Chapter 2

TWO

ELLA

The door slammed against the single-stall, gender-neutral bathroom wall on the ninth floor of the Mahogany and Moon Creative Agency. Ella locked it behind her and flailed her hand under the paper towel dispenser’s sensor. “Come on, come on.” She balled the towels in her hand, doused them with cold water, and held the sodden lump against her neck. The tiled wall was cool against her forehead as she rested against it until her blazing internal temperature lowered. How in the hell did she let her mother convince her to wear this goddamn suit? She looked like a kid trying to play dress-up, and everyone here knew it.

A few hours ago, she was in mom jeans, low heels, and a knitted sweater, going through her breathing exercises before her mother barged into her room. “Oh, honey. No. Not for your orientation day. You want them to respect you, right? Wear the suit we bought last weekend. You don’t want to embarrass your father or have anyone think you’re not serious about this job.” She’d turned to shut the door, but paused. “Put your lips on, dear. You look so pale.”

And Ella listened to her, of course. She always fucking listened to her, but that would change. Soon, she wouldn’t have to listen to her at all. She flipped the paper towel for a coolness jolt and counted in reps of four. She tried to shake the image of the most awkward five minutes of her life when she’d stood in Malcolm’s office, and stared at the woman who was so rude, who shot so many death glares at her when she visited years ago, that she’d avoided her on every visit to her father’s office since then.

Her father had told her a project manager would train her in, but Malcolm was just coming off paternity leave and needed to check schedules. Why in the hell hadn’t she asked more questions? She’d just blindly nodded and followed his lead, like always.

But enough was enough. She was a college graduate, finally , and ready to be an actual, working adult. And although she had no real sense of finances, the starting salary seemed pretty decent. If she saved, she’d only have to work here a few months to earn enough for a security deposit and down payment. Freedom.

Did it suck having to take a job at her father’s office? Sure. But it was a necessary evil. And, admittedly, after the twentieth application auto-rejection, she realized how lucky she was to have this level of connection. Not that she blamed the other companies for rejecting her. Right now, her resume was hardly a thrilling read. Experience—none. First job—nope. Hard skills—zip. Technical skills—logging into her social media account. Budget experience—does having an Amex at twelve years old count? Probably not.

But she wouldn’t be here for long. She simply needed to learn the trade tricks and move on.

She lifted herself from the wall and looked in the mirror. Ugh . Her mother was right. She was too pale. She dug in her purse, pushed her emergency nasal spray medication to the side, and pulled out red lipstick. After she reapplied, she checked her teeth, once, twice, then three times to confirm no lipstick stained. She’d never forget the time she’d had lipstick on her teeth at a party and her mother had chastised her on the way home on the importance of having a purse mirror to avoid such embarrassing situations.

Pulling her shoulders back, she exited the bathroom and walked back to the office where Sophie was smiling and comfortable and just… so flipping cool . All 5’2”, shaved head, pierced lip and nose, leather jacket, combat boots cool. Ella unbuttoned her suit jacket, but quickly fastened it again as she approached.

“Why don’t we go grab a coffee in the breakroom.” Sophie ran her palm across the top of her head, then pointed the way.

“Sounds great.” Ella firmed her voice, matching the icy tone in Sophie’s. Don’t fidget. Look straight ahead. Keep lips steady and serious.

The office had changed over the last fifteen years since her father started his agency. Back then, the entire agency filled only one floor. But now they were spread out between multiple floors. Even with her memory issues that were particularly bad before her medication adjustment and stint at the Children’s Hospital, she recalled the space was stuffy and had cubicles like the show The Office . Now this area was reminiscent of a nightclub, or ultra-trendy coffee shop. They swapped the carpet-padded half-wall cubicles in the middle with massive, long white desks, almost cafeteria-style, but with monitors and chrome barstools. Teal lights glowed from under the tables, and wicker-back swinging chairs hung from the ceiling.

She definitely would’ve remembered the breakroom, so they must’ve updated it. The espresso machine looked like they lifted and shifted it from Starbucks itself, a row of syrups lined the counter, and a plethora of mugs with R-rated phrases lay across the shelf.

Sophie stuffed ground beans into a portafilter. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black.” Lies. Caffeine was on a long list of things Ella was forced to avoid. The very few times Ella drank coffee—and only after months without an incident—was normally some variation of double chocolate with extra whip.

“Cool. I’m a double the cream, double the sugar kind of woman myself.” Sophie grabbed two mugs from the floating shelf and put them under the spout. “Want me to show you how to use the espresso machine?”

“No.” Ella grabbed a napkin from the holder. “I don’t think I’ll be making these for myself.”

Sophie’s neck flashed pink. “Ah. You have people for that, I suppose.”

Ella’s throat tightened. That was not what she meant at all, but hell if she was going to explain to Sophie the potential adverse effects of caffeine on her brain. She might not have remembered everything from their first meeting, but she distinctly remembered Sophie’s same tone from all those years ago. The you think you’re too good, don’t you? tone. The no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be as cool as me tone. The one that made her feel like a spoiled kid that knew jack shit, made her fighting spirit burn and the need to prove herself jolt to the forefront.

Ella accepted the coffee Sophie handed her and followed her to the high-top table in the corner. She plunked on the barstool across from Sophie, sipped on the espresso, and nearly choked on the deep, dark hues. Gross. How did people drink this on the daily? The sludgy remnants settled on her tongue, and she discreetly tried to scrape it off with her teeth.

The abstract sloped steel light fixture cast a ray and illuminated Sophie like a halo. Her eyes were a spectacular mix of greens, and Ella shifted her gaze. She’d tried colored contacts once, hating the overly bleh brown shade of her own eyes. Everything about her was boring, dull, and basic. She knew this to her core. And sitting with city-hip Sophie, Ella had the urge to up her game.

Sophie checked her watch. “I have a meeting in ten minutes, so we’ll dive into actual training tomorrow.”

“Excellent.” Ella lifted the mug to her mouth and pretended to sip. “I can come in early if needed.”

“Sure, if you want.” Sophie tapped the outside of the cup. “We have a ton to do and a high-profile campaign with an expedited timeline. Not sure if your dad gave you any information?”

Ella swore Sophie added an irritated enunciation on the word “dad.”

“All of this came up sort of… quickly.” She would never let Sophie, or anyone else, know the circumstances of how she’d landed this job.

Sophie twirled the drink, took a hefty sip, and swiped the corner of her lip with her thumb. Ella wondered if the chipped nail polish was part of her whole rocker-edge look. For a quick moment, Sophie’s lips, which were fuller, smoother, rounder than she’d remembered, caught Ella’s attention.

“Anyway,” Sophie continued, “I have multiple briefing meetings today and hopefully we’ll align quickly on strategy and messaging.”

Ella nodded. Strategy and messaging. What the higher-up people wanted for a campaign, right? Who they target—millennials, people with cats, kids. Her brain worked overtime recalling the details of a Marketing 305 course in a major forced on her by her parents. Why didn’t she pay more attention during class, instead of counting down the minutes until she could rush out to paint at the art studio?

“The messaging hierarchy is pretty standard for social, especially…” Sophie rattled off more details.

Ella’s ears grew warm. Hierarchy? Like a pyramid? Or maybe that was what an ad looked like online.

Sophie sipped. “Is this how they worked at your other company?”

The heat sprung to Ella’s cheeks. “I, uh, there was no other company.”

The words seemed to sink in as Sophie’s eyes grew wide and whatever softness that existed dropped. “You didn’t work anywhere before? Like ever?”

Ella wanted to dive into the ice machine. Did she have to say it like that? Like it was the most incredulous, asinine thing Sophie had ever heard of. Ella dug her nails into her palm to steady herself. “No. I was… I was in school.” And now she probably had to explain why it took her six years to complete a four-year degree.

“Did you intern?”

“No.”

Sophie’s eyes narrowed, widened, and narrowed again. “Wait. Are you saying you’ve never worked a job in your life ?”

Those words were an industrial-size paper cutter that sliced Ella in half. Sophie didn’t have to say any more—Ella knew exactly what she was thinking.

“How the hell did you land a job like this without ever working ?” Sophie paused for several long moments, then her lips twitched into a smirk. “Oh, wait… of course…”

Dammit. Sophie just slapped Ella with her greatest fear: She wasn’t worthy, she was incompetent, and she got the job handed to her because of her dad. She stiffened her spine. “I went to the University of Washington for my undergrad, graduated with honors, and took extension courses from Stanford.”

“And that qualifies you to start as a creative project manager?”

Enough of this. Ella had every right to be here, too, and didn’t need to explain herself. “I don’t think I ever got the name of the school where you graduated.” Shit . She sounded just like her mom, and a metallic taste grew in her mouth. She knew good and goddamn well that Sophie didn’t go to college, because her dad made multiple comments with an impressed voice—which he rarely used—about how Sophie grinded every day without an education.

Sophie’s cheeks reddened. Her soft green eyes narrowed into a steely gaze. “Tomorrow we’ll start early. Seven thirty is ideal. With your vast education, I’m assuming you will dive right in. The brief will come post-strategy, and you’ll want to vet prior to handing off to the creative team. Messaging hierarchy should be firmed. Of course, you’ll know the pixel size, images, and video playback speeds needed for tablet, mobile, and desktop versions, and it’s always a good idea to QA the content prior. The workback schedule needs to be created ASAP. I’m sure you got this.”

Ella’s head spun. She didn’t remember any of this from her classes and was mentally notating everything she could. God, why didn’t she record this conversation? The second she left she needed to write down what Sophie said to research later.

The chair squeaked against the floor as Ella pushed herself from the table. She grabbed her nearly full cup of coffee to toss once Sophie left. “I know you have a meeting, and I need to see HR for some paperwork.”

Sophie jerked her head once in a nod and stuffed her cell phone in her leather cropped jacket.

Screw her. Just because Sophie looked like she just stepped off a stage as a lead singer in a punk band, and was the epitome of everything Ella wasn’t, did not mean she was better than her. “Quick question. Do you all use agile or waterfall?”

Sophie’s pause and scrunched forehead was everything Ella needed.

“What?” Sophie asked.

“Project methodologies.” Ella lifted her chin, a delicious warmth spreading. “I mean, since you have so much experience, I assume you’ve already locked if it’s sprint based or not.”

Sophie sucked in a side of a cheek.

Ella could barely contain her smile. “I’d love to get your thoughts around scrum methodologies, too.” Oh God, this felt good. This moment was exactly what she needed after the brutal last few months, the terrible morning, and the even worse last hour. She’d show Sophie she was not incompetent. “What about a RACI? It’s crucial to establish that from the project’s start, right?”

Ella’s pulse quickened. Shit. Why did she choose RACI? Responsible, Accountable, Consulted, Informed. Right? Wait! No. Was it Reasoning, Accountability, Consultation, and Inclusions? No, that didn’t make sense. Crap.

“I—” Sophie’s cell rang, and her face screamed “Oh, thank God.” “I need to take this.” Her clunky boots pounded against the floor as she scooted away.

Ella tossed the remaining coffee down the drain and slammed back water. Even though it’d been years since an incident, the heightened stressful situation and caffeine could trigger her.

Thudding footsteps rounded the corner, and she could hear her dad’s heavy, former pack-a-day smoker breathing outside the door. “Hey, kid, how did it go?”

“You cannot call me kid when I’m working. Or ever, honestly,” she snapped. “Really, Dad, I’ll be twenty-four in a few months.”

He tossed up his hands. “Whoa. Is it that time of the month or something?”

Her blazer constricted her chest. The coffee grounds branded her tongue, and her armpits were a dam about to break. “ Don’t ask me that. I need to go to HR and fill out paperwork.”

“Good.” He held his arm out to escort her. “You and Sophie will do great.”

She ignored his outstretched hands and marched ahead.

“Remember, it’s my reputation on the line, along with yours. Don’t ruin the good Northwood name,” he said in a lowered tone. “I’m still not sure this was the right idea.”

Her dad could not pull her out now. She needed this to land before her parents realized what she was doing. Softening her stance, she leaned into him. “I’ll make you proud.” Making him proud was on the list of course, but down low. Championship-limbo-bar-style low.

Top of the list: proving to everyone, especially that snarky-ass Sophie, that she deserved a spot.