“What we mean is, this isn’t just a message—it’s a movement,” I say. “Celebrating the world we live in. Everyone together. A campaign for the city, by the city.”
It sounds weak. The harpy across the table tilts her head, unimpressed.
Vanessa flips a page. “We’ll do billboards. Bus wraps. Merch.”
Merch. Gods help me.
And then the conference room doors open.
Jamie strides in, flushed, brown eyes blazing behind his glasses. His tie’s crooked, shirt sleeves rolled, like he sprinted here from another realm. The room stiffens. Vanessa sputters.
“Excuse me,” she hisses. “This is a closed meeting.”
Jamie ignores her, planting himself beside me like he belongs here—because he does. His gaze cuts across the table, steady, fearless.
“You want a hook?” Jamie says. His voice carries, confident in a way I’ve never heard before. “Here’s your hook: we’re already celebrating our differences. But now, we need more.We become each other’s lives. Friends. Lovers. Neighbors. Colleagues. The campaign doesn’t pretend everyone’s the same—it highlights how we’re different and stronger for it.”
The room stirs. The councilman leans forward. Vanessa’s mouth opens, but Jamie barrels on.
“Imagine this: a vampire and a human roommatearguing over thermostat settings. A mothman and a human teaching each other to dance—one on the ground, one in the air. Two humans learning to cook together, laughing as they burn everything. A werewolf and a human falling asleep on the subway together after a long shift. An orc and a human taking their engagement pictures in the park. A pair of trolls building a treehouse, arguing over whose design is better. Everyday moments. Honest. Funny. Real. Moments that make this city, and all of us in it, feel alive.”
My pulse kicks. This is it. This is him.
Jamie gestures, animated now, words spilling like fire. “We don’t need glossy slogans. We need the truth. Ads that make people laugh, cry, and see themselves. Show everyone as extraordinary in their own way. Highlight our beautiful differences—and what brings us together. Put it in memes, in short videos on social media that go viral. That’s the world we’re living in. That’s the world we should sell.”
Silence. And then—murmurs of approval. The harpy nods slowly, feathers rustling. The vampire councilman bares his fangs in what might be a smile. The female aide at the end of the table leans forward, intrigued.
Vanessa tries to collect herself. “That’s… that’s all very dramatic. But our existing strategy?—”
“Is boring,” Jamie cuts in, unapologetic. “It won’t move anyone. People are tired of corporations slapping buzzwords on posters. They want real stories. Residents of Crownpoint don’t need pandering. We need connection.”
He looks at me when he says the last part, and my heart almost bursts out of my suit.
The mayor’s aide clears her throat. “I like it.”
And just like that, the tide shifts. Voices rise, agreement circling the table. Excited. Eager.
I sit there, half breathless. Watching Jamie, I see him not just as the man behind Vanessa’s desk, sharp-tongued and reckless. Not just as the man who made me laugh when I’d forgotten how. But as a partner. A visionary. Someone who can set fire to a room and make everyone want to warm their hands in it.
Vanessa seethes, her nails digging crescents into a folder. “This is insubordination.”
“Or innovation,” the councilman counters smoothly.
Jamie turns to me, eyes finally softening, and for a moment, it’s just us. “This is what we talked about, Mags.” His voice is low, but his eyes radiate enthusiasm. “You believed in it. In me.”
My throat burns. My heart feels too big for my chest.
I rise, squaring my shoulders. “Jamie’s right. This was his vision. I only helped him sharpen it. If Crownpoint wants a campaign that will actually matter—this is it. He’s it.”
The words hang there, heavier than the crystal chandelier overhead. But they’re true. Gods, they’re true.
Mr. Olsevek, his scales sparkling like hammered bronze, leans forward and says, “With all due respect, Ms. Voss, it’s clear where the vision lies. We want this campaign.” He points straight at Jamie. “Hiscampaign.”
Vanessa’s smile falters, then cracks, then shatters.
“I see,” she says crisply. “Well, if the city prefers to gamble its reputation on theatrics, that’s your choice. My talents are clearly wasted here.”
And with a swish of her designer coat and the click of her stilettos, she’s gone.
