I went into my office, warm mug in hand. It was reduced caffeine, but I’d take it. Anything would help at this point.
Compared to reception, my view wasn’t as good from the narrow window, but the door and the desk made up for it. One I could close for some privacy and the other was big, with lots of drawers and a cushy chair.
Bottom line, my office was comfortable.
The potted miniature sunflowers I’d brought in yesterday made a nice pop of yellow against the sleek black and chrome. I kept other personal items to a minimum: a box of tissues and a small picture of kittens and puppies snoozing together. The concentrated cuteness took the edge off and helped me stay calm when I wanted to start shouting at someone.
Damn temper had gotten me in trouble since early childhood.
I settled into my chair, took a sip of coffee with a relieved sigh, opened my email, and sighed again in a not-so-relieved kind of way. Over five hundred messages. Someone had been naughty last night. All of the notifications were about comments and shares of social media posts or news articles about or by our clients.
Sure enough, one of our clients, a bonafide rockstar, had put up an Instagram post that he hadn’t run by us first. I made a note on a sticky pad next to my keyboard. If I remembered his contract correctly, he owed us a fee for breaking our social media clause.
He could have all the views and opinions he wanted to…just not where they impacted his brand while we were working to rehabilitate it. He, like some of our more difficult clients, didn’t seem to realize that rebelling against us while we were trying to dig them out of a hole was only kicking dirt right back in.
Trevor was doing his IT thing, already trying to bury mention of the post. It had been deleted, of course, but screenshots had been taken while it was still up. Such was the nature of the internet. I moaned and sipped my coffee again, hoping for some liquid fortification.
This particular client was more work than he was worth, and his views infuriated me—I didn’t like his attitude about women and mental illness—but Franklin, the company founder, insisted we keep him.
Four hours later, I could no longer ignore the siren song of the coffee pot and a third cup. Between Trevor and me, the crisis of the morning had been reduced to manageable levels, and I hadn’t yet had to call in any favors to see if I could keep it off the major news distributors. I knew several influencers who were usually willing to do something controversial for me to light a counterfire. It helped them and me. I saw to it that the majority of the attention was positive. And it usually drove the indiscretion I was covering out of the spotlight.
A quick check on my hair in the small mirror on my door before I went out revealed it had gone from sleek to casually tumbled. Eh, well. Not the ultra professional image I wanted to project, but nothing to be done about it on such a busy day.
The pot had only a thin layer of coffee in it. I held it up, looking sad, and glanced at June in hopes she had a miracle pot up her sleeve.
She met my gaze, obviously waiting, and finally said, “We’re out of coffee beans. You forgot to bring a bag, and it’s your turn.”
Oops. "That means we’re going to have caffeinated coffee for the next week." At least there would befullenergy…once I brought it in.
She laughed. It was a running joke amongst my coworkers that I was better off on decaf. Trevor often commented, “It has the same full rich taste.” Which I thought was from a movie or maybe commercial, but wasn’t sure. Wherever it was from, it was a damnable lie.
Stretching my legs would be nice, too, once I finished the emails. Standing in front of the woefully empty pot, I texted Trevor and Yolande.Going on a coffee run in fifteen. Let me know what you want.I told Jane the same as I typed on my phone’s screen.
She smiled at me and shook her head, used to my antics.
I settled back at my desk, working my way through the remaining, now blessedly small, list of emails.
My door opened, interrupting my flow.
I glared in that general direction. People didn't normally disturb me when I was working, and I wanted to keep it that way.
Franklin walked in. He was short, only a few inches taller than me. Once, he’d been athletic but had since run to a nice layer of fat. Not that I minded the extra padding. He was still attractive, until his personality ruined it. His bespoke suit concealed it well, tried to make him appear taller, and generally spoke well of his choice of tailors.
The man could charm the scales off a snake if he wanted. It helped that he was about as trustworthy as most people thought of snakes being. We’d disliked each other from the day my sister introduced him as her fiancé, and ten years of him being my brother-in-law hadn’t lessened the feeling one whit. I worked here because my sister had begged me to when he’d started the firm, and because he interacted well with men of certain views…the ones that I didn’t work well with at all.
I still wanted a different job, but whenever I’d made noises about it, my sister would cry. And I was a sucker who fell for the tears every time, no matter how many times I told myself I wouldn’t or how I felt in the span of time between each tearful conversation. She was my sister and I loved her, sometimes to my own chagrin.
The broad smile on Franklin’s square face boded well for no one, especially me. He only pulled out that smile when a questionable deal was in the air, and I’d learned I had to dig my heels in more often than not. Thankfully, I was a pretty strong woman, and however much I hated it, I was capable of dealing with my smarmy brother-in-law.
I turned away from the computer, kept my booty firmly planted in my chair, and folded my arms, waiting for his proclamation.
He walked over and leaned a hip against my desk, just out of my personal bubble. Franklin was a lot of things, not many of them flattering, but at least he was smart enough to have learned not to get into my space. “Andi, the company’s been approached by a new account.” He hit me with that smile again, the one that said he believed in me.
Pfft. My left titty.
“It’s one that your unique talents would do very well for.” Every square inch of his stance spoke of confidence and warmth. Franklin was laying it on thick this time.
Too bad for him he’d done it one too many times. “Franklin, I’m swamped. I’m handling all the clients’ PR remediations, and I’ve told you there are only so many hours in a day. If you want to add clients, you’re going to need to add staff.” There. Put that in your smile and poke it.
