I knew Gretchen was just concerned because she loved me. She'd been my assistant for over a year now, ever since I took the job at Triton.
Even though she was two years older than me, she wasn't awkward with being my assistant because we had totally different goals. Just like the majority of the population here, Gretchen wanted to pursue a career in acting. She was in the theater program at UCLA, but only went part-time since she had to make time for play rehearsals and her day job as my assistant.
Gretchen was the first person I interviewed for the job. I mostly just hired her because I was nineteen and extremely nervous about conducting an interview in the first place. I was thankful and relieved she'd worked out. I never would've imagined how much I needed her as my right hand when it came to juggling my insane schedule and client base at Triton.
My job offer from Triton had come as a shock to the advertising world. Thankfully, I was too naive at the time (and probably still am) to understand what an underdog I was.
Most of the people in my position had been climbing the ladder for years, but when I was only nineteen, Ed Wright CEO of Triton had flown to Oregon to offer me the dream job that landed me dang near the top of the ladder.
Let me rewind.
When I was a kid, I used to love television commercials. I watched them just as closely as I watched cartoons or sitcoms. Of course, as a kid, I wanted nothing more than to run to the store and buy up whatever the commercials were selling.
My parents, who would call themselves non-consumers, explained how people got paid good money to make kids like me want to go straight to the store and buy the things in the ads.
I watched commercials with a different perspective after that. Instead of being tempted to buy what they were selling, I would pretend I was the one trying to sell the product. I'd think about what could make the commercial better. What would make me want to buy the product? I felt like I had a real handle on the psychology that goes into ads, even as a little kid. It was a no-brainer that I would study marketing in college (with a minor in history, of course).
Right after graduating high school, I moved to Eugene, where I enrolled at the University of Oregon. I had already taken most of my freshmen credits at a community college during my senior year of high school, so I went into college as a sophomore.
Dr. Rob James, who was (in my opinion) one of the best professors U of O had to offer, took me under his wing immediately. It wasn't weird or anything, he was older and happily married. But he did take special interest in me for some reason, and I am forever indebted to him because of it. I took his advertising class during my first term at school, and he forwarded a few of my projects to his friend in Los Angeles (who happened to own one of the country's most successful ad agencies).
Ed Wright, founder and CEO of Triton Advertising, (and intimidating human being) wasn't easily convinced, but told Dr. James to keep an eye on me for a year. He said if I still showed potential after another year in the program, he'd put me on as an intern.
After a year, my dear professor forwarded Mr. Wright all of my best work, along with a glowing recommendation that made me feel humbled and even a little shy when I read it.
A week later, Mr. Wright himself showed up in Oregon. It was a rainy afternoon in April when Dr. James asked me to come to his house for a sit down. He said it'd be casual, that his wife would have coffee, but Ed Wright had come all the way to Oregon to meet me in person after looking at my projects. Dr. James said I should come prepared to talk business. I was scared to death, but I figured there was no room for self-doubt. If I'm any good at what I claim to be good at, then selling is what I do, I told myself.
The legendary Mr. Wright, who among other things, had written some of the most famous commercial jingles of all time, intimidated me. That being said, I did okay in the interview. (As okay as a bundle of nerves can do.) Dr. James and his lovely wife were such good tension breakers. They steered the conversation toward topics that would allow me to shine. I was so grateful to them for looking out for my best interest even though they owed me nothing.
Mr. Wright offered me a job that afternoon… a job that was a good ten steps above entry level. He acted like he would be lucky to have me, which still seems surreal, even looking back on it more than a year later.
It was like I had been drafted into the big leagues. I couldn't believe he wanted to take me just as I was, a nineteen-year-old kid. It was a little overwhelming to think about moving to Los Angeles, having a grown-up job, and living by myself.
Thankfully, I had the presence of mind during that interview to tell Mr. Wright that finishing my degree was nonnegotiable. He said he knew all of the advertising and marketing professors at UCLA and a transfer there wouldn't be a big deal. He was even willing to let me be flexible with my hours at the office in order to finish my degree.
Thus far, I'd been working at a grueling pace towards finishing school, so when I left the U of O to transfer to UCLA, I only had a year and a half to go until my degree was finished.
****
Now, here I was, a few months away from earning my diploma from UCLA. I couldn't believe it! I'd made it through the scheduling and the homework and, maybe hardest of all… the haters.
There had been more than a few skeptics when I joined the team at Triton all right, but I tried really hard to prove myself. I could now feel that most of them were warming up to me.
I'd done a lot of growing up in general during the past year. I pretty much had to. I was in a whole new city with new friends, a new school, a new job, and a new apartment. I liked my new life, though. My salary at Triton was enough for me to afford a nice apartment and a car and other things I never expected to be able to buy for myself at such a young age. Somehow, (seriously, I wasn't quite sure how) I had my dream job in the bag, and I was only twenty.
Los Angeles was a far cry from Oregon. Getting all dolled up every once in a while was fine and dandy, (even fun) but I was more accustomed to Birkenstocks and tie-dye. I had to start putting some major effort into my appearance every morning just to avoid looking like a total slob next to everyone else.
After more than a year in L.A., I was finally used to the routine of making myself look presentable every day. The Birkenstocks still came out every weekend.
Gretchen's voice startled me when it came over the intercom.
"Rachel?"
"Yeah."
"Mr. Perrin called again. He's on line one, what do you want me to tell him?"
I groaned internally. I hadn't had time to decide what to do, and I honestly didn't anticipate him pressing me for an answer like this.
"Tell him I'll return his call by noon today and I'll let him know either way." I didn't want to have to give him an answer, but I knew I needed to quit stringing him along.
Gretchen knocked lightly on my office door a few minutes later.
"Come in."
She peeked her head around the door tentatively. "I was thinking about the Vegas trip. I think you should go."
I motioned for her to come in and take a seat so I could hear her out. I must have looked stressed about discussing it, because Gretchen was looking at me like I might explode.
"Joel Perrin is one of our best clients. The fact that he's rich, gorgeous, and single should make the Vegas trip a no brainer. So, what's up?"
"It's not him. I'm sure he's a great guy. I'm just not into events like that."
"Oh please, Rachel. What girl wouldn't want to be a princess for a night, especially with Joel Perrin volunteering to be your prince."
"It's not like that, it's just business."
"I think Mr. Perrin wants to do more than just business with you, and honestly, I can't for the life of me figure out why you're even having to think about it."
"It's not him, okay. It's something else entirely."
She looked at me with an impassive glare that let me know she was hurt for not having the whole scoop.
"Are you gay? Because I'm totally fine with tha—
"
"No, I'm not gay, Gretchen."
"Okay, okay, it's just I see your would-be suitors first hand, and if they're not your type, then…?"
"Joel Perrin makes goggles."
"Yeah, so? They're really nice goggles, which you sell, and you both make a ton of money. What's the problem?"
"I can't go to the Vegas thing because swimmers will be there. The Men's National Team will be there. They'll be at the trade show, at the black tie thing… swimmers, Gretchen."
Now she looked at me like I was a bomb about to go off. I groaned, knowing I'd have to explain.
"I have, I had a thing for this guy, a swimmer. It's nothing. It was a long time ago."
"So does that mean you can't be around swimmers?" Gretchen looked utterly confused. "One of your biggest clients makes goggles, Rachel. You can't completely avoid water just because you had a crush on a swimmer one time."
"He's not just any swimmer. He'll be there."
Her jaw dropped.
"Are you flippin kidding me?" She gawked at me. "You're crushin' on one of the Nationals? Who is he? Does he know? You could totally get one of those guys, I mean, if you can get Joel Perrin—"
"No, he doesn't know, and he won't know, because there is nothing to know. It was a long time ago, like I said."
"Is this guy the reason you don't date?"
"No, God, no. I just don't have time to date." But I was a terrible liar, and Gretchen saw right through me. She studied my expression. I always took great care to conceal any self-doubt, but at that moment my defenses were down.
"You can't just ignore this, Rachel. You know this means you have to go to Vegas, right? You're going, even if I have to go with you."
"I can't. I don't think I want to see him, it'd be too hard to see him with… never mind. He probably wouldn't remember me anyway."
"So? His loss if he doesn't, and worst case scenario you'll have hottie mac-gogglemaker to dry your tears." I could tell by her gentle tone that she knew just how nervous I was at the prospect of seeing him. "For real Rachel, no guy in his right mind would reject you, and even if he did, you have Joel right there to show him what he's missing."
"Were you serious about coming with me?"
"What? Yes, of course. I'm there! I have two shows next weekend, but my understudy can totally handle it."
"Oh, I forgot about your shows. You can't just skip town. It's no big deal. I didn't even want to go anyway. Joel will understand. We'll go next year."
"Oh, no you don't! You're going to Vegas. We're going to Vegas. But first things first, I'm calling Maggie. You need clothes."
"I have clothes, and anything Maggie brings over is going to cost a fortune anyway."
"It's a black tie event where you'll probably be running into the person who's inspired you to be celibate for who knows how long. I'm calling Maggie."
The whirlwind called Maggie Cooper took over my office the very next day with two rolling racks chock full of beautiful clothing. She had at least a dozen formal dresses and some casual options for me to try on.
Gretchen insisted on weighing in on all the wardrobe choices, and for the most part, she and Maggie were in agreement about what looked good on me. I was willing to take their word for it since I was pretty sure my hippie sandals were out of the question.
I still had a week to go, and my stomach was already tied in knots at the sheer possibility of seeing Collin Blake again. How could one guy affect me like this? Better yet, how could the mere thought of one guy do this to me? I didn't even know for sure if he'd be there, and it would be a miracle if I could sleep or eat at all between now and next weekend.
Chapter 8
Collin
"When can you move in?" I asked Josh. He knew I wasn't trying to kick him out. It'd actually been fun having him around. He had been couch surfing at our place for a month, ever since his one-year marriage to Kayla ended.
She had connected with an ex-boyfriend on Facebook. Go figure. She said it was regrettable, but she'd just made a mistake in deciding to marry Josh in the first place. He was totally blindsided by it, and had been in a bad place for a week or two, but I could see signs of the old Josh starting to come out again.
"They said I can move in next week and they'll just pro-rate the rent."
"I hope you're not in a hurry on my account."
"No, of course not. I know I'm welcome here. But you guys don't need me on the couch. It's already crowded enough, especially when you have Beth here."
"It's really no big deal, Ethan and I hardly notice you're here. Besides, Beth loves you. She's gonna be sad when you leave."
"I know it's not like I'm being kicked out or anything. It's just tight in here. A two bedroom apartment isn't really meant for four people."
"Oh, come on, the place is mine and Ethan's. Beth doesn't live here."
Josh gave me a smug grin at that, and then gestured with a head nod toward the bathroom. "I'm pretty sure there are tampons in there, and some shower gel that smells like cupcakes."
"Fair enough. But regardless of who's sleeping here, you're always welcome."
"I know, and I appreciate it, really. I'm looking forward to the new place. Starting over, you know?"
Josh was like a brother to me, and I hated to see him hurting. Kayla (or Facebook, as I now called her) deserved whatever mess she created for herself. She certainly didn't deserve Josh.
"Hey," I said, remembering Josh was still on the fence about this weekend, "You coming to Vegas?"
"No, I think I'll stay here and take care of turning on the utilities in the new place."
"For real? That takes like ten minutes. If that's the only thing holding you up, you should just come."
"I'm not on the National Team, Collin, I'd have to pay for a dinner just like everyone else, and those dinners are like five hundred dollars a pop."
"You won't have to pay," I assured him. "We can get around that somehow. I'm bringing Beth as my plus one, but Ethan's not bringing anyone, you can be his plus one."
"I don't even have a tux."
"So, neither do I. Just go rent one. It'll be fun. Come on dude. Vegas."
"Yeah, but they'll be paying that amount hoping to rub elbows with next year's Olympic team, and I haven't even touched the water in a year."
"Whatever man. I'm just saying, nobody would know the difference. You're still in great shape anyway. You look like part of the team."
"Better than looking like Ethan's man-date." He laughed. I could tell Josh was giving it some thought, so I spurred him on.
"Vegas, baby. Come on, we'll find you a little honey and you'll forget all about Facebook."
"You can't be doing any of that if Beth's coming." Josh was looking at me with a concerned expression that said he'd be very disappointed if there were any cheating going on. He's always hated cheaters, but his break up with Kayla seems to have intensified his feeling about it.
I had to laugh.
"I mean we'll find you a honey, not me. I'm fine with Beth. We're good."
"Good? Not great?"
"No we're fine. It is what it is. I'd rather be in a relationship than have to fool with getting to know someone new all the time. We're good. It's comfortable."
"You know you haven't been the same since Jamie, right? I think she messed you up. I hope this break up with Kayla doesn't do that to me. I never wanna feel like comfortable is good enough."
I had to laugh at him again. Josh certainly didn't mince words.
"I'm okay with comfortable." I said. I wanted to tell him the truth, that it wasn't Jamie who messed me up. But none of my friends even knew about the girl I'd met at Disney, and it was pretty ridiculous that one afternoon had done more damage than my relationship with Jamie anyway. I just let him keep thinking whatever he wanted to think on the subject.
"So, you coming?" I asked.
He answered by saying, "Vegas, baby." He was smiling, expecting me to play along with quoting one of our favorite movies. I knew he'd decide
d to go.
"Vegas!"
Then in unison we yelled,
"Vegas!"
****
That Saturday, Beth, Ethan, Josh, and I pulled up to the Oasis Hotel and Casino. Beth had never been to Vegas before, and the excitement was making her squirm. She had the passenger's window down, and was practically hanging out of the truck.
Ethan's room and mine were comped for the event, so Josh just bunked with Ethan. Their room was right next door to ours. In fact, I was reasonably sure the National Team had taken over most of the twenty-eighth floor. We'd already run into a few people we knew on the elevator.
The rooms were really nice. We walked in to a sitting area with a sectional couch. It was a large, open room with a king size bed on the wall to the right and a TV on the wall to the left. The far wall was mostly window, and Beth was all about opening the curtains to look out over the strip.
"I want to go to all of these places! How many do you think we can hit tonight?" I could see the gears turning in her head.
"We have the thing tonight, remember?"
"No, I totally forgot about the whole reason we came here. Of course I remember." She shoved at me playfully before pulling down on the collar of my shirt to give me a kiss. She continued in a slightly pouty voice, "But it's not like it'll take all night, and we'll be all dressed up. Aren't you gonna take me out and show me off?"
"I'll show off any way I can." I said, pulling away from her slightly. "I'm hoping to meet the owner of Perrin this weekend, and hopefully get closer to an endorsement."
"Aww, I hope you don't have to be all business," she said. Her bottom lip came out just a little bit. "You know you'll get any endorsement you want after next year's Olympics, probably even Wheaties."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I'd rather not depend on that. An endorsement from Perrin would be a game changer for me, and it's not like they have a rep here or something. The guy who invented that crazy plastic is here this weekend. The owner. I'd be stupid to blow him off. You can bet the other guys on the team will be lined up to do the same thing."
"Yeah, but do the other guys have this?" She lifted her shirt so I could see her perfect little belly button. "Can the Perrin guy give you this?" Still holding her shirt up a few inches, she took her other hand and carefully unbuttoned the top button of her jeans. They were riding low already, so I was looking at a good eight inches of lower belly. "But I guess you care more about swim shorts than me."
Three Years Later Page 5
