collected in kind. I didn’t know much about furniture or art, but I understood how it made me feel. The crisp, clean lines of my office felt very much like me. Stark. Quiet. Subtle, with simple symmetry and unpretentious curves. It didn’t have to try. It just was, and when you caught sight of that secret beauty, you were granted with a rush of discovery that struck a reverent chord of recognition.
I set my portfolio on the desk, but before I could take a seat, Laney knocked on the threshold of my open door.
I paused, hand on the back of my chair, assessing her for signs. She looked mad, but that was one of the two standard looks she wore around me—the other being disdain. But there was still that tight containment she’d worn in the meeting, obvious in the stiffness of her spine, her elevated chin, the square of her shoulders. Tucked in the hook of her arm was her laptop and a manila folder.
“Laney,” I said in lieu of a greeting, taking the opportunity to sit as I prepared myself for whatever thunder she’d successfully bottled up through the meeting. “What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to speak with you privately, since there doesn’t seem to be space in meetings for me to bring anything up.” The subtle bite of sarcasm—another default. “May I sit?”
With narrowed eyes, I nodded to the chairs.
“Thank you. I wondered if we could have a real conversation about the mixers. We can’t seem to talk about it constructively, can we?”
My jaw clenched in defense of that being my fault. Be nice, I practically heard Georgie say in my mind. She wasn’t going to blow on me, not yet, at least. Because she wanted something from me. The least I could do was listen quietly for a few minutes before telling her no. Again.
“Go ahead,” I said.
There—a little smile at the corners of her mouth. “Thank you.” She opened her laptop and typed. “I realize I’m being persistent—”
I stifled the urge to scoff.
“—but I really do feel that this is an important opportunity we’re missing. I’m not suggesting we throw everything behind it, but I think there’s a way to come up with something comprehensive that includes this branch of advertising. You’re planning grand-opening events, right?”
“Of course.”
“Well, these parties are grand-opening energy, but every week. They don’t just greet the people involved in the process—they make a space for the public. Automatic engagement in exchange for discounted liquor, which we already have a hundred percent markup on. But more than that, they invest in us, not only emotionally, but with their credit cards.”
She turned her laptop around, and on the screen was a mock-up of a bus shelter ad in flat, minimal colors. A faceless man in nineteenth-century clothes stood proudly, leaning on his cane against a background of pale salmon pink. Beneath him, in bold white letters, were the words Your Very Own Rochester Is Waiting, and beneath that sat information on the regular singles night, the store’s social media handles, and a QR code.
It was clever but vague. The design was clean, clear, appealed to the demographic, but this wouldn’t work any better than Get Your Drink On.
But rather than say any of that, I answered her hopeful look with, “No one knows who Rochester is. Because no one’s read Jane Eyre casually in a hundred years.”
Just like that, the soft hope on her face tightened until it was wiped away. “First of all, you’re wrong—plenty of people read Jane Eyre or have at least seen the movie. Secondly, this is just a concept. We could do something similar for the comics. Use the literary themes to first catch their eye, then bring them in with the promise of meeting someone.”
“I realize that you have data to support what you’re suggesting. But Laney—and I need you to hear this, really hear this.” I paused to make sure she was listening. “We are not using this direction for our launch. A campaign like this is stage two. Once the store is established and running. But not before. I know you’ve been in high positions at other firms as well as being the sole marketer at the bookstore, but this is not your team. This is not your company. You are not an employee, but you are still my subordinate. And I don’t expect to have this conversation again.”
The words had been firm but not condescending, clear without pushing her. Or so I