that I was one to talk—Georgie was the only person on the planet who truly made me laugh. No one else dared get close enough to break that particular barrier. Not even Caroline, and she’d tried harder than just about anyone.
But she had no idea what that entailed. If she did, she wouldn’t care to try.
Caroline talked on about something or another as we made our way to the conference room, where our team waited. But as we approached, my eyes caught the back of an inky cascade of black hair, and I couldn’t look away. Slight shoulders in a tailored shirt of blue so deep, I imagined Laney’s striking eyes shone like gems. Her head turned just enough for me to to see the tip of her nose, and her hand slipped into her hair to touch her neck, as if she sensed my attention. As I entered her periphery, her face turned to mine, and our eyes met with a click, holding for a moment.
I broke the connection to open the door for Caroline, who strutted in like she owned the building and took the seat to the right of the head chair.
My chair.
I stood in front of them as they quieted. Laney’s hands were folded in her lap, fingers fidgeting with a thin-banded watch around her wrist. She was nervous.
That unfamiliar pang in my chest stopped me again, this time with recognition. It was some strange mixture of sympathy and sorrow, a flickering regret.
Her anxiety was my fault.
She was nervous because of my behavior. I had insulted my subordinate and now stood before her with a demand for respect when I hadn’t given her the same courtesy.
Georgie was right. I owed her an apology.
When Georgie and I met gazes from her seat next to Laney, she looked borderline triumphant, recognizing my concession.
I shrugged it off, telling myself any amends made were for the good of my team, nothing more. But that twist in my rib cage tightened at the determined set of Laney’s chin, the brightness of her challenging eyes, all coupled with that little tell of her unease that belied her fearlessness.
“Good morning, everyone. Before we get started today, I’d like to introduce Elaine Bennet, the social marketer for Wasted Words.”
Everyone turned to face her, offering small smiles and nods. The slightest color smudged her cheeks.
“Please, call me Laney. I’m only Elaine when I’m in trouble.”
A chuckle rolled through them.
“Laney is here to advise, so please, do your best to help show her the ropes.”
Laney’s brows clicked together. I’d said something wrong.
“Let’s start with a roundup,” I continued, proceeding to make my way around the table, gathering reports from the heads of our creative team and media teams, running down broad strokes for social media, print, and advertising. Concept design and production. But the most important thing—and our starting point—was tagline and messaging creation. We’d need at least two concepts to pitch to the client—three if we didn’t come up with something spectacular—complete with a graphic presentation. And once decided, we’d move into discussing media buy to propose to the accounting team.
Laney took rapid notes as everyone gave an overview as to their focuses and overall ideas, and once finished, it was my turn to present some ideas of my own. But before I could take over, Laney raised a finger, and I nodded, giving her the floor.
She wore a courteous smile, but her eyes sparked with excitement. “I wanted to bring up something no one mentioned, in terms of messaging. Our biggest market strategy to get people in the door? Our singles mixers.” She flipped back a few pages in her notebook. “We earn sixty percent of our revenue on mixer nights alone, and that brings patrons back during the day for coffee and to shop. No one suggested using this as an angle, but the parties are the easiest and most profitable campaigns we’ve run. I have a lot of ideas—”
“So you propose we put our marketing weight behind themed parties?” I asked without wanting an answer, my hackles rising not only from her premature suggestions and unwelcome timing—she was here to observe, not to offer opinions—but for my elemental opposition to the idea. “While kitschy and profitable, mixers won’t introduce the store’s concept to a city.”
“I disagree. If you’ll take a look at some of my ideas, I think—”
“While unsurprised that you disagree, Miss Bennet, this isn’t the appropriate time for concept discussion. We currently have a plan in place that we’ve been