Page 12 of Tough Luck

She stood and walked toward me. “I… have a few ideas already sketched.”

She opened the manila folder that she’d been gripping like a shield and pulled out a stack of loose-leaf paper and, to my surprise, a napkin with an impressive sketch of a beer can on it. My mouth twitched into a grin at the sight of the napkin. I knew that some of the best marketing strategies in the world had been drafted on them over dinner or drinks.

She stepped closer, placing them on the desk between us. As she started pointing to her sketches, that hesitant, defensive posture completely evaporated, replaced by the same sharp, captivating energy that I’d glimpsed in the elevator.

“Clear Creek isn’t just trying to sell beer,” Sofia explained, her eyes lit with genuine excitement as she traced a beautifully hand-drawn logo of a kayak paddle slicing through stylized water currents. “They’re trying to sell the Golden lifestyle. The kayakers, the hikers, the people who sit on their balconies after a long day and just want a crisp, local brew that tastes like the mountains. Leonard wanted to focus purely on more traditional billboard ads and radio spots with sports and a bunch of cheering men watching TV. But I think we need to go softer, with more geo-targeted social campaigns aimed at locals and tourists alike, including women.” She held up her hand as if to stop me from arguing and frowned slightly when I didn’t. “They make up 50 percent of the CCB’s drinking demographics.” She tilted her head and watched for my reaction. Happy with my slight nod of agreement, she continued. “We’ll couple that with multiple can designs that I’ve sketched of local trailheads, creek, and ski areas, and an idea I had last night about recycled cans.”

I looked from the sketches up to her face, thoroughly impressed. Her instincts were lethal. She had a better grasp of this demographic than the seasoned executives that I’d left behind in San Diego.

“This is excellent,” I said, tapping the logo sketch. “You’re exactly right about the lifestyle angle and not hitting fifty-percent of the population by only angling toward men watching sports. Let’s do this: take all the files, go over their desired parameters, and we’ll meet tomorrow sometime to start structuring the actual pitch.”

“I’ll have a full digital framework on your desk first thing in the morning,” she said automatically, already reaching for her papers and the folder with the frantic energy of someone used to working under a tyrant.

I glanced at the brass clock on the wall. It was 4:52 p.m.

“Tomorrow afternoon will do just fine,” I corrected gently, stepping around the desk. “You’re off the clock in less than five minutes. The days of you pulling unpaid overtime and working weekends are officially over. Go home, relax, and we’ll tackle this fresh tomorrow.”

She blinked, momentarily stunned by the concept of a normal work schedule, before a brilliant, relieved smile broke across her face. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” I nodded.

I watched her walk out of the office, her step noticeably lighter than when she’d walked in. The moment the heavy oak door clicked shut behind her, the warmth left my face.

After spending a full day in my father’s seat, I knew that it was time to take out the trash.

I walked over to the threshold, opened the door, and caught the receptionist’s eye. “Elizabeth, do me a favor. Pull Leonard’s personnel file from HR and send it to my computer. Then get him back in my office immediately.”

“Right away, Mr. Mylonas,” Elizabeth said, her eyes widening slightly at my tone. “I think he’s already left for the day.”

“Then call him and get him back in here,” I said as I shut my door.

Ten minutes later, Leonard strutted into my office, looking smug. The man had left the building almost half an hour early. No doubt, he’d claimed he’d left at five on his time card.

By the way he was acting, I’d wager he was thinking this was a good thing, being called back into the office.

He adjusted his tie, completely oblivious to the storm brewing behind my desk. “You wanted to see me again? I assume you reviewed the hardware store files I stayed up late finalizing last night.”

Another lie. Elizabeth had heard the entire exchange between Leonard and Sofia when she had gotten back from lunch. Everyone in the office knew that Sofia had spent her entire afternoon redoing the work herself.

The man wasn’t even trying to hide his lies any longer. Had my dad been that blind to this man? Why?

I sat back in my chair. On my monitor, his personnel file was open. It was a joke. He’d barely hit his targets in three years, and his previous reviews under my father noted a distinct lack of independent creative output.

That was until Sofia had been put under his wing last year. Then, miraculously, the man had started showing progress and earned better and bigger accounts. He had a list of fresh new clients that he was credited for bringing to the firm as well.

“I did look at those files, Leonard,” I said smoothly. “Fascinating work. Tell me, how long did it take you to develop the SEO keyword integration for that campaign?”

Leonard chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. “Oh, you know, a couple of late nights at the office. I really had to dig deep into the hardware demographic to get those perfect strings.”

“Is that so?” I leaned forward, pulling the printed copy of the Blueberry Bakery ad from earlier and sliding it across the desk. “And what about this one? You told me this morning that you spent months wining and dining the bakery owner to secure their contract.”

“Absolutely.” Leonard lied seamlessly, puffing out his chest. “Hardest client I ever had to close. But my persistence paid off.”

“Remind me again, what is the owner’s name?” I glanced down at the file, as if searching for the name.

“The owner?” Leonard asked.

“Yes,” I glanced up at him. “You said you wined and dined… him?”