Chapter One
Amariah
Eighteen years later–present day
My heels clicked against the marble floor, mimicking the same rush coursing through my mind.
“Good morning, Danica,” I hurriedly greeted and, without giving her a chance to respond, I started citing my to-do list. “Push my eleven o’clock screening back to noon.
Schedule the meeting with R and D for the spring product launch on the eighteenth, sometime between nine and noon.
Email Stan the preliminary data reports, and be sure to CC Teresa.
God knows I don’t have time to read another one of her ‘for transparency purposes’ emails.
” The morning task list spilled from my mouth to my assistant as I rushed into my office to drop off my belongings, remove my pea coat and gloves, and head to an impromptu client meeting with my manager.
She handed me my hot morning latte and my iPad loaded with the notes I requested as soon as I tucked away my coat and purse. “First, good morning to you. Second, I’ll get on those tasks right away. Two questions.”
I took a much-needed sip of my latte before turning on my iPad to scroll through the notes. “What’s up?”
“Your mother called and asked to speak to you—”
“Call her back and tell her I’ll call later when I get a break. Remind me when I go to lunch.” With my latte in hand, I tucked the iPad under my arm and began strutting toward the door.
“Got it. And my second question.”
Briefly, I paused my steps without looking back at her. “What’s that?”
“Should I contact Mr. Baker?”
Lowering my head, I exhaled before glancing back over my shoulder at her, then beyond her to the bouquet of flowers on my desk. “Send him a simple thank-you card.”
With that, I headed to my meeting. Gliding through the office, which was filled with lit garland, poinsettias at every corner, and a huge Christmas tree as the centerpiece, I greeted each of my colleagues with the same cheer as the holiday décor inspired.
Although it was just mid-November, our interior decorator had already replaced the fall designs with Christmas decorations.
Poor Thanksgiving didn’t get a chance to breathe, but I couldn’t deny that the spirit of Christmas brought an extra warm feeling that no other holiday could match or rival.
Even if it weren’t the holiday season, I loved my job and the people I worked with.
To boost team spirit, I introduced office superlatives during employee appreciation week, and, to my credit, I’ve been named the Most Likeable Person for five years and counting.
Not to brag, but that was also a perk of my role.
If I couldn’t get the people who saw me every day to love and support me, then how could I expect the public to love and buy into our ideas?
For me, the secret to my success was my attitude and personality.
Yes, my degrees, intelligence, and expertise were crucial, but no one cares how smart you are if they can’t stand you.
My life as the assistant director of social and online brand marketing was one I was extremely proud of.
It wasn’t just about charm. Growing up with parents who built everything with their hands, I’d promised myself I’d build my life with my mind.
Every accolade, every late night was proof I’d made good on that promise.
I’d climbed from intern to executive in under a decade through strategy, hard work, and sheer willpower.
The next step, as the director, was right within reach when my boss, mentor, and friend, Scottie, retired.
Scottie Peters, named after her father, was coined “Scottie Pippen” in our department for her ability to land high-end, exclusive accounts. She was a leader in this industry and a force to be reckoned with. She was also a Black woman I was proud to learn from.
My eyes darted to the clock just before I strode into the meeting.
I’d made it a minute before it was set to start.
Letting out a deep breath, I relaxed because I hated to be late.
Our team and the leads from research and development greeted me as my Jimmy Choo heels clacked effortlessly across the floor to my seat beside Scottie.
I was the last person to enter, and once I settled in, Scottie directed her assistant to close the door.
“Good morning, everyone. Please excuse the short notice. I know many of you are working hard to wrap up the campaign for All Pro Sports, but I called this meeting because we received some big news this morning, and I need to share it with you.” Scottie paced the floor, brimming with excitement.
“As of this morning, we have finally landed the Gideon account.”
The whole room erupted in applause and cheers.
Gideon was a Black-owned entertainment company that burst onto the scene with a series of blockbuster movies led by some of the most elite and influential Black producers in Hollywood.
Every company had been vying for their business, including mine.
In fact, Scottie, a couple of our junior executives, and I played a key role in creating a pitch deck for their team after their initial marketing company suffered a major setback involving one of the lead actors, which led to a social media post that went viral for all the wrong reasons.
Scottie and I had pitched to them about two months ago, and we’d been anxiously waiting to find out who was chosen.
Pippen did it again. This was the multimillion-dollar slam dunk we needed to finish the year strong.
Christmas just got a bit jollier and brighter.
“I want to give a special thank you to my team: Eli, Jarric, Cyn, and Amariah. Without your valuable input, hard work, and dedication, this wouldn’t be possible.
” Everyone clapped for us as we bowed our heads in appreciation.
“And my last announcement is that I have decided that, with my retirement coming in February next year, I should allow someone else to take the lead on this account. With my upcoming departure, the transition is inevitable, so there’s no need to wait; they can get started now.
” Turning to me, a smile spread across her face as she placed her hands in a prayer pose and extended them toward me.
“Congratulations, Amariah. You will head up the Gideon account.”
This time, thunderous applause erupted as I stood, covering my face.
I felt like I’d be a shoo-in, but in the corporate world, nothing was a guarantee until it was official.
My heart pounded at the thought of being entrusted with this coveted account.
As the assistant director, I’d managed smaller accounts worth up to the lower single-digit millions, but not hundreds of millions.
Sure, I’d assisted Scottie countless times on these projects, but leading—never.
My dreams were unfolding right before my eyes.
“Oh my goodness, Scottie. Are you sure?”
Her head reared back as if I’d grown a third eye. “Are you kidding me? You were instrumental in helping to land this account. Truthfully, it was your idea that Gideon was sold on. Not to mention, you’re my right hand. No offense, Marva,” she said, glancing at her assistant.
“Since it’s Amariah, I’ll allow it—this time,” Marva teased with pursed lips.
Scottie playfully rolled her eyes at Marva before returning her attention to me. “You’re ready, Amariah. So, what do you say?”
“I say Gideon is about to hit numbers they’ve never even dreamed of. Thank you, Scottie.”
The rest of the meeting, Scottie caught up on our notes regarding the finalization of the All Pro Sports campaign, and we set a time to meet for our initial discussion with Gideon.
Although I managed to hide my external excitement, internally, I was floating.
All the goals I’d tirelessly strived for were within my reach.
At thirty-six years old, I was poised to manage the largest account for my firm and on track to become the director.
I’d be the youngest person, male or female, ever to achieve that in the firm’s history.
The little Black girl in me, sitting on the porch steps of my house, sharing my future hopes and dreams with my best friend, was bursting with pride—news that I wished I could share with him and my family.
“Two dirty Shirleys on the rocks, please,” Scottie ordered when we sat at the bar.
After the meeting, Scottie invited me out for a quick celebratory drink.
I couldn’t refuse, and since we had a little time to spare, I agreed.
There was a local bar that most employees visited for lunch or after work, where they made the best cocktails with appetizers so tasty they could rival those of the finest five-star restaurants in the city.
People often flocked to the big brands and well-known names, but it was bars, dives, and diners like Jimmy’s where you could find the most authentic and delicious meals.
“Here you ladies go,” the bartender said, placing the cocktails on napkins and sliding them to each of us.
Lifting our glasses, Scottie and I looked at each other. “To Black girl magic and boss bitch baddies.” We clinked glasses and took a sip, savoring our favorite drink.
As soon as we set our drinks down, we double high-fived and interlocked hands. “Ickkkk!” we wailed in excitement, each of us doing a happy dance.
I couldn’t help myself and immediately pulled Scottie into a hug. “Girl, I’ve been dying to get that out all morning. I can’t thank you enough.”
“No, ma’am.” She shook her head. “That was all you. You’ve shown up and shown out since you were an intern. You’ve earned this, and don’t let anyone try to convince you otherwise.”
“I mean, facts.” We both let out a small laugh. “But,” I said, pointing at her, “I had a great mentor, an exceptional boss, and a valuable friend who deserves a little credit, too.”
Scottie tapped her thumb and middle finger together, shaking her head. “Okay, perhaps, a little bit.”