Chapter 40
IVY
The next few days crawl by, testing my sanity.
Time becomes irrelevant—my days no longer filled with meetings or strategy or posting. I try to read articles to keep my knowledge up, but it feels futile.
What’s the fucking point? No one’s going to hire me after this.
I try to busy myself, pottering around in the kitchen. Opening cupboards. Studying ingredients. But then slamming them closed at the roiling in my gut.
I flick through TV channels, but nothing catches my eye. Or what does just seems to rub it in. Successful businesswomen, living their best career lives—not even real—still making the point that I’m sitting here, rudderless.
Sleep doesn’t come easily. I try to nap during the day to pass the time, but after falling asleep briefly I wake with a gasp as it all comes back.
Even Pilates offers no pleasure—moving my body only makes me angry.
Soren tries to lighten things up. He’s attentive, thoughtful. Always there.
But I find myself snapping at him. Because I’m embarrassed—an entire piece of my identity gone in an instant.
And it’s terrifying relying on him for financial support. I don’t want to be dependent, having to ask for things that I’d normally get for myself without a second thought.
I know he can afford to assist me, technically—that’s abundantly clear by the way he lives. By the walls and roof that surround us, and the ease with which he moves through life. But we haven’t been together for that long, and I didn’t come into this with expectations of being a kept woman.
Scariest of all, there’s no end date to any of this, and based on past experiences I know just how quickly financial resentment can brew. Even if he doesn’t turn out to be like that—even if he wanted to support me forever—the relief seems short-lived.
And without my own financial independence, the walls feel closer. Like he’s in control of another aspect of my life, whether he means to be or not. That my choices have constricted. My world shrinking again.
I’m losing another piece of myself.
And I don’t have many left.
It’s funny how timing works sometimes.
One day you’re canceled. The next, you find your biggest client.
Or they find you.
I receive a message a few days after the ‘scandal’ hits.
At first I ignore it—assume it’s a joke or a cruel prank.
But then there’s a follow-up message, and then another. Inviting me to pitch for the business of a reclusive celebrity who needs social media management.
She’s pretty well-known, and it’s impressive how she’s taken what started as a one-person act and turned it into a variety of different spinoff businesses.
I sigh. She must not be big on social media—must have somehow missed my giant fuck-up.
I can’t help but be up-front. There’s no point trying to take advantage of her apparent lack of social media savvy and get fired two days later when someone points it out.
“You have seen the recent coverage about me, right? I just want to make sure I’m open and honest about that.
I understand if I’m not the right fit for you at this time. ”
“I don’t believe in cancel culture.” The message comes back loud and clear. “You weren’t the one who harassed those poor girls. How were you to know what that terrible man was doing behind closed doors?”
“You’re sure about this?”
There’s a hollow laugh on the other end of the line. “Honey, if I was canceled for all the bad men I’ve affiliated with in my lifetime, I wouldn’t be allowed into the local convenience store.”
“Why me, though?” I ask. “Surely you can go with someone less… controversial.”
Her voice is strong, unwavering. “I’m hardly one to shy away from controversy. Especially when I believe it’s not well-earned.”
And suddenly, business is better than ever.
Events. New product launches. Business openings.
This client has no reservations about letting me do my best for her and her business.
I really fucking like her. She’s quirky, her eccentricity extending to her iconic look. Who doesn’t want to rep a client who rarely goes out, but when she does, sports giant hats and trench coats a la Carmen San Diego.
Who will keep quiet but then suddenly go on feminist diatribes speaking out against shit men who everyone else is afraid to call out.
She’s feisty and fierce, but she’s not a mouthpiece for anyone but her own values. And she’s extremely selective about what she says and when.
She’s the kind of client I’ve always wanted. But they’re notoriously hard to find, and I’d settled for people going about more conventional businesses. Smaller accounts that, in bulk, add up to something meaningful.
And she already seems to trust me, listening and asking thoughtful questions in our initial strategy meetings. I have a feeling this is the start of a beautiful business relationship.
One thing is certain—revenue is about to increase exponentially, my retainer in line with the top of the market at her insistence. “Why would I pay for mediocre when I’m hiring the best of the best?” she’d asked me when I’d tried to offer her a discount given “everything going on”.
And my stress is bound to decrease—no doubt about it—having one large client who trusts me is way less stressful than having two handfuls of clients.
Because each has their own idiosyncrasies, their own things they’re precious about, their fires that need to be put out that don’t happen in a neat little row.
Clients that—as they’ve shown—would all too easily toss me in the trash in a heartbeat and move onto the next person at the mere hint of a scandal. Who don’t give a shit about me or the intensive effort I put in. Fly-by-nighters. Fair-weather friends.
“There,” says Soren, smiling at me over dinner as I tell him how things have turned around.
My appetite has returned, my body zipping with electricity and motivation.
“I told you we’d get through this, didn’t I?
And it sounds like you’ve already come out so much better on the other side.
” He squeezes my hand. “Sometimes things have to be taken away first.”
I’m so grateful for him.
For how much he believes in me.
But it still feels like reliance. Just in another form.
I smile back at him anyway.
And I'm not sure anymore if that's gratitude or habit.
Or something else entirely.