by Hazel Kelly
“Why not?” she asked. “If it’s good enough for Michael Kors…”
“While that’s a perfectly reasonable style philosophy, I need a bit more color in my life.”
She laughed. “I give it six months and half that stuff will be gone.”
“I don’t know. Waste not, want not.”
“You’ll see,” she said. “In New York City, space is the ultimate luxury. Not stuff.”
“My job sort of depends on that not being true.” I squeezed another scarf onto the hanger I was holding. “Besides, what’s wrong with being sentimental?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Except that sentimentality is for people who think their best is behind them, and I’m more of a future-centric kind of girl.”
I hung my loaded hanger and turned around. “Touché.”
“Thanks.”
“So how are things going at work?” she asked. “Have they noticed you yet?”
“Of course they’ve noticed me. I’m responsible for getting everyone’s coffees every day, and my copy machine skills are a vital—albeit invisible—part of every meeting that goes down in that place.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant.”
I pulled a sweater from the garbage bag at my feet and started folding it so it would fit on the narrow shelf at the top of my closet. “I’m listening.”
“I meant, have you made them take notice of the fact that you’re a rising star and that you’re above the menial jobs you’ve been tasked with?”
“I’m not sure how I would do that,” I said. “It’s not like I can do a better job getting coffee or making copies.”
Izzy shook her head. “Is that what you want? Ultimately? To be a great freaking intern and then get loads of well wishes and best of lucks when you leave?”
“If I do a great job, they’ll probably keep me on.”
“No. If you do a great job, you’ll be nothing more than their last great intern. You have to get noticed for something other than the skills that make you completely replaceable if you want them to ask you to stay.”
I rose onto my toes, stuffed my sweater in my closet, and grabbed another out of the bag. “I’m not sure what you’re suggesting.”
“Me neither,” she said. “All I’m saying is that this city is full of equally driven narcissists, and no one sticks their neck out for anyone unless there’s something in it for them.”
“That’s grim.”
“Maybe, but it’s true,” she said. “So if you want a job at the end of this thing, you better find a way to prove to your superiors that you have the skills for the job you actually want.”
“I get what you’re saying,” I said, adding a sweater to the shelf. “But—”
“Let me put it another way,” she said, leaning forward and crossing her legs. “When a person starts out in my business, they’re really lucky to get a supporting role. Like, that’s brilliant because it means your foot’s in the door.”
“Sure.”
“But from that moment, you have two options.” She began plucking the last bunch of grapes off their stem as she spoke. “You can either be the best damn support in the world, or you can give that little bit extra so you outshine everyone else in the chorus, proving you’re destined to take center stage.”
“And if you do the latter, you get to be Velma in Chicago?”
“Damn straight,” she said, smiling. “And all that jazz.”
I sighed and rolled up the empty garbage bag. “Well, you’ve succeeded in inspiring me, but I’m still not exactly sure how I can do what you’re suggesting.”
She twisted her mouth. “Unfortunately, neither am I. Advertising agencies aren’t exactly my area of expertise.”
I shoved the black sack in an empty box, sat on the edge of my bed, and reached for some grapes. “Are these frozen?”
“Delicious, right? Almost like ice cream.”
“I take it it’s been a while since you had ice cream?”
Her face fell. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
I popped another grape in my mouth. “You’ve really confused me now. I thought I was killing it, and now I feel like I’m not doing enough.”
“Then you’re probably not.”
“But how will I know if I am?”
She scooted the bowl of grapes towards me. “How about this? If they raise your pay and hire a new intern so someone’s on hand to bring you coffee, then you’ll know you’re killing it.”
“Ugh.” I dropped my head back and swallowed a half-thawed grape. “No one even asks my opinion on anything, though.”
“Haven’t you ever given someone your opinion before they asked for it? Or given it even when you knew they didn’t want it?”
“Of course.”
“Well, there you go.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that it’s gotta be done. Seriously, Margot. You’ve already proven that you’re more than capable at the tasks they’ve given you, that you can hustle without a fuss, and that you’re pleasant to work with.”
“I certainly hope so.”
“But it’s been three weeks. It’s time to show them you’ve got tricks up your sleeves that they can’t afford to let another agency get their hands on.”
“I know you’re right.”
She checked her watch and scooted to the edge of the bed. “I suspected you were as smart as you looked.”
“What time will you be home?”
“Not too late,” she said. “I’m wrecked. Think I’ll just do the show and come straight home.”
“That’ll be a first.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I’m sorry.” I put a hand over my chest. “I meant, of course you’ll be able to say no to your castmates when they want to go for drinks to celebrate how much you smashed it tonight.”
“Better.” She stood up and walked to the door.
“Break a leg.”
She nodded once. “I’ll try.”
I fell sideways onto my pillow as soon as she left, but she popped her head back in the room a second later.
“Hey, Margot.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re welcome to eat the rest of those breakfast bars.”
I raised my brows. “The ones that taste like cardboard?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“The commercials for those made a sucker out of me,” she said. “I thought I’d be stuffed, energized, and glowing for hours on ninety calories. What a schmuck, huh?”
I smiled. “Don’t take it personally. That’s the power of advertising.”
“Well, I hope you’ll use your powers for good,” she said, ducking out again.
“I will,” I called after her. “As soon as I get my chance!”
“You mean as soon as you make your chance!” she said, closing herself in the bathroom.
“Right,” I said, rolling onto my back. “That’s my sleepless night sorted.”
T E N
- Landon -
I was waiting in a seat near the head of the table when my boss finally showed up ten minutes late. Why he found it so difficult to be punctual was beyond me, especially when he’d called the meeting based on his own schedule.
I wasn’t sure if his chronic lateness was a genuine disease or if it was simply his preferred method of letting people know they were beneath them, but either way, it bugged the shit out of me.
“I’ll make this brief,” Dick said, pulling his pants up into his gut without actually moving them any higher.
The other agents at the table put their phones down and angled their bodies towards the front of the conference room.
“Last time we met, we put the final touches on the ad for Daffodil Consulting, and you’ll be pleased to know their phones are ringing off the hook,” he said. “And that’s just from the print ads. Their new website doesn’t go live until Friday, so I expect their satis
faction will only increase.” His fingertips grazed the surface of the table. “So congrats to Landon for executing that project from start to finish. He’s effectively opened us up to a whole new industry.”
A cascade of friendly nods erupted around the table, and it felt nice to be recognized. Still, the praise would’ve meant more if my recently departed colleague wasn’t missing from his seat.
“Unfortunately, that’s the extent of my good news.” Dick lifted his thin briefcase onto the table and the room grew still. “Because the mock-ups you’ve presented for Fujama’s memory card division are crap, to put it mildly.”
An uncomfortable heat spread across the back of my neck as he reached for his chair and took a seat.
“That’s actually why I asked Nina and Rod to come in for this meeting,” he said, lifting a palm towards them. “Because we obviously need more brain power on this if we intend to sell this project.” He slid a folder out of his briefcase before clicking it closed again. “However, as I was reviewing the docs again this morning, I came across this one.” He held up a piece of paper featuring a young girl’s profile. Her chin was tilted up and she was holding an expensive-looking camera. Above her head, a series of snapshots was spread out like playing cards, displaying striking images from around the world.
My eyes passed from right to left, taking in the Taj Mahal, the Pyramids, the Grand Canyon, a picture of her with a handsome guy and a Labrador puppy, and then, finally, a grown Labrador with an ultrasound photo hanging around its neck. The tagline at the bottom read: Fujama… When you want proof of the best days behind you without sacrificing the memories of tomorrow.
It wasn’t half bad. The mock-up looked a little rough around the edges, but it was definitely better than the half-baked idea I submitted. Like all the best ads, it told a story, a story any consumer would want to identify with.
“Who’s responsible for this?” Dick asked, looking around the table.
Everyone’s wide eyes followed his as we waited for someone to put their hand up.
“I like it,” he said. “It has potential. So whose is it?”
There were shrugs all around.
He leaned an ear towards the center of the room. “No one here submitted this?”
Silence.
Suddenly, Margot walked past the conference room clutching a stack of thick binders to her chest. My eyes followed her the length of the glass wall.
“Excuse me—” Dick stuck his head out the door and called after her. “Would you come here for a moment?” He held the door as she backtracked down the hall and stepped into the room.
I could tell by the look on her face that standing in front of all the people she worked for was not her idea of a good time, and when her shifting eyes landed on mine, I half expected her to start blinking the Morse code for SOS.
“Who gave you this?” Dick asked, lifting the mock-up as the door drifted closed behind her.
“No one,” she said.
“What do you mean no one?” he asked, looking genuinely perplexed.
“I made it,” she said. “I was only messing around. I didn’t mean to leave it in the pile.”
I narrowed my eyes at her when I realized she was lying to his face and that I was the only person in the room who could see it.
“You did this?” he asked, glancing at the sheet in his hand again.
She nodded.
“Right.” He scratched the back of his head. “Okay, then. That will be all, Miss…”
I cringed when he couldn’t remember her name.
“Margot,” she said. “Margot Roberts.”
He excused her with a nod, and by the time she escaped into the hall, the pink of her cheeks had spread down her neck.
Dick moved back to the head of the table. “I can’t believe you’ve all been outdone by an intern who’s only been here three weeks.” He ran a hand over his bald patch. “Nina and Rod, you’re dismissed.” He waved his hand, and they scuttled out the door. “As far as the rest of you, one of you is going to take that girl under your wing and see if she’s got any more bright ideas.”
I swallowed my proud smile.
“Lori, how about you?” he asked, staring her down.
“I’d love to, Dick, but I’m going on vacation in a week, and I won’t be back before the Fujama pitch.”
“That explains why you phoned it in.” He redirected his gaze to Barry. His mouth opened and closed, but he didn’t speak. Then he turned to me. “What about you, Landon? Your idea was a distant second best. Maybe between your experience and the girl’s fresh eyes, you can come up with something good.”
“Sure,” I said, trying to hide my enthusiasm. “I can find some time to work with her.”
“Great,” he said. “Fingers crossed she’s a keeper. It’d be nice to have a positive experience after our recent trials.”
A few mutters of agreement followed.
He slid her mock-up across the table towards me, and I took it. Then he made a point of dumping the other submissions in the trash before returning to make some final points. “This campaign has a lot of potential,” he said, his eyes on me. “Their V.P. told me that if the print campaign goes well, they’ll be open to discussing expansion of their digital—and maybe even television—marketing efforts.”
“Great,” I said, suddenly feeling the pressure.
“So don’t blow it.”
I bowed my head slightly as much to assure him as to hide how excited I was.
“As for the rest of you,” Dick said, turning his attention to my colleagues. “Try to suck a little less.”
E L E V E N
- Margot -
Even though I was staying late almost every night, it was great getting to work more closely with Landon.
Unfortunately, seeing his creativity in action only made me want him more. And with every minute I spent getting further acquainted with his professional side, I feared I was moving farther away from getting to know him on a more personal level.
That being said, I knew I’d rather see him in his sexy suits every day than anyone else in their birthday suit. So I did my best to grin and bear it, trying not to blush too hard when he failed to explain away some moment of tension between us or when he surprised me with something sweet to eat or drink.
I swear to God, though, sometimes it felt like he was hell bent on feeding me everything except the one thing I was most hungry for. Him.
Anyway, when Friday rolled around, I noticed there was a going-away party kicking off down the hall as I finished my work for the week.
Party was kind of a strong word. It was just a few drinks and platters of finger food for some woman who was going on a three-month sabbatical to teach English in Vietnam. Still, it would’ve been nice to have been invited by someone other than her, since I knew she was only asking me to come on the off-chance I might chip in to help sponsor her holiday, which I wasn’t exactly desperate to do.
I’m not suggesting it wasn’t a good cause, but it was only a week ago that some other guy was asking everyone to sponsor his Kilimanjaro trek, as if bankrolling his bucket list was the least we could do. Gimme a break.
I was just getting into a rhythm with the hole puncher when I heard a familiar voice enter the supply room.
“You too cool for the party or what?” Landon asked.
I turned around as the door swung shut behind him. The sleeves of his work shirt were rolled up, revealing forearms that made my knees feel weak. “Not too cool,” I said. “Just too busy.”
“It’s six o’clock on a Friday, Margot,” he said, walking over to the table. “Surely whatever you’re doing now can wait till Monday.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t afford to get behind. This guy at work has been demanding a lot of extra stuff from me lately.”
His smile tugged towards his scar. “Sounds like a real tyrant.”
“Oh, he is,” I said, turning back to the hole punch. “A few days ago, he made me work over my lunch break.”
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“Tell me more about this asshole,” he said, watching me as I worked. “Is he…handsome, for example?”
“He thinks so,” I said, not meeting his gaze.
“But you don’t?”
“It would be inappropriate of me to comment on that,” I said. “Just like it would be inappropriate of me to drink with the full-timers on a Friday night.”
“I see. So it would probably be inappropriate for him to ask if you want to blow this pop stand and go back to his place for a celebratory drink and a Cup Noodle.”
I glanced at him. “You don’t still eat Cup Noodles.”
“I eat more Cup Noodles than anyone you know, guaranteed.”
“Why?” I asked. “Ramen is for students and interns, and you’re neither of those things.”
“On the contrary, instant ramen was considered a luxury item when it first came out in Japan.”
I dropped my chin to my chest.
“And who says I’m not a student? You taught me a few things this week.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Not that I’m too cheap to buy you a legit meal. I’m happy to take you wherever you’d like to go.”
I sighed. “I admit some ramen sounds pretty great right now.” Almost as great as the thought of being in my footie pajamas. “But the celebratory drink is a question mark. What would we be celebrating?”
“Besides the fact that Ellen’s going to Vietnam and won’t be asking us for donations twice a day for the next three months?”
I laughed. “Glad I’m not the only who’s sick of that.”
“You’re definitely not the only one. But besides that, we should celebrate your sneaky ploy to get Dick’s attention.”
“Sneaky?” I put a hand over my chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit. You got sick of pouring coffees and letting people think that’s all you’re good for.”
“Can you blame me?”
“Not at all,” he said. “I was impressed, actually. I didn’t know you had it in you to be so—”
I squinted at him. “So what?”
“Foxy.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“As in foxlike. Like a fox.”
