by KB Winters
“It’s all right. I know you’re still working on this.” He gestured at my mess. “But there is a department meeting and I want you to come with me. Rita Blair is the manager of the design team and she asks me to sit on her meetings from time to time so I can give feedback on the ad campaigns and how they work in the digital world.”
“Sounds cool.”
Really, anything to give my hand a break from signing papers was a welcome distraction.
“Great. We need to get going, though—Rita is a real stickler for punctuality.”
“Got it!” I stood and started to follow Bryce through the maze of cubicles. He smiled and nodded recognition at a few people as we walked past but he didn’t stop to introduce me to anyone. The hardest thing to get used to with my new position was going to be the lack of human interaction. Sitting at a desk, staring at a computer screen all day was going to be quite the departure from my last job as a barista. Working in a coffee shop is people, people, people all day long. Some of whom I wanted to send through the espresso grinder—but for the most part, it was fun to bullshit with random people all day. I had a sinking feeling that life in the cubicle wasteland was going to get really boring, really fast. Unfortunately, while being a Barista was fun, it wasn’t at the top of the list of good paying jobs and with the debt I’d collected thanks to Marx, my asshole ex-boyfriend, I needed this job. And IT came easy to me. It was like I was born with coding running through my veins. Well, that, and a short stint in college which had helped me hone my skills.
We passed a long wall of windows and entered a doorway into a large conference room. There was a buzz of voices as we walked in, but no one stopped their conversations long enough to acknowledge us. Bryce pulled out a chair for me and I sat down, carefully smoothing my skirt underneath me. I nervously tapped my heels under the table as I waited, watching everyone around the room.
“That’s Tessa Greenwood,” Bryce explained, following my eyes to a tall, thin blonde woman holding court in the corner of the room. There were at least eight people swarmed around her, hanging on her every word. “She’s the head of the women’s fashion division. Hopelessly beautiful, world is her oyster, blah blah.”
“I get the feeling you’re not a fan. Is she a—a bitch?” I whispered as I watched her smile and chat with the group around her and although she appeared to be friendly, there was a little voice in my head telling me otherwise.
“Depends on who you are,” he answered without hesitation. “If she thinks you can help her, then she’s sweet as grandma’s apple pie, but if you’re in her way…watch out.”
“Noted. What else do I need to know?”
He flicked his gaze to a man standing on the other side of the room from Tessa and her posse. He was tall and very put-together looking. A little too put together looking, if you asked me. I had the sudden urge to run across the room, loosen his collar and mess up his hair a little. “That’s Cameron Nelson. He’s a shark. He’ll probably try to hit on you but trust me, you aren’t interested.”
“No, I’m not,” I said, scoffing under my breath. Nothing about Cameron was my type. Flashy smiles, power suits, and expensive cars weren’t exactly what I was after. In fact, I was on a bit of a dating hiatus since finally escaping the clutches of Marx…I’d decided that it was better to be single and I wasn’t sure when—or if, I would ever change my mind on that policy again.
My eyes continued to sweep the room and I couldn’t help but feel a little out of place. Everyone was so polished and put-together. It’s not that I considered myself to be unattractive, but I also knew I wasn’t exactly in the same category as the majority of these people. I’d had to rack up an already-at-the-limit credit card just to afford enough business attire to get me through the week. It had been a major challenge to find clothes that would fit my needs. For starters, I had to have outfits that would cover all my tattoos. My right arm has a full sleeve, so nothing short-sleeved would work at all. Everything I bought had to work with a blazer. Even that was difficult because a lot of the sleeves were just a little too short and would ride up and show the edges of ink starting on my wrist. Then, once I had selected proper pairings, everything had to be tailored to fit right. Five foot three with kickin’ curves can be tricky to fit in professional attire without wandering into slutty secretary territory. Having to hide the tattoos on top of that had been almost impossible.
I turned back to Bryce. “Let me ask you something else. Does everyone here do modeling on the side or something? I don’t remember that being part of the job description, but seriously…”
Bryce laughed but before he could reply, a stern-looking woman walked into the room. I recognized her from when I’d had my panel interview prior to starting the job, but couldn’t come up with her name as I watched her cross the room and take her place at the head of the long table.
“That’s Rita,” Bryce whispered in my ear. I nodded in response, not daring to make a peep as all conversation ceased at her appearance. In silence, everyone made their way to the table, taking their seats and turning their eager attention to her as she sat at the head of the long table.
I sat back in my chair and marveled at the Stepford-like precision of it all.
“Good morning, everyone. Thank you for your promptness. I know this is a busy week for us all, but we do have some things that need attending to. First of all, we have a new addition to the design IT department that I would like to introduce you all to. Allison Rand.” She gestured to me and I felt everyone’s attention swivel in my direction. There was a polite applause, fake smiles, and a couple of heads nodding in my direction. I smiled back and tried to look friendly in return. “She will be working with Bryce, so she is here with him to observe.”
With that said, the meeting commenced. I felt fish-out-of-water most of the way through and tried to stay busy-looking by writing out my grocery list on the edge of my notebook.
Rita was halfway through her presentation—according to the textbook-sized packet that lay in front of me—when one of the girls I recognized from reception poked her head into the room, waited for permission to enter, and came to whisper something in Rita’s ear. It was strange to watch, like something out of a movie, but Rita’s face instantly flushed and she jumped up from her seat, her heels scuffling on the wood floors as she fled from the room.
“What in the world was that all about?” I asked Bryce.
His brow was wrinkled with concern as he shrugged in reply.
No one seemed to know what to do, unsure of whether to stay and wait for Rita to return or if the meeting was over and we should all go back to work. There was whispering and nervous chatter as everyone consulted on what could possibly be the matter.
They all seemed to get their answer a few moments later when a tall man in a crisp business suit appeared at the edge of the windowed wall. He stalked by, laser-focused on the path in front of him. A young man ran up to meet him and held out an overpriced bottle of water but the man waved him off without even looking at him.
“Oh, shit,” Bryce exhaled.
“What?” I struggled to tear my eyes away from the impressive figure. “Who is he?”
Bryce started to speak but his reply was drowned out as the room burst into action as soon as the hallway in front of the conference room was vacant again. Half a dozen people jumped up from their seats and bolted for the door.
“Meeting adjourned?” I asked, an eyebrow raised.
“That’s Cooper Brighton.” He didn’t say anything else, as if no further introduction was needed.
“Who?”
Bryce looked at me with a mix of confusion and irritation. “Come on, I’ll explain on the way.”
I got out of my seat and followed behind as Bryce practically flew down the hallway. I tried my best to keep up with his pace, not an easy feat in my sky-high heels.
“Mr. Brighton is the agency’s biggest clients. He’s the CEO of Plush Inc.”
“Plush?”
He stopped in
his tracks. “Seriously? Where do you shop? Plush is a very high-end cosmetic and fragrance company.”
“Well, up until about a week ago my budget was more in the Walgreen’s arena, so excuse me for not keeping up with the Kardashians.” I rolled my eyes.
“All right, all right. Well you’re in a new world now and it’s your job to know our clientele and their lifestyle. If you want to market the brand, you have to understand the brand.”
I wasn’t sure why it mattered that I knew what the marketing was for. All I planned to do was change passwords, build websites, fix computer gremlins, keep the viruses out, and so on, but I nodded anyways, resisting the urge to add a mock salute.
“Anyway, Plush is a huge company and Mr. Brighton is a very—how should I put this—ambitious man. If he is here without an existing appointment, that means someone fucked up and we’re all going to pay for whatever the mistake was.”
“Fantastic. I can’t wait to be introduced to this Mr. Brighton.”
Bryce laughed. “Well, that’s not going to happen for a long time—if ever. He is very particular on who handles his account.”
I exhaled and sat down on the chair opposite Bryce’s chair. He didn’t sit down. He stood and paced.
“So now what? We wait out the storm?”
“Rita will call me in to her office and let me have it once he’s gone. I’m technically not in charge of the Plush account but she will expect me to deal with this. Whatever it is. She thinks I’m the go-to guy for everything.”
I looked down at my freshly manicured nails and started to wonder how I got into this whole mess. A week ago, my biggest career crisis would have been running out of milk in the middle of the day or a fussy customer questioning the exact origins of the ingredients of our organic pastries. Watching Bryce and the rest of the office have a full-on meltdown over one stuffy dude in a power suit made me want to run back to my coffee shop and tie on my apron for good. But I remembered the pile of bills mounting on my kitchen table and decided that ulcer medication was probably a lot cheaper than bankruptcy.
A knock on the door snapped me out of my mental wanderings.
“Come in,” Bryce said.
Another new person appeared. “Rita is asking for you.”
“All right. Tell her I’ll be there shortly.”
“Um. No, not you, Mr. Sherman. Actually, you, Miss Rand.”
“Me?” My eyes flew to Bryce, wide with alarm.
“Her?” Bryce asked the assistant.
The blonde nodded.
“Why me?” I asked Bryce.
“I don’t know but you better hurry.”
“Well, naturally. What girl doesn’t race to her own funeral?” I said, rising out of my chair.
Chapter Two
The assistant–I didn’t know her name but she looked like a Brittany, the perky and perfect type—led me through another maze of cubicles and offices before ushering me towards a smaller version of the conference room Bryce and I had fled only minutes before. From outside the doorway, I could hear raised voices.
“I don’t care who made the mistake! What I need is a solution, and I need it now. If your firm can’t provide that for my company, then I have no problem taking my business elsewhere and if you even think to speak to me of contractual obligations or try to placate me with reports and numbers and spreadsheets, I will have a team of my best lawyers take up residence in your office until you see things from my point of view. Do I make myself clear?”
Rita’s voice was softer and from outside the room I couldn’t hear what she replied and then the room was silent.
“They’re waiting for you,” Brittany hissed at me.
A slight shiver crept down my spine as Brittany gave me a borderline sympathetic look before turning on her stiletto heels and prancing away. I waited until she was out of sight before turning to meet the sharp gaze of Rita. I felt the presence of Mr. Brighton but couldn’t risk eye contact. From what I could see and hear, he was on the warpath. I knew I couldn’t get caught up in the middle of that, although I had the sinking feeling it was too late, and I didn’t know why.
“Miss Rand, thank you for joining us. Please sit.” Rita sat down and straightened her blazer. Mr. Brighton sat down alongside her but did my best to keep him in my peripheral vision.
I tried not to audibly gulp as I pulled out a chair and sat across the table. “Did I do something wrong?” I asked.
Rita looked surprised by my question but quickly recovered and released a fake-sounding laugh. She shot a look over at Mr. Brighton and before I could stop myself, I followed her glance and found myself staring directly into the darkest brown eyes I had ever seen. I let my eyes wander over the rest of his features, probably for longer than socially acceptable, but for the life of me, I couldn’t look away. My stomach felt like it just got hit by a shot of whiskey. A smooth heat. His skin was a dark, deep tan that definitely didn’t come from a bottle. His hair was dark espresso brown and just slightly tousled, like he had recently showered and it wasn’t quite dry yet. Even with the suit, it was clear that he was athletic. My mind wandered away and was suddenly filled with images of him—shirtless, running, muscles flexed and glistening with the sheen of sweat.
“Miss Rand?”
I inhaled too fast and sputtered on my attempt to respond. “Yes, ma’am?”
Without a word, Rita pushed a glass of water across the table. My cheeks were burning up and knew I was blushing. My fair skin and freckles could turn practically crimson and thinking about what a sight I must have only made it worse.
“Thank you. I’m sorry,” I said, after I caught my breath. “Please continue.”
I kept my eyes on Rita, not daring to look back over at Mr. Brighton.
“As I was saying,” she started. “Mr. Brighton is one of our top clients. He has been with our firm for a number of years. In that time, he has worked with our brightest and best designers, but now he finds himself looking for a fresh set of eyes to help with his next project. I realize you’re new here, but Mr. Sherman thinks very highly of you and told me that you’re a tiger on website design, so I’d like to get your input. I know it’s not advertising, per say, but we can discuss the new advertising campaign with Mr. Brighton and come up with a plan.”
“Uhhh. Of course. What, uhm… seems to be the—”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mr. Brighton interrupted. His voice was not raised but the anger was palpable, nonetheless.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Brighton?” Rita’s voice was dangerously sharp.
“Miss…Rand, was it?”
I nodded and tried my best not to gulp again.
“Tell me something, Miss. Rand. In your experience, would you ever let trash like this…?” He shoved a pile of glossy proof pages across the table at me. “Would you let that see the light of day?”
I took my time examining the pages, as I desperately searched my brain for the next thing to say. The pages were filled with bright, glossy looking images of an array of perfume bottles. They all looked fine to me. Not really my taste—something about the exposure of the pictures seemed off but they certainly weren’t the worst I’d ever seen. I wouldn’t have called them trash. But I knew better than to argue with a client. Two years of customer service experience in a coffee shop had taught me that if the customer says something is trash, it’s trash. I assumed that was even more so with multi-million dollar accounts than vanilla lattes.
When I dared to look up, his eyes instantly locked on mine. His eyebrow was cocked like he was daring me to contradict him. I ran with a pretty rough crowd and had been to some very sketchy bars, but never in my life had I felt this intimidated before. I had the sense that no matter what I said, it wouldn’t matter.
“Sir, I don’t think my opinion counts. I’m actually not an ad designer, I’m an IT person. This is only my second day here. I used to work in a coffee shop.” I smiled, hoping to cut some tension.
He let out a curt laugh. “Of course you d
id! Rita, really? A barista?” He scoffed. “All right. Well, then, as a consumer, just make your best guess.” He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and waited.
Something inside me snapped at his rebuff. I straightened in my chair and grabbed all the pictures. I might not be an ad designer, but I know what works and what doesn’t and I’d even taken some photography classes in high school. So I decided to play ball and began thrusting the pictures back across the table at him. “Well, for starters, the exposure is all wrong. They look fuzzy in print which isn’t going to translate well, especially online. It’ll pixilate. The set-up on this one is all wrong, confusing to the eye. Naturally, a consumer’s eye is going to travel from left to right, so you want your product’s aligned in a way that will complement that pattern, with your most prominent and eye-catching image.” I paused to consider the last page.
“This one,” I said. I pointed to a purple bottle that looked something like a genie lamp before pushing the final page at him. “Well, this one just looks like something from a campaign for feminine products. Like a douche…perhaps.” I paused and relished in the horrified look on Rita’s face. If you fed me to the wolves, I’d bite right back.
“Does that answer your question, Mr. Brighton?”
He clenched his jaw but his lips curved up and gave the faintest hint of a smile.
“So, Rita, tell me. How is it that a barista who has only been on your work force for two days sees all the flaws? And your design team, which you have assured me is only made up of the best and brightest in the industry, who not only created this garbage in the first place, can’t see it when I explain it to them endlessly, in great detail, over numerous phone calls, emails, and these ever-so-pleasant meetings?”