ‘Sure. Wanna watch Suds with me?’

    I’ve been trying to convince Lexi that Suds is the best show in television history, and that we should go visit Gregry Tinsley on set, but so far, she’s been less than enthusiastic.

    ‘Go ahead. Call in a bit?’

    Okay, I guess I can hold off on watching today’s episode for another hour or two… I turn off the TV and dial.

    Hey you, Lexi says even before the video starts.

    I know what it’s gonna show, though. Lexi in one of her tank tops—it’s always hot in California—and her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. I swear, she could pass for 16.

    Hi! Did you… I start, then all I can do is stare. Lexi is wearing a suit jacket, and she’s cut her hair. It’s all sleek and businesslike, and she looks like a grown-up. Are those… pearls?

    You like my new look? Lexi laughs and I snap my

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