Field-Tripped (Ad Agency Series Book 3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Road-Tripped—Ad Agency Book 1

  Head-Tripped, Ad Agency Book 2

  Guilt-Tripped—Ad Agency Book 4

  Field-Tripped Soundtrack

  Eli Is A Chill Motherfucker

  Charlie Is Dog Tired

  Eli Goes Home

  Charlie Meets A Boy

  Charlie Goes Bald

  Eli Meets A Little Brat

  Charlie Knows Sex

  Charlie Just Can’t

  Eli is Once Bitten, Twice Shy

  Charlie Goes To The Prom

  Charlie Plays Party Games

  Eli Saves Dead People

  Eli Soars

  Eli Hits The Slopes

  Charlie Loses Her Cherry

  Charlie Fakes A Smile

  Charlie Cheers for a Loser

  Charlie Makes a Hard Dick

  Eli Kicks A Dog

  Eli Gets A Tattoo

  Charlie Is Tired of Waiting

  Charlie Has A Fit

  Eli Ties

  Eli Plays Two Minutes In The Closet

  Charlie Makes Love

  Charlie Gets Zapped

  Eli Rides A Chicken

  Eli Loses A Mom

  Eli Goes Hunting

  Charlie Doesn’t Celebrate

  Charlie’s Got Talent

  Eli Checks the Time

  Eli Falls Hard

  Charlie Lets Go

  Eli Dies

  Eli Kills

  Charlie Dates An Amputee

  Charlie Clings

  Eli Saves A Dog

  Eli Is A Loser

  Charlie Sleeps With A Boy

  Charlie Beats A Stoner

  Eli Soaks It In

  Eli Visits The Swingers

  Charlie Finds A Treasure

  Charlotte Makes Love

  Eli Has A Merry Christmas

  Eli Gets Knocked Down

  Charlie Loves Eli

  Field-Tripped

  Ad Agency Series, Book Three

  Nicole Archer

  Twist Idea Lab

  Field-Tripped Copyright ©2017 by Nicole Archer

  ISBN: 9781549976728

  First Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher:

  Twist Idea Lab, LLC

  707 Parkview Circle

  Richardson, TX 75080

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Contents

  Field-Tripped Soundtrack

  1. Eli Is A Chill Motherfucker

  2. Charlie Is Dog Tired

  3. Eli Goes Home

  4. Charlie Meets A Boy

  5. Charlie Goes Bald

  6. Eli Meets A Little Brat

  7. Charlie Knows Sex

  8. Charlie Just Can’t

  9. Eli is Once Bitten, Twice Shy

  10. Charlie Goes To The Prom

  11. Charlie Plays Party Games

  12. Eli Saves Dead People

  13. Eli Soars

  14. Eli Hits The Slopes

  15. Charlie Loses Her Cherry

  16. Charlie Fakes A Smile

  17. Charlie Cheers for a Loser

  18. Charlie Makes a Hard Dick

  19. Eli Kicks A Dog

  20. Eli Gets A Tattoo

  21. Charlie Is Tired of Waiting

  22. Charlie Has A Fit

  23. Eli Ties

  24. Eli Plays Two Minutes In The Closet

  25. Charlie Makes Love

  26. Charlie Gets Zapped

  27. Eli Rides A Chicken

  28. Eli Loses A Mom

  29. Eli Goes Hunting

  30. Charlie Doesn’t Celebrate

  31. Charlie’s Got Talent

  32. Eli Checks the Time

  33. Eli Falls Hard

  34. Charlie Lets Go

  35. Eli Dies

  36. Eli Kills

  37. Charlie Dates An Amputee

  38. Charlie Clings

  39. Eli Saves A Dog

  40. Eli Is A Loser

  41. Charlie Sleeps With A Boy

  42. Charlie Beats A Stoner

  43. Eli Soaks It In

  44. Eli Visits The Swingers

  45. Charlie Finds A Treasure

  46. Charlotte Makes Love

  47. Eli Has A Merry Christmas

  48. Eli Gets Knocked Down

  49. Charlie Loves Eli

  50. Charlie Survives A Disaster

  51. Eli Gets His Head Out Of His Ass

  52. Charlie Takes A Bath

  53. Eli Reaches The Sun

  54. Charlie Wears Something Ugly

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Review Me

  Road-Tripped—Ad Agency Book 1

  Head-Tripped, Ad Agency Book 2

  Guilt-Tripped—Ad Agency Book 4

  Field-Tripped Soundtrack

  This book comes with its own soundtrack. If you’re reading on a device with Internet access, simply click the link at the beginning of each scene. If you don’t already have a Spotify account, you’ll need to sign up for the free streaming service. You can play it online or from your mobile device.

  If you’re reading a print version or have a device without Internet access, you can find the Field-Tripped soundtrack on my website, nicolearcher.com, as well as on Spotify.com under user name: nicolearcherauthor.

  “Be free of attachment to the good experiences, and free of aversion to the negative ones.”

  ― Sogyal Rinpoche, The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying

  One

  Eli Is A Chill Motherfucker

  “No matter how fast you flee, there are times when pain catches up with you. And in between those times, life is so boring you could scream.” ― Henepola Gunaratana, Mindfulness in Plain English

  Eli’s Mixtape: Gorillaz, “Clint Eastwood”

  MANHATTAN, NEW YORK

  My new goal is to be as unsuccessful as possible. So far, I’m crushing it.

  Women, furniture, music, stuff, and stress—I’ve given it all up for good. I’ve even started meditating. I’m doing it right now.

  Do nothing, Eli. Be nothing. Remove all distractions. Clear your mind. Think peaceful thoughts. Omm.

  This is way better than seeing a shrink. What’s the point of rehashing memories for two hundred bucks an hour? If I felt like talking about my past, I would have done it a long time ago.

  Meditation is the way to go.

  Before simplifying my life, I spent forty hours a week slumped over a computer at Shimura Advertising, where I’m a graphic designer. On the weekends, I DJ’ed at clubs until the wee hours of the morning. The rest of the time I produced music for the DJ community.

  I don’t even want to get into how many hours I wasted sleeping with women who wanted too much.

  At some point, I was bound to crack. And nothing says it’s time to take a mental health break like freaking out in the middle of a set, packing up your turntables, and leaving hundreds of sweaty club-goers in stunned silence on the dance floor.

  I thought I saw my ex that night.

  There was als
o that time I lost my mind on a coffee barista.

  Every night, I’d fall asleep, wondering what happened to my life. I used to be an athlete. I was a snowboard racer and almost went to the Olympics. But that’s another story. You can watch old ESPN footage of Eli St. James’s Fall From Grace on YouTube.

  The point is—success doesn’t matter. It’s just a word. Life can change in a heartbeat. Everything can be taken away. But if you don’t have anything, there’s nothing to take. No attachments, no problem.

  Simplicity is the key to happiness. So is meditation.

  This cushion is like sitting on a rock. I would give my left nut for a leather sofa and a big-screen TV right now. What was I thinking, getting rid of my stuff?

  See? That’s attachment talking. Buddha said attachment leads to suffering.

  I got that from my $5.99 Buddhist quote-of-the-day app. I’m very attached to that app.

  Anyway, Buddhism is the way to go. I’m simplifying my life. I’m done with difficult. I’m no longer a slave to being busy.

  Now I’m Henry David Thoreau on Walden Pond.

  Except in reality, I’m Eli St. James, who lives in a shithole Manhattan studio with no earthly possessions.

  But I have more time to exercise and sleep, and I’m a lot less stressed. I still work at the agency, because it’s easy and creative, and then I leave and do a whole lot of nothing.

  So what if I’m mind-numbingly bored? It’s good for me.

  Isn’t it?

  I open one eye and see a cockroach scurrying across the floor. It’s the most exciting thing I’ve seen all week. I jump up and stomp on it.

  After that, I walk to my job at Shimura Advertising. Slowly. Because I’m a chill motherfucker who meditates.

  SHIMURA ADVERTISING AGENCY, NEW YORK

  If I had anything on my desk right now, I’d sweep it off. “No, never. No fucking way am I going to Colorado!”

  I’m in the middle of a staredown with my boss, Skip. He took over Shimura Advertising after his dad died. He’s kind of a joke of a boss. Most of us don’t take him seriously. But I’m taking him seriously right now.

  “You are aware that I’m the one paying your salary?” His unblinking black eyes are just barely visible under his squint.

  I lift my chin. “Sorry, can’t help you out on this pitch.”

  “You’re fired.”

  I snort. “What?”

  “You heard me. Pack up your shit.” Skip covers his mouth. “Oh, oops, you don’t have any shit. You gave it all away. Well, that should make it easier.” He spins on his leather boots and stomps away, head held high.

  I’ll wait for five minutes. He’ll be back, begging me not to quit.

  Ten minutes pass.

  I turn on my computer and check my email. Nothing from Skip. But he’ll be back.

  Four more minutes pass.

  I check my savings account. I could get by for six months. A year, maybe. And do what? This requires serious planning. I have heart palpitations. And is that sweat on my upper lip? Jesus.

  I’m relapsing.

  I may be chill, but not when it comes to Colorado. When I left home, it was for good. I cannot go there. She’s there. Everyone died there. I died there.

  Just before I’m ready to drop to the floor and meditate, Skip zips down the office slide and lands two feet away from my cubicle. “Ready to pack up your toothbrush and go boardin’?”

  “No.” I spell it out in case he didn’t hear it the first time. “N. O.”

  He sighs and sits in my office chair. “All right, what’s it going to take, St. James? I thought you’d be leaping in the air, Cirque-de-Soleil style. This is such a cool opportunity. Proton Sports. Adult winter camp. So much fun.” Skip’s tone is anything but fun. “I thought you grew up there. What’s the problemo? I was serious, by the way. If you can’t go, I’m going to have to can you.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose to stave off impending hyperventilation. “Where is this camp?”

  “Breckenridge. You’re not filling me with false hope by asking, are you?”

  There’s no way in hell I’d run into her in Breckenridge. I could just fly in, fly out, and get it done with.

  What am I thinking? I can’t go back!

  I’m thinking I need a job.

  Skip hangs his head. “Look, I’m going to be frank with you. You’re not the only one I’ll have to lay off if we don’t get this business. I’m sure you’ve noticed the lack of billable hours around here. Think about our dear copywriter, poor single mom Avery. Think about all the families that Santa Claus will skip, if they don’t have a job. You really want me to be that kind of Grinch?”

  “Is this a guilt trip?”

  “Is it working? I thought you were a compassionate Buddhist now?”

  This compassionate Buddhist is seriously thinking about kicking his boss’s ass. “How long?”

  “Two weeks total. You’ll be in and out before the holidays. Lickety-split.” He dices his hand through the air.

  “Who else is going?”

  “You—I hope—me, Avery, Sabrina—”

  “Sabrina! Hell, no.” I “dated” Sabrina a while ago. She’s an account manager here at the agency. She’s also a stage-nineteen clinger. Case in point: she’s been hanging onto our non-relationship for a year past the sell date. Her Sports-Illustrated-swimsuit-model attractiveness morphed into Britney-Spears-shaved-head ugliness a few too many times.

  She was a master at the mind fuck. And I hate games. Plus, she’s high maintenance, and I’m as low-maintenance as you can get without being dead.

  Except right now. Right now I am not low maintenance. I am high maintenance. Very high.

  Adding her to the mix makes this situation even worse.

  “I need the whole team,” he says. “That’s the only way we’re allowed on this pitch.”

  “Who else is going?”

  “The intern. Because she’s free. Fischer, the new developer. And”—he sticks his tongue out and rolls his eyes—“Jerry.”

  “I thought you hated that guy?”

  “I do. But he played hockey in college, and I need all the wintery skills I can get. Including yours.” He clasps his hands in prayer. “Pretty please, St. James, with a bonus-if-we-win-this-account sprinkled on top? I need you. Don’t make me beg.”

  “Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”

  “Yeah, but I’ll get down on my knees, which is huge, because I’m wearing nine-hundred-dollar jeans.”

  I can’t believe I’m about to say this next sentence. Maybe I should see a shrink after all. “Okay, but you owe me.”

  “No, I don’t. What about all that time off I gave you when you were moonlighting at your second job?”

  “I didn’t take time off to DJ.”

  “Okay, what about turning a blind eye when you were screwing Sabrina?”

  “Is that against the law?”

  His left eye twitches. “Just get your ass in the conference room, St. James.”

  It’s an inferno inside the conference room. The coworkers accompanying me on this horrible journey are already seated at the table.

  Sabrina’s gaze follows me like one of those creepy paintings in a haunted house. “Are you going?”

  “Looks like it,” I grumble.

  Preeti, our Indian intern, hooks up her laptop, and a chart pops up on the overhead screen.

  Skip pulls out a laser pen and shines a red dot at the chart. “Okay, team, let’s discuss our upcoming team-bonding trip.”

  Team bonding trip, my ass. This is extortion.

  Our copywriter, Avery Adams, is firing ocular missiles at our boss. Normally, she’s sweet and silly and reminds me of a voluptuous version of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. But right now, she’s glaring at Skip like he’s Sigourney Weaver and she’s the alien.

  “How many times do I have to tell you? I can’t go! Who will take care of Austin?” Austin is her little boy. She had him by herself with a sperm
donor.

  Skip shines a red dot on her forehead. “Proton has a guy at the resort who will watch your kid when you’re busy.”

  She swats the dot away. “You expect me to leave my kid with a strange man? Are you insane?”

  “What’s there to do? Feed him. Play with him. What could go wrong?”

  “Isn’t Breckenridge where that cannibal guy lived?” asks Sam, the developer.

  “Shht!” Skip zips his lips. “Nobody asked you, Fischer.”

  Avery dials up an expression similar to a serial killer. “I will kill you in your sleep if something happens to Austin.”

  Skip sits on the corner of the table and folds his arms across his chest like he’s the most important person in the room.

  Newsflash: he’s not.

  “Listen up, team. In case I wasn’t clear: you don’t do this pitch, you’re out of here. I’ve been beyond chill with all your little personal problems.” He flutters his hands like birds in flight. “Your kid problems. Your relationship problems. Your second careers…” He directs the last two items at me. “Now you need to do me a solid and do your jobs. Or I’ll find someone who can. Besides, it’ll be fun. Two weeks in colorful Colorado. What’s not to love? Fresh air. Parties. We’ll do a little schussing down the slopes.” He swooshes his arms like he’s cruising down the mountain. “Then we’ll win the business and come home. Consider it a paid vacation.”