I hold a breath as Teresa studies the last sketch. I know I have her when I hear her chuckle.
“W-w-well?” I lower myself to the chair beside Teresa and scoot it up to the conference table.
Teresa narrows her gaze to a playful glare, like she's annoyed with me because she likes it. “You know it's good. You wouldn't have brought it in otherwise.”
“But?”
“But, we present in—” She glances at her watch, “—less than five minutes. I won't pull a fully developed pitch for a couple of sketches. What we have is solid, too.”
What we have has been done a thousand times. “But—”
“No.” Teresa flips over the cover of my tablet, putting it to sleep. “Look, Meg, it's my decision to make. When you're leading your own team, then you can decide.”
I nearly groan in frustration. It always comes back to that: Teresa's the team leader. If I want more responsibility and more control, I have to show Matt that I'm ready for it.
And this is what I've been working my ass off for. It would be more money and more responsibility. More money would be great, obviously—and I'm not afraid of more responsibility—but what excites me is the additional creative freedom I'd have. I’d have the control to create amazing campaigns without having to fight so hard to push the envelope.
What terrifies me is giving presentations.
How can I accept a position as team leader when every time I open my mouth, my fear of stuttering cripples me into mute silence?
But this is exactly why I've been working with a speech therapist for the past year. When I was a kid, my single mom didn't have the extra money for it, but I do. I scrimp and save to fit it into my budget—which is already tight—but I make it work.
My speech therapist assures me I'll be ready to lead presentations soon. Until then, I can bide my time.
It's not even just my job that's at risk here. If I fumble a presentation, an important one, the company could lose a client. I love working here. This company has become a second home. I can't risk the good of the company just because I want more freedom to play with my ideas. I'm not ready to lead my own team yet.
All these thoughts are swirling around as I waffle between just letting this idea go, or pushing for it.
I should fight for this idea. Especially since I know I'm right. “Teresa, w-w-we—”
But—once again—Teresa doesn't let me finish. “What we show Reid and Matt today has to be flawless.” There's a sort of pleading desperation in her eyes. “You know how important this presentation is, right?”
“Well, yeah.” But even as I say it, I'm questioning myself. Do I really know? Teresa has her shit together in a way I don't. Sometimes I get so lost in my head that I don't pay attention to company politics and the dynamic in the office. She does. “Is there something else going on?”
Teresa lowers her voice. “Forester+Blake has lost three accounts in the past six months. You know what this industry is like. If we don't have clients, people get laid off. It's that simple.”
Shit. She's right.
This industry can be brutal. Companies, even ones as solid and Forester+Blake, always have to hustle. And if a company isn't bringing in new clients, people get laid off.
“Okay, th-then—” I draw in a shaky breath “—that's all the more reason to show Reid and Matt my new idea. It's much bet—”
“No. And that's my final word.”
I'm still reeling from that new information when the door to the conference room swings open, and Matt and Reid enter. Teresa does the thing she always does at meetings with the uppity ups, where she makes a round of introductions.
I've never known if she does this to remind them that she's the team leader or if she's circumventing the potential embarrassment if they don't remember our names.
Matt, one of the company founders, always looks amused when she does this. Reid, always the stoic, keeps his expression blank as he's introduced to me for what has to be the thirty-seventh time and I can't help but wonder if he remembers me from one meeting to the next or if he needs these introductions because I'm just one of nearly a hundred employees.
But then his gaze slides past mine. He's nodding and smiling to the other people in the room—that little half-smile of his, which always seems both confident and wry—and it's once again like I'm not even there.
I try not to stew over it. Thankfully, I never talk much at these meetings. Tad starts the meeting off, running through the initial research we did about the company and the success of past ad campaigns. When he finishes his bit, he sits down.
Matt leans forward. “We're looking forward to seeing what you've come up with. I talked to the people at Butler just this morning and assured them you're our most creative team.”
Teresa smiles smugly. “Of course we are.”
