Ashlei
The clicking of high heels on a marble floor is one of my favorite sounds of all time.
There’s just something about that click, clack, click, clack that makes me feel powerful as fuck when I strut my ass through the office at Ball & Pen.
The new Ball & Pen.
In downtown Miami.
Where I’m the HBIC — Head Bitch in Charge.
Okay, so that’s not technically my title, but it might as well be. Celeste Lambert, whom I met at the Okay, Cool Southeast Advertising Conference afterparty last year, was quick to snatch me up when she heard I’d left Okay, Cool.
Fortunately, she didn’t know the exact reason why I had left — no one did — which was about all the mercy I was receiving from Brandon since our breakup.
The thought of him still makes my stomach drop, even in my new bougie office with a view of Bayshore.
I was honored to be hired by Mrs. Lambert to essentially head the expansion of Ball & Pen with the new Miami office, and I’m already securing high-end clients for us left and right.
When it comes to events, especially in the corporate and technology spaces, I’m confident there’s no one better than me.
But all that confidence can’t heal a broken heart.
Brandon has ignored every single attempt I’ve made to reach out to him since he kicked me out of his condo after he found out about the stupid kiss-not-kiss I shared with the intern last semester.
No text or phone call has been answered, and when February first rolled around and I realized it had been nearly two months since our breakup, I realized one gut-wrenching truth.
It’s over.
Truly over.
And there’s nothing I can do but pick myself up and keep walking.
The timing of what happened between us couldn’t have been worse.
Spending the holidays with my parents was not what I had in mind.
Brandon and I were supposed to go skiing in Colorado.
We were supposed to exchange gifts and hang Christmas lights and cozy up together all through the holiday season.
We were supposed to ring in the new year in Times Square, sharing a kiss under a rain shower of confetti.
I was supposed to have a Valentine locked in for life.
Instead, I’m alone, and it’s all my own fault.
So, while a badass new job doesn’t fix heartbreak, it offers a pretty stellar distraction from it, which is better than nothing.
A knock on my door frame jolts me from my thoughts, and I smile when I look up and find my assistant, Jeannie.
Yes, I have an assistant.
HBIC status.
“Ms. Daniels? Is now a good time to go over this week’s agenda?”
I usher her in, giving her a pointed look at the formality. “Call me, Lei, Jeannie. I’ve told you that at least five times now.”
“Sorry, Ms.— er, Lei. I’ve never worked for someone who didn’t… um…”
“Need their ego stroked every hour of the day?” I challenge with an arched brow.
That makes her flush furiously, but at least earns me a smile as she takes a seat in the chair opposite me.
Jeannie is sweet. My senior by ten years, she’s no stranger to agency life.
We’ve only been working together a month now and I can already tell we’ll get along.
She understands where I need her to step up and take over and where I need her to give me full reign.
She organizes my calendar in a way that makes sense for me, keeps up to date with the latest agency drama so I can deal with it without accidentally involving myself, and doesn’t have a problem rolling up her sleeves and diving into the trenches with me when I need a hand.
With jet-black hair, a full-figure frame, and a dazzling smile, she’s far from hard on the eyes. But perhaps what I love most about her is — beauty aside — I have absolutely zero desire to fuck her.
And if I’ve learned anything from my past mistakes with Brandon and that little bitch, Sophie, it’s that that is a good thing.
“Alright, hit me,” I say, typing my password in to wake my computer up again. I go to my calendar to review with Jeannie, making notes of the particular team meetings, client presentations, and events coming up.
We’re just about to wrap up when she clears her throat uncomfortably, shifting in her seat. “There’s also the matter of the agency arrival event Mrs. Lambert wants you to coordinate.”
I wrinkle my nose. “The what?”
Jeannie’s flush is almost comical. “She just, she did this in Atlanta, too, when she first opened Ball & Pen. And again in Chicago when that branch opened. Basically, it’s a hoity-toity affair where we invite all the other event and marketing agencies in the area to come get to know us, talk about possible collaborations, and—”
“Let them know there’s a new shiny toy in town and we’re here to play?”
Jeannie hangs her head. “Pretty much.”
I laugh, leaning back in my chair and crossing my legs.
“That woman has some balls,” I comment, and then I point my pen at Jeannie.
“As do I, which is likely why she hired me.” Sitting up straight again, I start typing into my notes app.
“Get me a list of five possible venues. I’m thinking rooftop, on the water.
” I gasp, eyes wide when I find Jeannie.
“Or maybe in the water. Let’s look into chartering a yacht. ”
I continue typing and rattling off tasks for Jeannie, asking her to look into everything from catering to entertainment and giving her some jumping off points to get started.
Once she’s armed with a to-do list at least a mile long, she leaves me with forty-five minutes before my first meeting of the week.
The premise of the event has my chest light with excitement, my heart fluttering much the way it does when I’m about to do a pole performance or kiss someone I know I’m going to fuck. This is my favorite part — the brainstorming — other than when it all comes together in the end, of course.
With a little time to kill before I’m needed anywhere else, I decide to take the matter of the guest list into my own hands, and I can’t fight off the satisfied smile that spreads on my face with the thought.
After all, I’ve been working in this industry, in this city, for almost two years now.
And I know just who to invite.