It felt like heaven to be pressed against him, in my own wildly expensive mattress, with my first day as a director starting tomorrow.
I had everything I could ever dream of. Colton was safe, I had the promotion I had been working for my entire professional life, and I had a family who deeply cared for me.
Dennis had sent me an email an hour ago, a long, longemail with the subject line:
Everything I remember about the greatest rodeo cowboy in the game: Clay Ford
I was dying to read it. I know I didn’t leave on the greatest note with Dennis, still a little sour that he never told me he knew my dad, but this was his olive branch to mend my betrayed heart, and I appreciated it greatly.
I mean, I had a mother who would’ve preferred I died with my dad. I was very willing to forgive Dennis for trying to protect me.
I hoped he knew that. I needed to call him.
I had just gotten back from a meeting with my graphic designers and Billy.
Yes, Billy had made her way all the way to Chicago.
Her work was genuine, just what we needed to continue the authenticity of this project. She was going to be our number one photographer for the Agri-Corp logo at the NFR. I even gave her clearance to hire two more photographers to help her capture the whole night.
We were one of the top sponsors of the National Finals Rodeo, and I was willing to throw a little money around.
The graphic designers were hard at work making banners, t-shirts, more vests, you name it.
Early that morning, I had sent an email to Dennis, Mickey, and Thompson, keeping them updated and asking if they’d like any changes.
Mickey responded with a selfie of himself giving a thumbs up.
Dennis replied with eight smiley faces and twelveexclamation marks.
Thompson replied, “Do your job. Call if there are problems.”
SoI think they were generally happy with our progress thus far.
“The ‘Legacy’ campaign isn’t just about tractors,” I said, tapping my pen against the glass. I felt the weight of my new title, Director Ford, like a shield. “It’s about the people who can’t afford for those tractors to break down,” I said to my team sitting on the lush couches with clipboards and laptops.
“Sarah, I want a full breakdown of the Southern circuit demographics by Friday. We’re not guessing anymore. We’re executing.”
She nodded and took a few notes.
I felt invincible. Between the “Director” nameplate on my desk and the flight confirmation for Oklahoma sitting in my inbox, I finally felt like I had mastered the impossible balance.
“Any questions before we wrap up for the day?” It was half past five. I had worked my teams to death, asking them to come early, work through lunch, and stay a little late.
It was my first day, and I’m sure my team already hated me.
They all shook their heads, not so subtly looking toward the clock.
“Great, thank y’all so much!” I said, surprising all of us as my natural Texas accent fell out of my mouth before I could stop it. “Um, yeah. See you tomorrow at eight?”
They got up and left before I could ask them to do any more work today.
I barely had a second to breathe in the empty office before I heard a faint knocking.
“Hey,boss!”
I spun in the chair to face Martha. “Hi!”
She collapsed on the couch. “How’d your first day go?”
