Chapter 8

EIGHT

ELLA

Come on! For everything that is holy and good in this world, please, please give me a win. Ella focused on the instant message screen with so much intensity she was sure her eyeballs were going to split in half. The bubbles appeared, and she stopped breathing.

TM:

Sure. I can make 2:30 work.

“Yes!” She pulled her fists in for a pump, fully Napoleon Dynamite-style.

A hand gripped her forearm. “She said yes?” Sophie’s eyes were wide and expectant.

“She said yes!” Ella had no idea the rush she would get from a single person saying she could meet. A moment passed as Ella glanced at Sophie’s delicate, multi-ringed fingers wrapped around her arm. Sophie whipped her hand back, but not before a small heat imprint seeped into her skin.

“Awesome.” Sophie smiled. “Good job.”

Whoa . Did Ella have a praise kink? Those words sparked something deep, and she wanted to hear it again.

All morning, Ella had scrambled with Sophie’s instructions: Set a one-hour concepting call for today with the lead creatives. The task seemed easy enough—there were only four leads total, plus Sophie and Ella. How hard could it be to get everyone in a room?

Turned out, super freaking hard. The kaleidoscope of calendars showing busy , out of office , or green, but only for thirty minutes had swirled and swirled until Ella caught a break.

“Feels like you need a smoke after that one, huh?” Sophie wiggled a brow and rubbed the back of her head with a palm.

Was that a… was she flirting?

Something felt different with Sophie today. She hadn’t said one snarky comment, she’d smiled, she just said good job . Whatever the shift was, it was both amazing and put Ella on edge. She’d had the rug pulled out from under her before, thinking people were her friend. She was older now, wiser. She’d never let that happen again.

“A smoke?” Ella tipped back a sip of water. “I wouldn’t know. Never tried it.”

Sophie stopped typing. “You’ve never smoked? Like… anything?”

Ella shook her head. Sure, Seattle was one of the first states to legalize weed. And half the teen population had tried a cigarette at least once. But Ella had never tried, well, anything. She’d had some wine on her twenty-first birthday, but wasn’t sure if it’d trigger a seizure, so she didn’t risk more than a small glass. Same with marijuana. Cigarettes smelled disgusting, so even if she thought it was completely safe, she still wouldn’t try. Hell, she didn’t even have a tattoo. Her full-on devious act of anything self-indulgent was being a proud owner of a variety of shaped and sized vibrators.

“So, what happens at a concepting meeting here?” Ella added the here part just in case it was something super obvious. She could play it off and say she learned different types of concepting at school. Which was not true, but Sophie didn’t need to know that.

“Come on, let’s grab some coffee.” Sophie pushed out her chair and took off toward the breakroom.

Ella locked her computer and followed Sophie into the room. “Don’t you ever get dehydrated?” she asked as Sophie filled a cup from the communal coffee pot and added in a truckload of sugar.

“Probably.”

Sophie smiled—again. Twice in a day, and Ella hated that the motion made her insides flip-flop.

Sophie stirred the contents and took a hesitant sip. “So, the pre-strategy meeting is really level-setting. Making sure we heard the client, their needs, the timeline.” She tapped in more sugar and tasted again. “But the concepting is where fun begins. The creatives bring forth the high-level concept of the campaign based on the strategy, and they start building the creative brief.”

Clear as a foggy Seattle day.

Sophie pointed to the high-top table in the corner, and Ella grabbed a seat.

“I watched a speech one time, and it finally made sense.” Sophie slid into a chair across from Ella. “When building strategy, it’s so much more than ‘put two products next to each other and say buy one get one free, and make it sparkly.’”

Ella’s brows scrunched. Seriously, she should have paid more attention in school. They must have talked about this stuff in her marketing classes, but Ella’s brain blanked.

“Here’s another way to explain.” Sophie tapped the cup. “What’s your favorite movie?”

“ The Shawshank Redemption ,” Ella replied with zero hesitation. When she saw that movie ten years ago, she knew she’d never see a better one.

Sophie’s breath sounded like it hitched. “That’s, um, wow. Super random. That’s mine, too.”

Interesting. Ella would have pegged Sophie as a Marvel movie lover, or maybe something old-school like The Shining , or A Clockwork Orange . Ella filed away this little nugget for later.

“Why do you like it so much?” Sophie asked.

Ella fiddled with her fingertips under the table. “I’ve seen it probably thirty times, and even though I know what will happen, it still gets me directly in the heart, you know? The friendship, having someone’s back, the whole found-family concept… it strikes a chord.” Probably more personal than Sophie needed to hear, but it was true. Ella studied her cuticles and hoped her face hid her embarrassment for oversharing.

“I get that.” Sophie’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet. “Let’s break this down. The story is about two guys in prison and how they both handle incarceration. If the creative brief only listed that as the concept, it would be a different film. Now, let’s say the producers requested a sweeping story of redemption, triumph, and a beautiful friendship. And add in an underdog story that shows the human spirit and leaves the viewers motivated to find joy in this world, and it’s a totally different prison story, right? That’s what a creative brief does.”

Sophie’s eyes sparkled under the fluorescent lights as she spoke, and it was clear she loved her job. Ella couldn’t imagine feeling this way about marketing, but she could relate the dreaminess Sophie projected to how she felt when she painted.

“So, before we hand this off to the team, it’s our job to make sure it captures the right story,” Sophie continued. “Not just ‘sell doughnuts to millennials.’ But ‘make doughnuts sexy and fun.’ Make people want to eat at Devil’s Doughnuts and leave with merch because the place is super cool.”

A slow grin crept over Ella. “So, the essence of the ad.”

“Exactly.” Sophie twisted her wrist and checked her watch. “Better get back at it. We have a ton to do before two thirty.” Sophie’s chair squeaked against the floor, and she stood. “Hey, what do you think about running this meeting on your own?”

Ella’s heartbeat kicked up. Sophie trusted her to run a meeting, solo? Already? “On my own?” She hated that her voice cracked and hinted at anything less than un-faltered self-assurance.

“Yep.” Sophie tossed the empty cup into the garbage and leaned toward Ella. “Don’t worry. I got you. If you stumble at all, I’ll step in.”

Warmth filled Ella’s chest and she bit back the urge to hug Sophie.

The next few hours were packed with creating what seemed a thousand project plans. Each major deliverable, Sophie had explained, needed their own project. Web landing page, one project. Instagram post, one project. Facebook ad, one project. But that was for one single message. They were juggling multiple ads, multiple messages, and more than just two social platforms. One team member was gathering a shortlist of influencers for TikTok. One was looking at paid search and SEO options. Another was determining banner ads. The firehouse of information was fast and furious, and Ella’s head spun.

“I’ve gotta eat something.” Sophie scooted back from the desk, locked eyes with a woman in the corner, and pointed to the breakroom. She walked away without another word, without an invitation, and Ella shook it off. She and Sophie weren’t friends. But they’d been working together for two weeks now, and not once had Sophie invited Ella to anything more than grab a coffee.

Ella had typed out a rough agenda for this afternoon when her stomach growled. She continued typing until her stomach roared. She grabbed her lunch bag under the desk and unzipped. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

The ice pack surrounding sashimi and sushi rolls must’ve had a hole, and water had seeped over the fish . Soggy, room-temperature raw fish could create some sort of mortifying explosiveness. No thank you .

Keeping fingers crossed the breakroom had snacks shoved in drawers, she walked past clusters of tables, monitors, and conversation, and turned the corner to the open space. Like when a drunk stumbled into a speaker at a party, the laughter from Sophie zipped to a stop when she caught Ella’s gaze . Cool. Just her presence alone proved she was a fun sucker. Wouldn’t be the first time she’d been accused of dulling the life of the party. Her gut turned over, recalling a cafeteria situation at her new school in the sixth grade, when she held the tray with shaky hands and froze because she had no one to sit with.

She jutted her chin once in acknowledgement to a woman giving her a sympathy wave, and marched over to the sparkling water. The bubbles burned her throat, but she finished the drink. She tossed the cup, raced back to the desk to snag her wallet, and bolted to the elevator.

“Ella!”

Not now. She didn’t want to talk to her dad, but here he was, speed-walking toward her with his open suit jacket flapping against him.

Breathless, he caught up to her. “Where are you headed?”

She pounded on the elevator button and checked her watch. 1:10. Wherever she was going, she had a maximum of forty-five minutes. She needed to get back and collect herself before the 2:30 meeting. “I’ve got to grab some lunch.”

“Excellent.” His palms smacked together and echoed in the hall. “I was just stepping out myself. Let’s grab some grub together.”

“No one says the word grub anymore.” She glanced behind her shoulder to see if anyone was watching. All she needed was for more people to see her talking with her dad, mumbling about nepotism and unfair advantage. “I don’t think I have time. I really need to get something quick.”

Her father shook his head and stepped into the elevator with her. “Stop. Thomas is already waiting.”

“Dad, I?—”

“Come on, it’s your favorite.” He nudged his elbow into her shoulder.

Her ears perked up. “Cuban sandwiches?”

“Sure is.”

The line wrapped around the corner. The hearty scent of fried onions and pork cut through the gray, foggy air. Locals surrounded her, everyone knowing about the neighborhood’s worst-kept secret, a small, red bungalow in Fremont with minimal signage, a few picnic tables, and the best Cuban sandwiches in existence. Her mouth watered, waiting for the salted goodness. She flicked her wrist to check her watch. Traffic was slow, even in an off-tourist season, and it had taken almost twenty minutes to arrive. “I think we need to go back.”

Her dad crossed his arms in front of his broad chest. “Are you worried you’ll get in trouble? You know I am the boss, right?”

Everyone knew he was the boss. She loved her dad, but he wasn’t exactly quiet about his position. “I just want to make a good impression. No special favors.”

He raised his eyebrow and closed his lips into a thin line, no doubt swallowing the comment burning on his tongue. With his limited filter, that had to have been hard. She knew damn well getting this job was a major special favor—it normally took years in the business to work up to this position. She wasn’t proud of her behavior the night her dad reluctantly agreed to hire her. In fact, it was the lowest point she’d ever been. But years of suffocating took its toll and had forced her to do something drastic.

And, well, it worked.

She clicked her heels against the pavement and shuffled forward. Finally, less than two people in front of them.

“You getting dunked in the toilet like the old initiation days for being my daughter?”

“Seriously, what hellhole fraternity did you belong to?” She tore her gaze from the man sautéing a mound of onions. “No, everyone’s been good.”

Her dad removed his money clip, ordered, and motioned to a picnic table. She stood on the side and tugged her coat tighter. No chance was she coming back to the office with dirty butt marks.

“I bet Sophie’s a great trainer. Reminds me a bit of me, you know?”

Ella breathed out through her nose, not understanding why out of all his employees, Sophie stood out to him so much. She’d heard this comparison more than once over the years. Rumblings of meager beginnings, and how her dad respected anyone who “had the stones” to work their way up like him, how he started a company MacGyver-style with two effing markers, a half-used notebook, and a dream.

Mist gathered on her glasses. She yanked them off, rubbed the lenses with her sweater, and peeked at her watch. 1:52 p.m. Her neck heated. They needed to leave now. She should be prepping for her first solo meeting, not waiting for food.

“She treating you well?” He stepped to the side as a group passed him.

Not really. Sophie wasn’t doing anything inherently wrong, and today was the first time Ella saw the chip on her shoulder crack, but she certainly wasn’t part of the cheer committee. “Yes, everyone’s been really nice.” A notification buzzed, and she grabbed her phone. A wait-listed doctor appointment opened. She made a mental note to check her schedule to see if she could snag it.

“You have to get that?”

“No. It’s UW Medical. I’ll call back.” She shoved the phone in her purse. She took her health seriously, she really did. Limited caffeine, lots of sleep, medications ritual perfected, avoided blinking lights. But right now, work came first. She needed this to land more than she needed her doctor’s laundry list of restrictions, harping on the same message she received since her first seizure fifteen years ago.

Her dad shoved his hands in his slack pockets. “Seems like the new meds are working.”

She stretched her neck and looked behind him, verifying that none of her co-workers had followed them here and overheard her dad blab about her personal business. “Dad.” The words pushed through gritted teeth. “You promised.”

“We promised we wouldn’t tell your new co-workers about your condition, and we’re outside of the office.” He flailed his hands. “I don’t see any of them here.”

Perhaps she should have been clearer with her threats that during working hours, he was never, ever, allowed to ask about medical things.

“And I want it stated, for the record, I think it’s ridiculous your co-workers don’t know,” her father said. “They should all be trained on the nasal spray, and the doctors have repeatedly?—”

“I know, I know.” She put her hand up, not wanting another word. Of course, having the ones surrounding you know about your condition in case of an emergency was best practice. She knew that. The entire world probably knew that. And she would tell them, eventually. But right now, she didn’t want any more attention.

“I told Mom I’d keep an eye on you at work. You know how cranky she gets if I fail. Especially when it comes to you.” He chuckled at his decidedly unfunny remark. Tapping his fingers against each other, his chest expanded in a large inhale. “We’re exploring the possibility of getting a therapy dog for you.”

A blaze tore through her chest. A therapy dog? A therapy dog! Yes, they were wonderful and amazing and gifted creatures for other people. Not for her.

Never once had Ella been ashamed of having epilepsy. Sometimes even, the disorder was a badge of honor. She wanted to hug herself for the way she powered through EEGs as a kid with technicians attaching electrodes to her head, glue sticking in her hair, taking meds, therapy, doctors, everything. She wanted to high-five her thirteen-year-old self who missed a year of school because the memory loss that year was pretty substantial, and studying was impossible.

So, no. She was not ashamed. But the reaction in others gutted her. A sliding scale from “oh, you poor thing” to people terrified she’d drop and shake like a priest dumped holy water on her to rid the demons from her soul. It was her mom damn near having a panic attack when she was younger and left her alone, practically announcing her condition via a bullhorn, while reminding everyone not to stick a metal spoon in her mouth. Or her parents homeschooling her for most of her life, then sending Thomas with her to her college classes like she was on parole. It was having a nanny/nurse/prison guard be on staff at the house, and baby monitors in her room until she was fifteen when she broke down about how invasive it was.

She clocked the time and her stomach burned. 2:08. She was barely going to make it back for the 2:30 meeting. How in the hell had she let her dad talk her into coming here? She should have stood her ground and grabbed a granola bar from a vending machine. Her heartbeat thudded in her chest. Her first meeting, and she was going to come in reeking of onions and sweating. What the hell was she thinking?

The cashier yelled their names and she rushed to the counter. She pushed the bag into her dad’s chest and grabbed his arm. “We need to go. Please, hurry.”

In the vehicle, sinking her teeth into the salted pork and onion sandwich brought a moment of temporary reprieve. She basked in the flavors of the chewy fresh baked bread and warm goodness. Her belly filled, the nauseating hunger bubbles slowing as she checked her watch. It would be tight, but as long as they kept going at this pace, she’d have five minutes to spare.

The SUV slowed to a stop. Ella stretched her neck. “Thomas? What’s going on?”

“Looks like a minor fender bender. Down to one lane.”

No. No, no, no! Her heart thudded against her chest wall and her stomach rolled into a ball and threatened to spill over. “Dad, I can’t do… I’m supposed to be running a meeting in like ten minutes.”

He looked up from his phone and glanced up at the traffic. “Not much you can do about it. Just text Sophie and let her know you’re running late.”

“I don’t have her number!” This was such a rookie mistake. Heat was everywhere. She unzipped her jacket and fanned her face.

“Kid, it’s good. I’ll message Malcolm and have him send it to you.” He set the phone on his lap and gripped her on the shoulder. “I know it’s not ideal, but things like this happen. Don’t worry, Sophie’s great. I’m sure she can handle it.”

Of course Sophie could handle the meeting on her own. That wasn’t the point. Ella wanted to show Sophie that she could handle it.

When she arrived back at the building, she didn’t even wait for her dad. She sprinted into the lobby and slipped into an open elevator. She pulled out her phone and double-checked the room number. G-75A.

What the hell kind of number was that? She bolted to her desk, grabbed her laptop, and glanced at a man with a hoodie and headphones. “Do you know where G-75A is?”

He shrugged with an uninterested gaze. “Not offhand.”

Her pulse kicked up another notch as she raced down the hall, through the maze of conference rooms, private rooms, and sitting spaces, and finally found a room buried in the corner. The large windows showed Sophie seated at the table, chatting. Ella peeked at her watch. 3:07. Almost forty minutes late to her own damn meeting.

Go in? Wait? Nothing?

She pulled in a sharp breath and reached for the handle. The heavy metal fire door screeched like a cat, and all gazes zoomed toward her. She glanced at Sophie, who gave a small, disappointed shake of her head. The heat to her chest was immediate and the Cuban sandwich threatened her belly. She scanned the room, debating where to sit, debating what to say, when Sophie’s words cut through the silence. “So, it sounds like we’re close to alignment…”

Sophie finished the meeting without a single acknowledgement toward Ella, as Ella fought hard to blink back tears. As they wrapped up, Sophie flicked a narrowed gaze to Ella, then back to the room. “Thanks to all who made this meeting a priority.”

Gulp.

Ella’s gaze cast downward. She swore when she looked up everyone would stare at her with disappointed eyes. But something worse happened.

No one even acknowledged her at all.