Love is in the Cards

by K. L. Brady

  As soon as he regained control of his emotions, he abandoned his art. He took several deep breaths, called his car, and made the trip over to Sweet Media.

  Cody slipped through the back entrance to escape the notice of her staff. When he arrived at Tessa's office, unlike him, she sat in her seat, appearing unbothered, a picture of calm and ease. He cleared his throat to get her attention, using every bit of his strength to restrain the bite in his bark. Didn't work.

  "What's going on? The Real Talk line? What've you done?" The words rolled out of his mouth before he even computed what he'd said.

  Surprised at his unannounced presence, her eyes protruded out of her skull. "You're mad," she replied, speaking the understatement of the century.

  "Oh, I'm not mad. Dogs get mad. No, I'm ticked. Words have not yet been invented to describe the level of my anger. And the worst part is, if anyone else in Hart had done what you did, I could fire them on the spot. I'm stuck with you."

  Hurt washed over her face; his harshness seemed to catch her off guard. "I started the new line as a means to hold on to my staff, to do what's best for Keep It Real. It's not a choice I'd make without careful thought and consideration."

  Taking in her expression, the tenseness in her jaw, her diverted gaze, he knew there was more to her decision than merely doing what she thought best. He knew her.

  "That's the problem with you, isn't it? Did you consider, even for a moment, how your choice would impact anyone except you and your little world?"

  "I did, but—"

  "If this line fails, a loss may mean freedom to you, but it means reduced revenue, smaller bonuses, fewer Christmas presents, less money toward college funds. These are the kinds of things CEOs of major corporations must consider."

  "Um, maybe I didn't consider—"

  "We don't have the luxury of rash, baseless decisions. You risked hurting your employees, and, for what? Failure and a flurry of I told you so's? The destruction of faith and trust between us? The potential loss of valuable staff not if, but when your plan flopped?"

  Tessa swallowed hard.

  The confrontation was inevitable. Cody figured she probably hadn't expected all of this truth before she downed the full cup of coffee on her coaster.

  She seemed to recalculate her response. He could almost see the smoke coming from her ears.

  "Quite frankly, I don't understand why you've got a beef with me. Maybe you've played it safe your entire career, but that luxury missed me."

  "It didn't miss you. You never wanted it," he reminded her.

  "I wasn't favored with the nepotistic silver platter your father handed to you, the big chair, and keys to the executive washroom."

  "I proposed to you. You could've taken half."

  "Maybe if you'd offered me half instead of a seat in your cheerleading section, I'd have said yes," she said. "I took chances; that's how I made it. I couldn't have come this far without being fearless in the face of risk."

  Her voice filled with force and emotion.

  "I still run this company," she continued, "and I needed to find a way to increase revenue. I believed Real Talk and a viral social media campaign were the best ways to achieve that goal. I've never been dismissive or condescending about your vision. Why are you so determined to dismiss mine?"

  "Because I know you, Tessa. Real Talk is not you. It's not what we—"

  He turned his back on her. When he glared at her over his shoulder, he shot a look that could've chilled her to the spine. He'd never looked at her with such shame.

  "We agreed, Tessa," Cody said. "At least I thought we did. I saw the words written on your whiteboard. Kinder. Gentler. That was the direction of the new greeting card line."

  "First of all, barking orders versus obtaining a consensus are two different things."

  "I never barked anything."

  "And we never agreed to anything. You attempted to impose your will on me, my staff, and my company. You dictated the request to me—or at least you tried. I never said I'd follow your command."

  "Tessa, I have a deep respect for your creativity, and I know, like no one knows, the amount of work and dedication required of you to build Keep It Real. But Real Talk is doomed to fail...miserably. You've lost touch with the market. When is the last time you conducted a focus group? I held one the month before I acquired Keep It Real and the week after," Cody said.

  Tessa stood there in shock with her mouth half hanging open.

  Her face reflected sheer disbelief that he asked.

  He could almost hear her launching four-letter expletives in her mind about his audacity to presuppose that he knew her business practices.

  "When is the last time you purchased one of your own cards?" he fired off again. "You're not even a consumer of the product you make. My focus groups were barely aware of your brand, yet they were repeat customers of Hart cards. Why? Because people need to connect on an emotional level."

  "My brand connects people on emotional levels."

  "Yes, but you've got a limited pool of consumers, and your messaging is outright mean at times. We create the cards that people give most often. Don't get me wrong, Keep It Real is a fantastic line, but it's niche."

  "There you go with the niche again, like it's a bad thing. I've got news for you. Apple Computers is niche. It's not a curse word."

  "The reason I wanted you to enhance your line was to increase your market share. Not encroach on your existing territory; just expand it. And in your unfounded quest to avenge some perceived wrong, you do...what? Destroy the whole company?"

  "Arrogant much? Still as self-centered as always," she said. "Our problem is and always was the fact that you think the earth, moon, and stars revolve around you."

  "The whole world doesn't revolve around me. Just Hart," he barked.

  "My decision to start the Real Talk line had minus zero to do with our history. I did what was best for Keep It Real, in the long-term."

  "You need a better strategy."

  "And you need better research," she said. "The engine driving the card market looks nothing like you and exactly like me—ninety percent women. And if you don't aggressively integrate social media into your marketing strategy, Hart Enterprises will become the dinosaur of the greeting card industry before you can pour another shot of whiskey."

  "All evidence suggests you will release this new line to a resounding thud. Not only is this the wrong way to expand, but it's also not who you are, not anymore."

  "This. From a man with no clue as to who I am."

  "Fine. This line does not represent the woman I thought you had grown to be—she's not the woman who I danced with at Di'Angelo's. I thought you were...we were—"

  "What? What do you presume to know about me? You never so much as sent me a text after delivering your Dear Jane card via third party delivery service. In no way, shape or form am I the same woman you abandoned back then. She ceased to exist the day you gutted her heart."

  "Too bad."

  "For whom? Not for me. No, she was young, stupid, and blinded by her love for someone, a man that existed only in her imagination. He's certainly not standing in front of me today. No, you are Chandra's man in every way. You're the one who bought his ex-girlfriend's loser company for a tax break."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Oh, yeah. Chandra confessed everything under the guise of 'getting along.'"

  She used air quotes.

  Chandra.

  He didn't respond, not right away, only stared at her. He could feel his eyes flood with hurt and contempt. What a performance. She wounded him, brandished her words like a sword, and jammed them like a dagger into his heart.

  "Silence. I see your M.O. hasn't changed," she continued.

  "Think whatever you want. Nothing I say or do makes any difference." He pressed his hand against his heart. "All I know is I did what I could to—."

  "To change me? To turn me into Chandra-lite? Thanks, but no thanks. I'll take a hard pass."

  "I didn't tr
y to change you. I tried to change your profit margin. That's my job as the CEO of Keep It Real. But if you're dead set on sabotaging the company and every strategy we devise to spark a turnaround then..."

  "Then what?" Tessa barked, hanging on the edge of his words. She seemed eager to hear him say he'd cut his losses and shed the dead weight of Keep It Real.

  Perhaps he would've except for the boisterous cheers erupting from the outer offices.

  "What's that about?" he asked.

  "I dunno," she said with a shrug. "Uh, what were you saying again?"

  "I was saying..."

  Before the words escaped his lips, Mia flittered inside, beaming like a bright ray of sun. She bumped the door after opening and said, "Knock, knock. May I interrupt?"

  "Sure," Cody said.

  Tessa gave him a stern side-eye glance. He answered with all of her authority, after all, it was his company.

  "Yeah, what's going on?" Tessa followed.

  "Real Talk. The sample is going viral. The Root and the Huffington Post picked it up. In another day or two, our Insta-campaign may hit one million views on social media."

  Tessa caught her breath as she nearly stumbled to her seat.

  "If today is any indication, the new line will be sold out by the month's end," Mia stammered for a moment. "Before I go back out there and rejoin the group, I'd like to offer an apology to you. I'm so sorry for being a Doris Doubter."

  "No, you don't have to—"

  "When you introduced the concept, the idea sounded just left of cracked-brained. I thought we'd be unemployed and looking for work next week."

  Tessa shifted her gaze to the floor.

  "Why I bother questioning your judgment, I have no clue. Everything you touch turns to gold, and early results suggest this idea is platinum."

  "I appreciate you. I'll see you guys out there after Cody, and I wrap up here."

  Too shocked to display the level of smug he deserved, Tessa pursed her lips after Mia left and gazed at Cody.

  "Well," he began. "She's not the only one who owes you an apology. Look, I didn't think it would take off. Maybe part of me hoped it wouldn't."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The most critical difference between Hart and Real Talk is how it makes people feel. Your line will hurt people, all under the guise of honesty and authenticity. Words matter. My consumers will cry tears of joy, and yours will cry tears of sadness—a best-case scenario."

  "That's not...that was never the intent."

  "I offered you the chance to bring happiness to people, to find it within yourself, and you spit in my face, so hell-bent on doing things your own way. You couldn't care less about who you mow over in the process, even if it's your own staff."

  "I didn't mean...it wasn't supposed to..."

  His eyebrows squished, and he rubbed the scruff on his chin. "Wait a minute. Do you mean to tell me you meant for Real Talk to fail?"

  "Not fail. It's taken a life of its own. It moved much faster than I planned. I couldn't stop it."

  "Actually, you could've stopped it and, as the head of Keep It Real, it was your responsibility to do so, especially if it morphed into something you didn't want to brand as Keep It Real," he said. "Imagine my shock. All this time, I believed you to be a bitter witch. Color me surprised to learn your situation is worse than I expected— you're a weak one."

  His breath got caught in his chest as he realized the brutality of the blow he dealt. He understood the root of the hurtfulness in his tone, but she wouldn't until it was too late—this line was a mistake. He charged toward the door and gripped the doorknob but didn't open it.

  "You know what? In the end, that's why we could never work. I was trying to build a life for us, and you weren't strong enough to stay true to yourself in a marriage with me."

  "Wrong. Back then, there was only one thing weak about me. You."

  "Maybe that thought will keep you warm at night. This line—your actions—they will come with consequences, mark my words. For your sake, whatever they may be, I hope you can live with them."

  He turned the knob, marched out to his car, and told his driver to take him home. No way would he return to the Hart offices. He couldn't handle any more drama. He had no desire to speak or think.

  If Tessa wanted to come for him again, she'd need to wait until he recovered from this bout. The match was brutal. Yes, he'd won—but he’d thrown a blow that may be too low to recover from this time.

  Keep It Real Cards

  Congratulations on Your Graduation.

  You did it!

  * * *

  Let’s Keep It Real— It only took 7 years and a booty call to Shady McGraderson, but who cares? You finally “earned” that degree.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Tessa

  * * *

  The morning's gray skies and wintery mix fit Tessa's mood, reflected her inner drear, a direct result of her clash with Cody.

  She cursed her lottery luck.

  An infinitesimal chance existed for Real Talk to succeed, one so small she hadn't even calculated for the possibility. And yet here she sat, sifting through an inbox filled with congratulatory notes while mentally settling on the day's outfit — a casual black suit.

  The color would better conceal the blood spatter if she and Cody bumped into one another and descended into an all-out brawl.

  Her body ached as if she'd emerged from a double rinse cycle in her washing machine. She turned her eyes to the heavens and thanked them for the coffee brewing in her Keurig. After inhaling the aromatic steam rising from the Colombian Supremo inside her Snoopy mug, she gazed at Kyle's texts with gratitude.

  Kyle: Lunch today?

  Tessa: You're texting a dead woman.

  Kyle: Dead women don't text.

  Tessa: We don't lunch either. Meeting at Hart. Specially abled line team.

  Kyle: How about dinner?

  Tessa: Dead women don't dinner, either. Dessert?

  Kyle: Cheesecake.

  Tessa: I love you.

  She didn't text the last line, but she thought it.

  She looked forward to spending downtime with Kyle. Aside from a few stolen whispers and the exchange of starry-eyed glances in her office during integration meetings, their romance had hibernated, like a bear. The Ruth Chris dinner sat in her rearview, but farther than it appeared.

  To be honest, she craved intimacy, mental and physical.

  The K4 lunch with Cody had worn down her inhibitions so completely that she hungered for affection, a man's arms around her, the heat of his breath on her neck. Why she'd continued to pump the brakes every time Kyle hit the accelerator, she didn't know...or refused to admit to herself.

  Cody bit at her during their clash, and, yes, she was wrong about many things. But he'd caught her at the jugular with one salient truth—she'd been a weak leader. In fact, every stride she'd taken to fix her company had been motivated by the exact weakness and cowardice she'd accused him of.

  The meeting with the specially abled line team at Hart, which had not been canceled, served as the only evidence that Cody hadn't banished her from the kingdom entirely.

  Later that morning, she executed a covert arrival at Hart Enterprises. She'd looked forward to spending time with the team again—her group. The anticipation of it had been a light in her darkness. She'd already begun to take ownership of them, and they, especially Joya, might offer her a renewed sense of purpose after Cody's emotional beat down.

  Joya's visit made her recall her own failings and how she overcame them. If Tessa did her job well enough, maybe Joya would give that insecure, shortsighted, unsupportive boyfriend of hers the unceremonious dumping he deserved. As a matter of fact, if Tessa had her way, Joya would end her relationship with a card she designed with her own hands.

  Tessa entered the conference room where, to her dismay, the bubbling, happy faces that had greeted her before had disappeared.

  Maybe Cody had canceled the specially abled line and announced it
to everyone else before her.

  "Hey, guys?" she said. "Uh, what's going on? Who died?"

  Denesha gasped; horror filled her eyes. Tessa wanted to check her nose; she wondered if a green glob freed itself from her nostril. TiTi's face dripped with tears while the guys' faces drooped, their lips turned down. That's when she noticed the empty seat. Joya's seat was vacant, but her "I can't even" coffee mug was missing from the space she had filled during the previous meeting.

  Tessa pointed to the place she expected to see Joya. "Is she in the ladies' room?"

  Max shook her head. "She—she's not coming in today. She…” Max struggled to push what should be simple words past her lips.

  Why was everyone so down? Sympathy card day was weeks away.

  "Joya's mom called. She was depressed, won't leave her room. She quit."

  The words "she quit" still hung in the air and rattled through her brain. The subsequent silence compounded her confusion with fear. She didn't bother taking off her coat, but she took a hard tug at her scarf, constricting her already labored breaths.

  "Apparently, she and her boyfriend broke up after an intense argument. It caught her off-guard. I think she doesn't know how to handle the pain."

  "Oh, no." Tessa understood. She'd been there before. Her jaw dropped in disbelief. "Are you sure she quit? I don't understand?

  "They've been beefing for a while now, arguing a lot," Denesha said. "She tried to hide it, but she wore it on her face. Every morning. She always blamed her expression on her lack of coffee. She hid the pain with a smile. Something was always there. Anyone paying attention would notice. So she called me this morning and quit."

  Well, she saw something in Joya's eyes, but nothing that would suggest this.

  She'd like to believe she could've noticed if she worked with Joya every day, but the sweet girl masked her pain well.

  Tessa couldn't fathom the existence in which Joya couldn't withstand the blow from a break up with a guy who, based on Tessa's limited knowledge of him, sounded like a useless excuse for a boyfriend.