Chapter 6
Danika was terminated.
I would say I’m sad about it, but truthfully, I’m not. I didn’t mind having a coworker to talk to now and then, but Danika and I weren’t close, so seeing her go didn’t bother me. The day she got let go, Sam and I hung out outside the office while she haphazardly threw her mess of a desk into boxes, anger radiating off her every movement as she cussed Mr. Moore off over and over, who stood next to us looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. It was amusing at the moment, and now I can finally enjoy my lunch in silence.
Crossing one leg over the other, I swivel in my chair to look out my small window, taking a bite out of the prosciutto sandwich I picked up on the way in from a local deli. A combination of oranges, reds, and yellow leaves scatter throughout Boston, the seasons slowly turning from late summer into fall, and more than anything, I’m looking forward to curling up with my sketch pad and a hot cup of tea away from the office. I’ve never taken the opportunity to work from home in the five years I’ve been at Moore Enterprises, but this winter, I just might. If for no reason other than wanting to spend more time enjoying the quieter times of the year. It’s the time I enjoy being more intentional. I was born in December—a Capricorn child at the root of all things—so I take more space for myself during the off-season.
The sound of heavy footfalls approaching causes my gaze to slide away from the window towards the door, narrowing in assumption about who might be walking closer and closer to my office. Besides Sam and previously Duncan, many people don’t visit me, so I can only assume it’s one person.
“Daisy,” Mr. Moore’s voice rumbles through my space when he approaches the doorway. “I need you to come up with marketing strategies to better our brand. More specifically, I’m wondering if you’d be interested in taking a promotion and being head of marketing.”
Eyes widening, they flick from my sandwich as if it has an opinion before looking to my boss. His hands are shoved deep in dress pants, emerald eyes uninterested as they roam the apparent shock on my face, his jaw clenching tight.
“I was thinking,” he continues, stepping further into my office, “That we could have you start by reviewing all current marketing strategies by figuring out the best ones to keep, which ones to trash and start over with, and then work on generating more revenue through online advertisements. Afterwards—“
Anger blinds me. It’s one thing to ask whether I’d want to do additional work, but to make demands without talking to me?
Let alone a promotion?
“First of all,” I blurt out, surprising myself at my sudden outburst. “You’re insane if you think that’s something I’d want to do, and secondly, no.”
Mr. Moore rears his head back slightly at my sudden candor, cocking it after a moment. “No?”My hands tremble slightly with nerves, but I lift my chin and don’t break away from his stare despite my stomach bottoming out. Bile works its way up my throat but I force it down as I say, “no.”
“Why not?”
My mouth parts, quickly closing it. I can’t decide whether he’s questioning me because he genuinely wants to know why I’m declining to help him with this outrageous task I don’t have the mental capacity for or if it’s because he already plans to demand that I do it anyway. It’s not that marketing and graphic design are too different, but I have zero interest in promoting investment accounts. I don’t even know the first thing about investments. I like making graphics and promoting our sales that way. Not doing additional work that goes way over my head.
Plus, I wasn’t the one who went termination happy and fired everybody on impulse. It’s not fair to expect me to take on what would require more than one person because he screwed himself over.
Either way, the questioning glint in his eye tells me it’s somewhere in between the ladder of the two options and that if I don’t word what I’m about to say carefully, I may not get the choice in the matter, anyway.
“Well,” I say cautiously. “That’s more work than what I’m being paid for—“
“So I’ll give you a raise,” Mr. Moore replies cooly, leaning against the frame.
“But it’s not part of my job description,” I challenge. I’m in Graphic Design for a reason—not actual marketing. “
“You’re in marketing,” he challenges.
“Yeah, but not that marketing.”
Tanner’s jaw hardens as he looks down at his shoes, seemingly in an internal debate with himself. His tongue runs over his bottom lip, and my stomach somersaults when he looks at me through dark lashes. It hits me that we’re the only two in here—my coworker isn’t here to insert herself into the conversation, and suddenly the air feels suffocating.
“Okay,” he resigns after a moment.
My eyebrows shoot to my hairline, quickly dropping when his furrows. “Okay? That’s it? You’re not going to force me?”
He looks almost hurt by the accusation, visibly swallowing as he quickly looks away. “I’m not going to force you to do something you don’t want to do.”
“You’re not?”
His brows furrow more. “No, Daisy, I’m not.”
My name rolling off his lips sends a swarm of butterflies to erupt in my stomach, but I quickly brush the thought away. I’m not used to conversations with many people at work besides Sam, and this weird feeling proves that I’m socially inept when it comes to attractive men talking to me. He’s my boss, for God’s sake, not some man I met in another circumstance.
“Well, thanks anyway,” he says after a moment, turning to leave the room before I can say anything else.
A yawn escapes me as I rub my knuckles into my eyes, slowly gathering my belongings and putting them in my backpack before standing from my chair. I finished creating advertisements and scheduled them to post bright and early tomorrow, hoping we can continue bringing in revenue through our online buyers. I may have dipped into some of the marketing files mainly out of curiosity. Mr. Moore had the right idea in mind, coming into my office earlier to discuss potentially changing our online marketing strategies because almost all of them don’t work. It would benefit us to focus more on the online marketing sales and partner with other heavy-traffic online firms, such as our rival, LevingstonCo., but I’m not entirely sure Mr. Moore would go for that.
When Duncan still worked as our boss, he always steered us away from looking to LC for ideas or trying to partner with them. But the reality is that this firm had a lot of money coming in consistently, and it would help us in the long run if we decided to utilize them. Even if we could pick their brains to figure out what worked for them, I happen to know somebody who works there very well. Duncan also mentioned that before the pandemic, our online sales were always better than our rivals. That had a great deal to do with the designs and marketing styles I’d advertised for the company, so I tried to keep on top of it almost daily. Lately, I’d neglected to check because things were going well enough, but after reviewing how poorly the other department was doing, I would’ve offered to step in or at least try something or the other.
I knew things were plummeting bad at Moore, but I hadn’t realized how bad.
Wrapping my tan trench coat over my shoulders and tightening the belt around the waist, I sling my backpack over my shoulder before turning off the lights and closing my office door. Making my way down the hall to the elevator with my phone in hand, my gaze flicks between other empty office spaces with their lights off. I have no idea whether these people were fired or not, but from the quietness in the building, I’m not sure many people made the cut.
So, how the hell did I manage not to get fired?
Movement in the corner of my eye causes my pace to slow, my eyebrows pulling together when I notice Tanner hunched over paperwork on his desk. A hand is rooted in his hair, and his face is scrunched up in concentration as he flips a page in a binder to look over another, his shoulders dropping when he sighs. A dim light casts a glow over his workstation, making his already-tanned complexion look golden, and when he lifts his gaze to find me staring at him, he slowly turns his focus back to the papers.
My mouth opens before closing again, quickly turning my head to look at the few people hanging by the elevators, laughing quietly in what looks like relief they managed to survive our cuts. I pull my gaze back to my boss, nerves filling my stomach as I blow out a breath and step forward, pushing open the door without saying much of anything.
“What’s up, Daisy?” he says, not bothering to look up.
The nerves choke in my throat, struggling to find the words to tell him that his idea wasn’t bad. Not the promotion part but the ideas he had.
When I don’t reply, he runs his hand through his hair again and rests them against the back of his neck as he leans back in his chair to give me his undivided attention. His normally bright eyes are darkened with tiredness in the light, a sliver of glassiness coating them. My eyebrows pull in again, my eyes narrowing slightly before relaxing. It’s only been a few days, but I haven’t seen Mr. Moore leave his office all that much, and suddenly, I’m curious as to whether he’s leaving at all.
“The entire marketing plan is fucked up,” I say, surprising both myself and him with my candidness yet again. Seems like that happens frequently when I’m around him.
He raises his eyebrows slightly, moving his hand from his hair to rest his cheek between his index finger and thumb as if he already knew this information.
Gripping the strap on my backpack, I peer into the hall from my place in his office, pulling my bottom lip into my mouth. If I commit to any more work, I will regret it, but I don’t want him to overwhelm himself with taking on more than he already is.
“I don’t want to be promoted,” I continue quietly, finally pulling my focus from the people now stepping into the elevator. “I like my position and that my office is tucked far away from people.” A small smirk at that, although he looks exhausted. “But,” I say, shifting on my feet nervously, “I would be willing to try working with the few from the marketing team who didn’t get terminated and figuring out some new plans. I think a few major things need to be changed, but I don’t want to make that decision on my own. But I’ll at least help.”
Mr. Moore regards me momentarily before curtly nodding. “We can make that work.”
“Great,” I reply, turning around to walk out of his office.
“Hey, Daisy?”
Looking over my shoulder, his hand drops from his face to rest against his stomach, gaze unwavering from mine.
“Thank you.”
I quickly fix my face and step out of his office. “Have a good night, Mr. Moore. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I leave without another word, hoping I didn’t make a mistake in taking on more than I could handle.