“We’re creating a multi-part presentation and trade show graphics for an event they’re hosting next month and a bigger conference in three months. After that, they want a boatload of other work, assuming they like your work.”
“Our work.”
“Speaking of, the first one is a tight turnaround, and I know you’re going to hate this, but you can’t fly solo on this one.” He holds up his hands. “Don’t worry, the help isn’t for the graphics. There’s a lot of information, and they have a thicker brand guidebook than a phone book. They’re also firmly against using stock photography.” He stops, narrowing his eyes at me through his round lenses. “Do you even know what a phone book is?”
“Jesus, Sam. I’m not Kennedy-young. I know what a phone book is and how to use one. They’re for boosting kids up in their seats, right?”
“Ha. Ha. I forgot you’re older than you look. No offense.” He checks his watch and then taps out a quick message on his phone. “Okay, meet us upstairs in the big conference room in five. The freelancer is here, and I want to review assignments, timelines, and expectations. That way, if either of you needs more help, we’re ahead of it.”
He hops off the desk, envelope under his arm, and looks at my screen.
“That’s a really nice color for that logo. I wouldn’t have thought to go that way with the blue-grey, but I think they’ll love it.”
“Yeah, thanks.” I stare at my screen. I hadn’t even been paying attention when I picked this color earlier, but I could see exactly where my head was when I did. “It, uhm, came to me at the coffee shop earlier. Total surprise.”
I wait for Sam to leave before I let out a long breath and drop my head to the desk. Overtime and working with a freelancer. Great. This is going to suck.
I’m already getting enough heat from my mother about how little time I spend with her. She keeps pressuring me to come to services and begging me to meet thenice boysshe thinks would help me become a better woman. Not. Happening. Her version of a better woman would make a Stepford Wife seem inadequate.
There’s some big conference of crazies coming up soon, and my stepfather wants to make a ‘tremendous impression’. He’s an asshole, but he’s not dumb, and he understands that marketing is what brings the money in. It was supposed to be a few handouts and a poster, but now it’s snowballed into a second job. Unpaid at that.
I know I’m juggling too much and putting too much pressure on myself, but I like to keep people happy.
“Oh well, goodbye to my meager social life. My liver will probably thank me for that,” I mumble. Then I get a message from Dani. I don’t bother to open it because it’s just her telling me to go to the party tonight.
I’ve already decided I’m going, no matter what my mother or anyone else says. Now, I just need an excuse.
I take another deep breath, plaster on my happy, smiling face, grab my stuff, and head up to the conference room.
CHAPTER5
TEAR IN MY HEART
TWENTY ONE PILOTS
I textSam that I’m on my way back to the office.
Sam is one of those rare clients who doesn’t make me anxious when I meet with him. He won’t lowball me or change the pricing at the last minute, which is why I come in when he asks.
It also doesn’t hurt that he and my dad worked together a few times, and Sam has always treated me well for the ten years I’ve been freelancing with him. He’s my most reliable client. He’s also the only client who genuinely gives a shit about the talent he employs. He’s become more of a friend than I’d ever expected.
I’m still nervous because I have to ask him for more money. He’s generous and is one of the few businesspeople who understands paying your people what they’re worth, and it’s never been a problem before. He won’t question it, which makes me feel more guilty about asking. The last gig was a pretty fair price, but since I didn’t get the grant, I’ll be short. My mind wanders to my dresser back home and the pile of bills with their red stamps. I’m reminded of the large envelope mixed in with them that could probably solve most of my financial issues—or make them worse.
“Oh good, you’re back. Come meet that designer I want you to—” Dani starts the second I pull the door open and step inside.
“Woah! Down girl. I’ve got to meet with Sam first, and by the time I’m done with that, I’ll find some other excuse to not ruin her life and meet her. Besides,” I make sure none of the sales guys are within hearing range, “I may or may not be busy sitting in that cafe next door for the next week.”
“The cafe? The food’s good, but what are you talking about?” I should recognize the tone of her voice. It’s the one she always uses when she’s trying to be shady. But I’m too distracted. She holds up her hand before I can answer and leans in close to say, “James Barton, is that…a smile?”
The heat rising in my face sends my heart racing again. I’m biting my bottom lip, realizing how much I’d forgotten this feeling. How much I missed this sensation. Hope. Attraction. Fuck it—love.
“Dani, I’ve just seen the most beautiful woman on the planet, and I have this absolutely stupid idea that if I wait there for her, she’ll walk in the door again.” I shake my head, laughing.Laughing! “I have to wait there and drink a lot of tea and eventually hope that I’ll be rewarded with the sun hitting that dreamlike cotton candy pink hair that’s set my soul on fire.”
“See, this is why I love dating artists. Every woman is the woman of your dreams and gets you to say stupidly poetic shit.” She shakes her head and stops. “You know, I should totally keep an eye out for her. You said she was at the coffee shop? And she has pink hair?”
“Yeah, and she called me Spider-Man, which sounds dumb, but only a nerdy person does that and—” I stop myself and snicker. My choice of words and what I’m planning makes me seem like an idiot. “Who am I kidding? I’m surprised someone like her even gave me the time of day. I mean, she didn’t, yeah… never mind. Not important. I’m going to meet with Sam.”
“Wait!” I finally notice that she’s up to something; I can tell by her grin. “Jamie, you know how you owe me that favor? Well, I’m calling it in. Come out tonight. Some people are going to this little mixer they’re having in the arts district. Nothing big, I just, uhm, need a not-date.”
