One
Ava
“As always, thanks for watching,”Lucky De Luca says from the screen of my phone in that Italian-New Yorker accent that makes me positivelyweak. He turns on the bench at the shiny, black grand piano and rakes his strong, tapered fingers through his espresso hued hair before flashing a blinding white smile. “And remember, Lucky loves ya.”
I sigh as the video goes still at the end, leaving Lucky’s sexy face staring at me through dark blue eyes while his dimpled grin is frozen in time. I know Lucky De Luca, the world-renowned jazz pianist and viral internet sensation, doesn’tactuallylove mepersonally, but I like to pretend sometimes that he does. Especially when I need a little confidence boost.
I hastily leave a “Like” on his latest video and type in a comment.
Ava Herald: Love it! So excited to see it live at your show in Austin on Saturday.
Swiping the video off my screen, I set my phone on my desk and pick up my tablet, then push back my chair and stand up. Skimming my gaze over the top of the cubicle walls, I notice a handful of people milling around the beige and off-white wasteland of office space. The hum of copiers, printers, and muted conversation is in the air, which is spliced with the buzz and beep of various cell phones and the scent of burnt coffee. I start to step out of the bland, beige fabric walls of my company prison, but then stop at the last second and dip back down to use the black screen of the tablet as a mirror.
I should’ve done something with my hair other than pulling it back into a bun. It’s not even a cute, messy bun. It’s just a sloppy bun that makes the ends of my hair stick out at weird angles. I try smoothing them down to lay flat, but they just spring back up. It looks ragged and accentuates the haggardness of the slightly wrinkled white blouse I threw on this morning. The black pencil skirt is just a tad too big, awkwardly hanging off my hips and hitting at just the wrong spot on my knees. The lipstick I put on this morning was a bad idea because it faded to an ugly, pinkish stain after lunch. I also didn’t think to bring it with me so I could reapply it. My mascara has melted slightly onto the skin below my eyes, accentuating the dark circles I attempted to conceal.
There’s no fixing the awkward hodgepodge that is my appearance, so I’m just going to have to hope that Roger Blackwood, my boss, is dazzled enough by what I’m about to show him that he doesn’t notice.
Picking up the tablet again, I step out of my cubicle and into the beige corridor that leads to the executive offices. Event Tech only has about seventy-five employees, so theseexecutiveoffices aren’t anything super fancy—they’re just the only actual offices on our designated floor of this building in downtown Austin, Texas. Everyone else lives in cubicles. And that’s only a slight exaggeration. People in the corporate event industry will unanimously tell you that our world can be summed up in two things: absurdly long work hours and zero overtime pay.
For everyone in this industry, work basicallyis life.
Pausing at Roger’s open door, I draw in a breath and stand up straight before knocking on the aluminum frame. Even in this beige and off-white wasteland, his office manages to be sleek, pristine, and exudes true minimalist styling. Everything about Roger is sleek and polished, despite the fact that he’s a late forties guy with a portly dad bod and a balding head. He’s a marketing genius, and I guess that gives a person an inherent knack at making everything about themself and their environment aesthetically pleasing.
Just being around Roger makes me feel like I’ve got cat hair stuck to the ass side of my skirt—and I don’t evenhavea cat.
He glances up at me through stylish tortoiseshell-framed spectacles and gives me a pleasant smile. “Hey, Ava. What’s up?”
Despite how frumpy and insecure Roger makes me feel, I appreciate his casual way with everybody. It’s especially helpful right now when I’m so nervous that I could puke. “I was wondering if you had a second for me to show you that onsite scheduling app that I mentioned last week.”
He waves his hand toward himself. “Sure. Come have a seat.”
I step into the office and sit at one of the chairs in front of his desk, then set the tablet down. “So, basically the project manager creates an event in here,” I explain, opening the app and swiping to a test event I created to demonstrate. “Then they assign people to it, and everyone would get alerts throughout the day indicating what deliverables are due when. There’s a countdown feature that lets people know how much time they have left for set-up, and they can check off items as they complete them. That way the project manager wouldn’t have to constantly be on their radio checking in with everyone or running around to different areas of the conference center to make sure everything is ready.”
“Hmmm…” Roger hums, nodding as he swipes and thumbs the different icons. “I love this. And it’s free?”
“Well, it has a free version.” I sit up straight and fold my hands on my lap. “But if Event Tech subscribes to an upgraded tier, it unlocks other features, such as post-event analytics and other things to help us figure out how we can improve for the next one.”
He chuckles gleefully. “No kidding! How did I not know about this?”
“It’s only been out of its beta version for a few weeks.” I pause and lean forward slightly in an attempt at being assertive. “But I’ve been watching user feedback for about a year. I think it would really streamline our onsite processes.”
“It looks like it absolutely would.” He looks up from the tablet and offers me a smile. “I’ll talk to the onsite project managers this week and have them get everybody set up with the free version to try it out. Thanks a bunch, Ava. I appreciate you doing the legwork.”
He knocks his knuckles on the desk and pushes his chair back, angling himself toward his glossy monitor, all of which means it’s time for me to leave. But I’m not ready to leave yet because I haven’t gotten to therealreason I’m showing him this app.
“Absolutely,” I say automatically, but don’t stand up yet. A million different versions of how to broach the topic of him finally promoting me to an onsite project manager position zip through my mind. I pick at my nails and nibble the inside of my lip as I come up with just the right one, but I’m too late.
Roger knocks the desk again and nods. “Thanks again, Ava.”
“Right,” I say, hastily standing up and giving up on the idea—fornow.
Just as I set one foot outside of the office, my heart leaps into my throat as I nearly slam into Zoey Campos, my best friend and one of Event Tech’s software developers. Her thick, black brows are lifted in exasperation, and her full, pouty, plumb-painted lips are curled into a sneer.
“Get. Back. In. There,” she whisper-growls through clenched teeth.
I hesitate for all of a second before turning on the ball of my foot and stepping back in front of Roger’s desk.
“Roger, just one more thing.” I clear my throat, and he glances up at me again. “I was actually thinking…” My hands are at the level of my waist and I pick at my nails. “Since I’m so familiar with the app, I might be a good person to introduce everyone to it and then implement it onsite at IOD. I’d be able to make sure everyone is able to hit the ground running with it and troubleshoot any issues that come up.”
