I close my laptop slightly, buying myself a moment to think. The truth is, I’ve been chasing this promotion because it was expected. BecauseGarrettthought it was important. Because it seemed like the “right” next step...
Not because I actually wanted it.
But Garrett isn’t in my life anymore.
And I’m done letting his voice dictate my choices.
“Actually, Marissa,” I begin, “I’ve been reconsidering my career path lately.”
Her eyebrows lift, but she doesn’t interrupt. It’s one of the things I’ve always appreciated about her; she actually listens.
“Rather than going into management, I’ve been thinking about a different direction,” I continue. “Something I’m really passionate about.”
I reach into my desk drawer, pulling out the leather-bound notebook I’ve been scribbling in for months. Instead of boring graphs and bullet points, it’s filled with colorful sticky notes and sketches.
“I want to explore consumer behavior around pets,” I explain, flipping to a page covered in notes and little paw print doodles. “I’ve noticed this huge shift in how people treat their dogs—less like pets, more like family. Owners are spending more on food, wellness, even tech. It’s a market that’s exploding, but what’s really fascinating is the emotional side of it.”
Marissa leans in, setting her coffee aside. “Go on.”
I smile. “Take me, for example. I won’t buy dog food without reading the ingredient list first. I pay more attention to reviews for his toys than I do for my own clothes. And I’m not the only one. There are entire communities built around this. People define themselves by how they care for their dogs. That identity shapes what they buy, how they spend, even what brands they’re loyal to.” The knot in my stomach loosens as I flip to a page with my study design and explain it in detail. “Honestly,” I meet her eyes, “I’d much rather dive into research like this than move into management.”
There. I said it.
The words hang between us, and I fight the urge to backpedal.
Marissa picks up my notebook, flipping through the colorful pages. “This is... really smart,” she says,
I blink. “You mean you actually like the idea?”
“I love the idea. Cheyenne, you’ve been one of our strongest analysts for years, but I’ve always felt you were holding something back. This”—she taps my notebook—“this is vision.” She smiles. “Send me a proposal by Friday. I’ll set up a meeting with the Director next week. He needs to see this.”
“You’re serious?”
“Completely.” Her smile deepens. “Companies thrive on innovators. And you’ve just proven you’re one of them.”
A grin breaks across my face, my pulse racing. “Thank you.”
I can’t help but remember Dylan’s encouraging words from a couple weeks ago.
He saw my ideas as worth pursuing. Now, Marissa does too.
Marissa stands, swooping up her coffee cup once more. “It’s good to see you advocating for yourself, Cheyenne. That confidence suits you. And it also deserves a raise.”
She heads back to her office, leaving me at my desk with my notebook open, feeling something fundamental has shifted.
Not just in my career path, but in how I see myself.
I turn to my computer and open a new document, titling it “Pet Owner Behavior Research Proposal.” My fingers hoverover the keyboard for a moment, but there’s no hesitation now ... just a rush of ideas I’ve been holding back for too long.
As I start typing, I realize I’m smiling. It’s a true smile—a smile for me, for my choices, for finally trusting myself.
I stand in front of the fitting room mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me. The Glaciers New Years Eve Party is tomorrow, and the black-and-pink sequined bodycon dress Genna insisted I try on is excessive, to say the least. It hugs curves I usually hide under looser clothes, the hem stopping daringly at mid-thigh. I tug at it, but it refuses to lower even an inch.
“Are you still alive in there?” Genna calls from outside the fitting room. “Or just having a crisis of confidence? Because if it’s the second one, get over it and let me see!”
I take a deep breath, turning to examine my profile. The sequins catch the harsh fitting room light, sending sparkles dancing across the walls. It’s a lot. Maybe too much. But then again, playing it safe hasn’t exactly worked out for me so far.
“I’m coming,” I call back, giving the hem one final tug. “Just preparing you for the shock.”
