****
Thanks to traffic I probably should have anticipated, I walked into the office twenty minutes later than I had planned. I was flustered and sore and unexplainably out of breath because I rationalized that I should be in ultra-shape now after my psychotic spin class this morning.
I had just enough time to say hi to Emily, drop my purse at my desk, and grab my notebook and laptop for my morning briefing with Ethan and Henry.
“They’re already waiting for you,” Emily murmured while I searched for my favorite pen.
“I’m not even late!” I protested.
“Yeah, well, good luck convincing them of that.”
I growled something profane at her, and then scurried to Henry’s office. Emily was right. They were there and already talking about the account.
Scooting behind Ethan’s chair, I took a seat and held my shoulders back, even though I felt like curling into a ball and apologizing for who I was as a human.
“Molly,” Henry greeted. “So nice of you to join us.”
“Sorry,” I blurted. “I thought the meeting started at nine-thirty.”
Neither man confirmed my statement. Instead, Henry passed me a packet of papers about Black Soul, including a marketing plan that he’d already devised. My heart sank to my stomach. I’d wanted to be a part of this process, not delegated tasks he didn’t want to deal with.
“As creative director, I want you to know my door is always open. I’m here to go over every minute detail and help guide you in the right direction,” Henry explained. “Ethan already has some great ideas for an updated logo. We’ve gone over his vision and I’m confident he’s off to a good start.” My heart sank further. I had some cool ideas for their new logo. There was so much to do with a name like Black Soul. “Molly, I’m going to work side-by-side with you on the social media packet. I want my hands on every part of this project.”
Avoiding Henry’s awkward stare, I nodded and made notes in the margins of my planner as if this wasn’t exactly what I’d expected. Sure, I had hoped for more. Or I’d at least expected to be part of a conversation that I could have petitioned for more. But the majority of my career so far had been in social media.
On one hand, I already knew I would excel because that was where I felt comfortable. On the other hand, it came with zero respect. The older designers in my office had no idea how valuable a strong social media presence could be. There was so much to do in the way of advertising on the numerous different platforms, and unlimited potential to be innovative and unique.
And yet, the people I worked with were still bidding on expensive print spots and TV commercials. They were single-handedly keeping magazine publishers in business. Because it obviously wasn’t the missing throngs of subscribers. And don’t even get me started on commercials.
Besides the elderly, who had the patience to watch anything on live TV?
“Are you good to make some graphics that coincide with the logo Ethan develops?” The Little Tucker asked.
“Yep,” I answered, working hard to swallow bitter disappointment. To Ethan I said, “Send me all of the mockups you are going to take to them and I can develop a coinciding online plan. As long as you give me enough time to put something together, we can give them the whole picture of what their campaign will look like.”
Ethan marked something in his notes. “That’s a great idea, Molly.”
I breathed a subtle sigh of relief. This wasn’t the first time I had pitched an approach like this. Usually I got polite nods and hums of resigned acceptance only to be totally forgotten about until the morning of the pitch. I was good at my job, but even I needed more than thirty minutes to put together an entire campaign.
I’d even confronted designers that I worked with often, trying in vain to explain why I would want to pitch the advertising campaign along with the new logo, but I could never get the good old boys to see the big picture.
And some of them weren’t even boys! In the beginning, I’d assumed I’d be able to count on females to fight battles with me. Because girl power! And solidarity. And a strong, mutual hatred of our periods. But it turned out women in the workplace could be just as vicious, if not more so, than men.
Where men brushed me aside and ignored my requests, talents and opinions, women strapped on armor and waged war. Men barely acknowledged my efforts. Women assumed I was trying to destroy their career by furthering mine.
Unfortunately, Henry wasn’t nearly as forward thinking as Ethan. “You’re going to create an entire ad campaign for each logo pitch? That seems like an excessive amount of work on your end. I think your efforts are better served on price points and potential reach.”
“It won’t be an entire campaign for each logo. More like simple mockups featuring the logo in several different capacities. I’d like to have a graphic for desktop and mobile, website versus social platforms. It will give the client a bigger picture of how the logo will look during the campaign.”
Henry pinched his nose with his thumb and forefinger, thinking over my idea.
“It will benefit the logo,” Ethan added. “And help the client pick the best one. I think Molly is on to something.”
Henry stared at my legs until I wished I’d worn something more practical. Like sackcloth. Or a giant tarp. “We’ll see,” he finally sighed. “I still need everything else from you though, sweets. Just ‘cause you’re getting sidetracked with this, doesn’t mean you can slack off with my stuff.”
I swallowed back annoyance at the nickname and accusation. “I won’t,” I promised. “I’m on top of this.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and smiled back. But then he kept smiling and staring, looking at me long enough that I started to feel uncomfortable beneath his warm gaze. I crossed my legs nervously and he tracked the movement with hungry eyes. “I’ll bet.”
Clearing my throat, I looked down at my notes again and pretended to write something. In reality, it was a tiny drawing of an eyeball. I needed an outlet for this nervous energy. The Little Tucker was such a skeez. Was it so much to ask that he restrain his dirty-old-man tendencies while at work?
Henry turned back to Ethan while I added an arrogantly arched eyebrow and thick eyelashes that didn’t belong on the man in my doodle. The eyeball stared at me from the flat page of my notebook, judging me, dissecting me… seeing parts of me I wanted to remain hidden.
Ezra.
He’d followed me to work. I thought about his email this morning. Stubborn woman.