“You didn’t have to do this,” I said, accepting the glass of wine he offered.
“I wanted to. You’ve been working yourself to death all week.”
“How would you know?”
“Your office lights have been on every night when I drive past. And Sarah mentioned you’ve been stressed about some big campaign.”
Sarah had stayed in touch, but I hadn’t realized she was talking to Jacob. “You’ve been talking to Sarah?”
“She called the clubhouse to tell me to check on you, said to make sure you were settling in okay. Mentioned you were pulling long hours on something important.”
I took a sip of wine and felt some of the tension leave my shoulders. “The hospital account. They want to rebrand their program, but they can’t agree on messaging strategy. And the launch is Friday.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“It is. And frustrating. And probably going to require me working all night to pull together.”
Jacob nodded, cutting into his own chicken parm. “What’s the core issue with the messaging?”
I found myself explaining the campaign challenges—how the hospital wanted to position themselves as cutting-edge andhigh-tech, but market research showed their patients valued personal connection and trust over technological advancement.
“So you’re trying to bridge the gap between what they think they should be and what their patients actually want,” he said.
“Exactly. But every compromise feels like it waters down both messages.”
He was quiet for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. “What if you didn’t compromise?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if you gave them two different campaigns? High-tech messaging for the younger demographics who research everything online, personal connection messaging for the older patients who make decisions based on trust and referrals?”
I stared at him, surprised. “That’s not bad.”
“Segmented marketing, right? You mentioned it once during one of our phone calls. Same service, different approaches based on what each group values.”
The fact that he’d remembered a random comment I’d made weeks ago and applied it to my current problem made my chest tight. “That could work. It would be more complex to execute, but it could work.”
“You want me to leave you alone so you can work on it?”
I looked at him. He’d driven across town with food, listened to my work problems without trying to minimize them, and now he was offering to disappear so I could focus. No pressure to spend time with him, no guilt about choosing work over his company.
“Actually,” I said, “would you mind staying? I could use the company while I work through this.”
His face lit up. “Of course.”
For the next three hours, Jacob sat there scrolling through his phone while I restructured the entire campaign strategy. Every now and then I’d glance over—watching the way his browfurrowed at whatever he was reading, the absent way he rubbed his thumb along the arm of the chair. He was justthere, a quiet presence in the periphery of my focus.
Occasionally I’d bounce an idea off him. “Does ‘Your Heart, Our Family’ sound too cheesy?”
“Sounds like something my mother would respond to,” he said without looking up. “She’d trust that over a bunch of numbers about surgical success rates.”
It was companionable in a way I hadn’t expected. Comfortable. Like having him there made me more focused rather than distracted.
“Okay,” I said finally, stretching my arms over my head and reviewing the two campaign mockups side by side on my monitor. “I think I’ve got it. Two parallel campaigns, targeted messaging, coordinated launch strategy.”
“Feeling better about it?”
“Much better. Thank you.”
