Page 10 of Tough Luck

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, he didn’t fire you on the spot,” she pointed out. “And I saw the way he looked at you in the meeting.”

“Hasn’t fired me yet,” I corrected.

“It was an accident.” She waved her hand and took another bite of her turkey sandwich.

“I was trying to save us from getting stuck,” I whispered frantically, trying to justify it in my mind. “And now he has me scheduled for the very last meeting of the day. I’m doomed. Just when I thought I could start looking for an apartment with a stove that isn’t touching my mattress.”

“Hey, if he was going to fire you, he would have done it this morning,” Nova reasoned, squeezing my arm. “Just go in there, be the brilliant marketing strategist you are, and blame the infrastructure, like everyone else does when they’re late. Everyone knows that elevator is a hazard.”

Her pep talk helped, but the second we stepped back onto the fourth floor of Gold Standard Media, the fragile peace shattered.

“Sofia!” Leonard’s voice boomed across the creative floor before the elevator doors had even fully closed behind us. He marched down the hallway, his face flushed with an ugly, impatient red. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking at the hardware store files, and the digital ad copy hasn’t been finalized!”

Several heads popped up from their cubicles to watch the drama unfold. My cheeks burned.

“I checked those files in before I went to lunch,” I said, keeping my voice low and even. “The copy is completely done. I finished the split-testing variations, the SEO keyword integration, and the graphic alt-text last night. They are all up on the drive.”

“Well, they aren’t now,” he snapped, crossing his arms aggressively. “I am the lead on this account, Sofia, and your delay is making us both look bad on the new CEO’s first day! I want it completely redone by four o’clock, or I’m writing you up!”

He turned on his heel and stormed back to his office, leaving me standing in the aisle.

I took a deep, shaky breath, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. I had done all the work. I knew it. Every single bit of it had been put up on the drive before Nova had stepped into my cubicle.

However, when I sat down and logged in, there was no sign of them, either up on the shared corporate drive or in my own desktop folders.

The entire project was empty. And now, between Leonard trying to scapegoat me and Rick Mylonas waiting for me at 4:30, it was officially the unluckiest Monday of my entire life.

I spent the next three hours furiously redoing work that I’d spent almost a full week of overtime doing. By the time 4:25 p.m. rolled around, I had re-exported every single graphic variation, tweaked a dozen flawless copy lines to appease Leonard’s fragile ego, and checked the hardware store files back into the server.

I didn’t even care that he was taking credit for it anymore. I just needed to survive the next thirty minutes.

I smoothed down the front of my blazer for the hundredth time that day, grabbed my folders, and walked down the executive hallway. When I reached the corner office, Elizabeth gave me a sympathetic look. “Go right in, Sofia. He’s waiting for you.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, turned the handle, and stepped inside.

The heavy oak door clicked shut behind me, sealing me inside the spacious office. Rick was sitting behind his father’s massive mahogany desk. He looked up, his striking blue eyes locking onto me, and the air immediately left my lungs. He’d ditched the wrinkled suit jacket from this morning and rolled the sleeves of his white dress shirt up his forearms. He looked entirely too comfortable for a man holding my professional fate in his hands.

“Take a seat, Sofia,” he said, gesturing to one of the leather armchairs facing the desk.

I nervously sat across from him, resting my folder on my lap and folding my hands tightly over it. I stopped myself from bouncing my leg nervously and waited for him to speak, the silence stretching between us for a long, agonizing beat.

Mentally, my mind flashed back to a little over a year ago. James Mylonas had interviewed me for this very full-time position in this exact office. I remembered staring at the view of Table Mountain through the large windows, my hands shaking as I tried to convince James that a college dropout with a passion for design and words was worth taking a chance on full time. I was probably just as nervous right now as I had been back then. Only this time, I had a wrestling match on my resume.

Rick leaned back in the leather executive chair, tapping a pen against his palm. “You spell your name S-O-F-I-A? That’s an unusual way.”

“It was my nona’s name,” I answered, and held my breath.

He nodded slightly. “So, Sofia. Tell me exactly what it is you do here.”

The dam broke. The nervous energy inside me took over, and I started to ramble, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a breathless rush.

“Well, officially I’m a junior associate, but realistically I do a bit of everything because our team is tight. I handle web design and coding for the client’s landing pages, plus all the custom graphics for the digital ads. I write most of the marketing text for the accounts that I work on—SEO optimization, variations for split-testing, email newsletters—and I build out the entire monthly deployment schedules for the retail clients I’m assigned to. When we do physical media, I design the billboards. I’ve even coordinated the local television commercials, which means I handle hiring the local SAG actors, scouting locations, getting the permits from the city, and directing the shots for the ads. Literally every detail from inception to launch.”

I finally stopped to inhale, my chest heaving as I realized I’d just dumped my entire daily existence onto him in under sixty seconds.

Rick didn’t look angry. In fact, he looked intrigued. He shifted in his chair, let out a quiet sigh, and reached for a color-printed document resting on the side of his desk.