Chapter 29

TWENTY-NINE

SOPHIE

At exactly 1:23 p.m., a potential Hail Mary was exactly what landed in Sophie’s inbox. Sophie’s stomach lurched into her throat when she saw the email from Ella. Subject: For you .

Her fingers raced to open the email and then paused. For you . Not I’m sorry , or Hi , or Let’s talk . Nope, just For you .

What if this was a resignation note? What if it was a breakup note? What if it was both?

She couldn’t read it. Not yet. Her palm whipped to the back of her head, and she rubbed her scalp like she was trying to release a genie. Looking around, she saw slanted frowns, creased foreheads, and people barking at each other. Her work family was being torn apart, her relationship was wobbly, everything was a jagged-edged rock. She was one hundred percent over it. Whatever this email contained, she had to deal with it.

A quick, shaky breath left her mouth, and she clicked open the email.

Sophie,

Show the team if you see fit.

Ella

The words lacked even a hint of emotion. Sophie read the email five different times, speaking it five different ways, and nothing. It was factual, brisk, to the point. No smiley face, no heart emoji, nothing.

She exhaled. Was this post-seizure talking? Was this a post-traumatic sidewalk event result? There was no way to know. Later, she could read it again and decipher. But for now, she tilted her head at the three attached images, and clicked open image one. “What in the…” Her heartbeat increased, slow and steady at first until it raced and thudded in her skull.

Before her was a graphic of a sexy angel with flowing red hair, reminiscent of an old pinup from the ’40s. She stood with a wink, biting into a glazed dripping doughnut. The image was fun and sexy, and hit on the key pieces of the creative brief.

Image two popped on the screen. A black-haired angel with a deep undercut, heavy emo-style makeup, and fire-red angel wings. She was lying on the floor on her belly, elbows propped up, blood-red fingernails gripping the doughnut. Sexy, edgy, smart—another requirement from the brief.

When she opened the third, it took all of five seconds for the image to register. Shaved head, lip ring, retro-rocker-style angel with fishnets, black fingernail polish, and a smirk rising at the corner of her lips. The angel held a glazed doughnut with the gum wall in the background.

She drew me? The picture was Sophie-esque. Her likeness at the very least. And the gum wall? Sophie’s heart lifted and dipped so many times she got dizzy.

Did this mean they were okay? Was this Ella just throwing some things out there for the team? At this point, the reasons behind the images didn’t matter.

She whipped the plug from her laptop and dashed across the floor. “Amanda!” she yelled to a senior project manager. “Favor. Can you grab the leads and have them meet me in G-1. Urgent!”

“On it. G-1’s booked, go to G-2,” Amanda called while her fingers flew across the keyboard.

Sophie’s eyes darted across the room. These graphics could work. Maybe. Ella was a painter, not a graphic designer. And these could be too artsy, but they differed from what the team had created, possibly in the right way. They could absolutely, maybe, dear sweet baby doughnut angels, be what the team needed.

“Erica!” She knocked on the window of a huddle room to grab a creative manager’s attention.“G-1—no, G-2—get your team, meet me there immediately. Please. Hot item just came in.”

“Absolutely.” Erica pulled out her cell phone and waved one of the leads her way.

Sophie’s feet barely touched the floor as she sprinted through the hall, grabbing anyone she could find who had worked on this campaign. She searched for Malcolm, who was not in his office, and swore louder than she meant. Her breath came out in spurts. Yes, she needed to exercise more, but as long as she didn’t pass out and waste any more time, she’d worry about cardio later.

“Malcolm!” she called out when she spotted him turn the corner.

“Hold up. Take a breath. I really do not want to perform mouth-to-mouth on you.” He shoved his cell in his pocket. “What’s going on?”

“Can you come to G-2?” Her words were frantic, nearly incoherent. She almost tripped over her feet as she walked backwards toward the room. Every cell in her body fired and needled at her skin.

“Something came in, I think… maybe we can pull this off. We’ll need everyone , though.”

Stupid projector lagging with the plug-in. What was this? 2004? Come on! She shoved it again and it roared to life. People shuffled in the room with a spectrum of curious, annoyed, and defeated looks. Her hands shook. Her limbs shook. Her breath shook. Please, please , let this work.

“Hey, all. Cutting to the chase here. We got a couple new images. Ella created them, and even though she’s not a creative, I think they might work. Different direction than before, and you guys are the experts, but the imagery connects with the approved copy.” She flipped to the first one and watched the raised eyebrow and murmured reactions.

“Second one.” She clicked to the next. Other animated voices joined in as she allowed the team a moment to review.

“Third.” The team’s expressions didn’t adjust much, until it seemed the image clicked for the entire room. Gazes flung her way, and she wanted to fan the burn from her ear.

“Huh. Sophie, who knew you doubled as a model?” Malcolm scratched at his beard. “These are all great. Team, thoughts?”

The room burst into conversation, teammates marveling at Sophie’s angel picture, others talking about the colors and images, how they could be adjusted, or where the copy could lie. A few more moments passed before Sophie spoke. “All right. Thoughts here? I’d normally like to give you some time to think about it, but we have…” She glanced at her watch. “Two and a half hours. That’s it.”

“That’s not enough time. George isn’t around, the creative director is remote, there is?—”

“Combine the images with copy and send it?—”

“There’s no chance we’ll get this complete?—”

The voices clamored for airspace, with some team members begging, some naysaying, some animated, and Sophie’s insides trembling.

“We can do this. I’m sending the raw files now. Let’s divide into teams of two, rapid-fire-style. Everyone, do a quick magic edit and modify directly in the platform. Take the existing headline and add it to all three images. I know we can do this.” The team stared at her.

“Now! Go. Please, we have to try.”

A lead grabbed their laptop and started. “Gum wall has to go. Swap background from image one with image three.”

And soon, a waterfall of direction occurred as the team sprung alive.

“Add shadow lines, not too much, to image two.”

“Make hair white instead of red, change wings from black to red.”

“Add tattoos to image one, black only.”

“Reduce the copy font size by two and increase the highlights.”

Sophie opened her notes app to help guide the team when Malcolm leaned over. “Quick chat in the hallway.”

The words were definitely not a question. Sophie followed him out, scratching at her neck to go back inside. She didn’t want to miss a word, a thought, anything, and cause even a second more of a delay. “What’s up?”

“Ella created these images?”

“Yes, she emailed them just a few minutes ago.”

Malcolm nodded. “They’re good. I’ll be interested to see what the team chooses.” He stuffed his hands in his pocket. “I’ve gotta ask, though. She clearly used your image. I don’t know if they’re going to choose that one or not, but I need to know how you’ll feel if they do. Your face will be plastered all over social, web, the parade…”

Sophie hadn’t taken the time to really consider the ramifications if they used her actual image for the ad.

“We’ll need legal to draft something for you to sign, if they choose your face. I’m in full support of whatever you want. The image is great. But if you’re not okay with it, say the word. I won’t even tell the team that you’re uncomfortable. I’ll say I’m uncomfortable, or HR blocked it, or something. I’d feel terrible if you compromised yourself and regretted it later.”

Sophie’s heart swelled and tears prickled her eyes. Again. Crying her first week on the job, then not for six years, and now she was an emotional wreck.

Malcolm had always protected her, had her back. Hiring her on at eighteen, showing her the ropes, training her, guiding her. She loved her dad so much, but damn if Malcolm wasn’t a solid work dad. She did something she’d never done before—she hugged him. Then promptly released.

“Damn. Consent much?” He laughed, then squeezed her back.

“I’m okay if they want to use it.” Was she flattered? Yes, of course. Ella hadn’t forgotten her completely, in fact she’d drawn an incredible picture of her. Was it a little weird to potentially have her face plastered all over Seattle? Yep. But right now, she would do just about anything to launch this campaign.

“Okay, then. You pop inside, do your thing. I’ll call legal to preemptively draft a document. I’m going to call the client for an emergency meeting in, say”—he flicked his wrist to check his watch—“two hours from now. Four thirty, gives them ninety minutes before closing time to decide, but praying that they will stay late. They want this campaign launched as much as we do.”

Malcolm already had the phone up to his ear before she retreated.

The energy back in the room was fierce. Sophie set the timer. “Seventy-five minutes until speed-round review,” she called out. She captured notes, forgetting everything about a formalized project plan, and made sure all non-creatives were on high alert. A quick message was sent to the web production team, the SEO managers, the organic social people.

“Forty-five minutes!” Her fingers flew at a breakneck pace, and she typed like her life depended on it. Teams of two turned into two teams of four, and everyone made sure they weren’t working against each other.

“Thirty minutes!” Sophie flexed her fingers, took one quick bathroom break, and slammed back water. She rushed to the breakroom, scooped granola bars and chips in her hand, returned to the room, and dumped them on the table.

“Fifteen minutes!”

People stood, paced, interlocked their fingers behind their necks. F-bombs and sighs and a few chuckles escaped. Her mouth was dry, her arms ached. She pushed her thumb into the tendon on her shoulder and rotated it. The timer screeched, cutting off her stretching. “Time! Everyone, upload to the shared drive. Remember, rapid-fire feedback.”

The next hour flew, a tsunami of words and yells and clicking. Feedback flew: image back, image forward, shading on the left, increase font, decrease font, more prominent CTA, too sexy, not enough sex, less cleavage, more cleavage…

And then, then! They had it—or at least they had something to present. With five minutes to spare, the entire team voted, and even though it wasn’t unanimous, it was pretty damn close. They chose the rocker outfit from the Sophie image, the face and hair of the undercut emo, and changed the wide smile to a shit-eating grin. And even though Sophie loved that Ella added the gum wall to the background, the team replaced it seamlessly with the background that had been approved by Devil’s. The new rocker angel had a fishnet stocking-laden leg bent at the knee, her foot resting against the redbrick behind her, and her mouth poised to bite into a dripping doughnut. It was perfect.

A video conference call ensued. The Devil’s team was as engaged as any partner could be, clear they’d been feeling the heat just like the Mahogany and Moon team.

More changes were requested from the Devil’s team—bigger logo, remove the leather wristbands from the angel, change knee-high boots to Doc Martens replicas. Yawns and low energy and empty Thai takeout containers littered the conference room along with water bottles and half-dried markers. Even through the wide-screen monitor, the Devil’s team’s grogginess was evident. Malcolm left at nine, apologizing profusely, and explaining how unfair it was for his wife to care for the baby all day and then again all night. The VP dialed in, the executive assistant dropped off more food, and George messaged a note of encouragement.

Midnight came, and exhaustion seeped into the deepest part of Sophie’s core. Even her eyebrows hurt. She looked up at the screen at the Devil’s team, trying hard to read body language over video.

Finally, the Devil’s Doughnuts creative director smiled and said the word they’d all been waiting for: “Approved!”