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“You’d have to be a dumb fuck not to take help,” Jake says, interrupting my thoughts. “Are you a dumbfuck?”
I lift my glass and toss back the rest of the drink in one gulp, the alcohol and sugar playing on my tongue, burning down mythroat.
Some days, Iwonder.
3
Rena
“Iunderstandyou weren’t happy with where we landed on the campaign, Brad,” I say during the video call in the conference room at work that’s empty save for me and about a hundred succulents and grass plants arranged to cover the wall behind me like a blanket. “I’ll tryagain.”
The man on the screen, a middle-aged exec dressed as if he’s pretending he’ll be twenty-five forever, looks pained. “You don’t understand the direction we’re going. This isn’t about anatomy. Our clients value comfort. Their bodies are their temples, and this part of their body? It’s extremely important andvaluable.”
I swallow my groan. I’m already eating a shit sandwich. Don’t ask me to drizzle garbage aioli on top. “And I understand that. I’ll have a new campaign direction to you in aweek.”
“That’s not going to work. We’ve already signed with anotheragency.”
When he hangs up, I shut my laptop harder than necessary and sit back, tugging on my ponytail. My fingers brush the end of a plant, and I barely rein in the impulse to rip a piece offit.
Last night after leaving the restaurant, what I really wanted to do was change into a T-shirt and boy shorts, curl up on the couch with my skunk Scrunchie, and watchPretty in Pinkwith a ten-dollar rosé that fixes problems great andsmall.
Instead, I went back to my office, scrounged for change for the subway to get me to my parents’ place, where I got my car back. Then I argued with someone from the bank until midnight trying to get my credit card reinstated and attached to one of my ownaccounts.
This morning I was at the client’s office at 8 a.m., figured out who his assistant was, and talked her into booking me a follow-up meeting with him this afternoon. Now, it’s official. Despite the weeks of work I put into landing them, and the fact I basically promised on paper that I would, it’s not going tohappen.
And it’s about to getworse.
I go to my boss’s office and knock on the door with the enthusiasm of a repeat delinquent summoned to the principal’soffice.
Daisy looksup.
She’s thirtyish but has one of those classic faces you know will be ageless. Her dark hair is cut in an angled bob, and her hazel eyes shine with intelligence. She doesn’t wear a lot of makeup, but what she does is deliberate.Tasteful.
I hear she’s had a couple of stalkers. And why not? My boss is gorgeous and brilliant and gutsy. She also knows what it takes to start and grow a business in thiscity.
“Rena. Nice work on end of quarter. I look forward to seeing your work on the new client’scampaign.”
“Yeah. About that.” I tug on my ponytail again. “I might have overstated the degree to which they’re ourclient.”
Her brows lower in concern. “What does thatmean?”
“It means I thought we had them. Wedon’t.”
Daisy shifts forward, leaning her elbows on the desk. “That’s a six-figureaccount.”
“I know.” She doesn’t yell, but the intensity in her expression makes me keep talking. “I tried to talk to them about it. They won’treconsider.”
The phone rings and she glances at it. I wish she’d answer but she hits a button to send it to voicemail before meeting mygaze.
“Two things. One, the paperwork we have exists for a reason. Being vague”—it’s decent of her not to say “lying”—“isn’t tolerated. I appreciate optimism, but not on my financialstatements.
“Two, I realize there’s an adjustment period, but I expect you to be able to service our clients. This business isn’t built on landing every client, but there’s a balance between giving them what they want and what they need. You will figure thatout.”
A breath whooshes out of me. “I’ll make this up to you. To thecompany.”
I turn and stalk back to my desk, my heels clicking on the pale floor. Our second-floor unit is a redone factory building. It’s beautiful, but today I’m not seeingit.
“Well?” Kendall peers over the top of the half wall separating our spaces when I return to my desk. “Did you get back into their goodgraces?”
