“Picture this.” I hold up my hands to be overdramatic in a cinematic display of my day. “I approached our building a few seconds before my boss Christina this morning, so of course, I wanted to do the friendly thing and open the door for her, only I was holding my coffee and bagel that I’d treated myself to after staying up late to finish the campaign I was supposed to present today—which I was also holding, mind you. When I see her hands are just as full as mine, I try to maneuver my drink to my other hand while holding the presentation under my arm, and just as I reach for the door, David comes around me, scaring me since I hadn’t known he was behind me, causing me to flinch and knock my drink all over myself and my presentation, which also fell to the floor, right at Christina’s feet.”
Macy jumps to cover her mouth with her hands. “No. Did anything get on her?”
I pinch my lips together, and nod. “Yep. All over her Prada shoes.”
“Oh, Zoe. I’m so sorry.” Candace rubs her hand over mine.
“What did she say?” Chasity asks.
I drop my head as I admit, “She chastised me for not getting up early enough to finish my breakfast at home and said she’d be sending me a bill if they were ruined.”
“That bitch!” Macy yells out, making me laugh.
I shrug. “I can’t blame her. I’d be pissed, too, if someone did that to my shoes. It never would have happened if David hadn’t tried to reach around me like that. I had everything under control, but like always, he just appeared out of thin air to ruin my life.”
I lift up my finger, asking them to hold on while I take another sip of my drink that I desperately need before I continue.
“There’s more?” Macy asks.
I swallow, nod, then place my drink down. “That’s not even the worst part. By the time I got everything situated and was able to enter our building, I walked over to the security desk, only to see all of my hard work ruined by the coffee spilled all over it. You should have seen the smug expression on David’s face as he walked by, not saying a word.” I clench my jaw in disgust, then take another drink.
“I hope you had a digital copy,” Candace says.
“Of course I did. But these were beautifully printed, enlarged copies that I’d paid extra for the rush job on this morning because I was trying to make an impression—show that I’d actually put in the elbow grease and not just run it through some AI bot.”
“Did they at least like your concept?” Macy asks gently. “I mean, they could still see the idea, right?”
“They did,” I reply with pride. “They actually loved it. The client was totally engaged, asked questions, said the concept was strong—right up until Jackass dimmed the lights and pulled up his presentation.”
I lift my head and glare at my empty glass like it’s personally responsible.
“Perfect slides. Animated mock-ups. A full digital walk-through. Everything sleek and glowing on that giant screen while my poor, coffee-stained prints sat on the table like a tragic art project. And then the client said, ‘We really like both, but his just feels more modern.’”
Chasity winces. “Of course it did.”
“So, now they’re going in his direction. Same general concept, just flashier.” I drop my head to the table and thump it once against the wood.
“Easy,” Chasity says, reaching over to support my head before I can do it again. “We need that brain for revenge later.”
I sit up, reach for my drink, realize it’s empty, and lift my hand to signal Joey. “Make it strong,” I call out. “I lost to PowerPoint.”
When I was hired to work for CR Marketing, I was absolutely over the moon. I thought I had really made it, and from there, all my dreams would come true. If only I had known just how hard this industry was. I’m beginning to think the termcutthroatwas created for jobs like this. Clients either like your idea or they don’t, and when they don’t, they are quick to tell you and move on to the next. If clients keep skipping over my ideas, I won’t be there much longer.
Moments later, Joey sets my drink down on the table and leans down to talk to us. “Now that I have a second to breathe, I wanted to ask you guys something. Do you remember that app Donny and I were working on?”
Macy jumps with excitement. “Is it finished?”
He nods, a small smile growing on his face. “Finally, yes. Which means we need people to start joining. You all are still in, right?”
Joey and his friend have been working on this dating app that he hopes will be the next big thing by offering a unique twist to the idea of being set up on a date. Working in the bar industry, he’s noticed that most planned dates were happening because someone had set them up to meet there—a blind date.
Women like to play matchmaker, and men just like to get a chance to meet a nice girl, so they created an app to do just that. The premise is, your friends get to set you up with who they think you’ll like by swiping the photo up to your name. If friends for both the guy and the girl agree that they’ll like each other, the app matches them. The kicker is, the guy or girl doesn’t get to see who their friends set them up with until they’ve been chatting for a while through the app. No sending photos, no exchangingphone numbers, and no mentioning streets or businesses. Just messages to get to know each other.
They’ve gone to extreme lengths with the coding to discourage people from exchanging phone numbers or meeting in person, and if they try, it will blur out that portion of the message. The goal is to build actual relationships, not just hookups. Once they have been talking on the app for at least seven days, the app asks the girl if it can notify the guy of her actual phone number to take their conversation off the app.
When he first told us about the idea, I thought it would be fun, getting to know someone through messages only, and knowing the guy had the stamp of approval from my friend just made it that much more interesting.
“I’m in,” I’m the first to state, slapping my hand on the table. “Lord knows I need some happiness back in my life.”
