Chapter 18. Brynn
brYNN
Meredith’s resting her butt on my desk, her Tory Burch bag under her arm, when I arrive Monday morning.
“What’s up?” I slip my no-name backpack purse off my shoulders.
She swipes up on her phone. “Give me your number. I’ll text you after we meet with Bradley Products.”
A phone. Right. “Um, my screen broke. I’m getting it repaired.”
“God, you must be dying.”
I nod, though I haven’t had a phone in months.
“Okay. I’ll fill you in when I return. I also need to see your Quotagian ideas. Donovan’s not in yet.”
“The app for literary romantics, right.” I click on said file and stare at the empty page. “It would be easier to write a song.” I sigh.
“What’s that?” She leans back on my desk.
“How about a jingle?”
“Yeah, no. This client doesn’t have the budget.” She glances up at Scott walking down the floating stairs. “’Kay. I’ll find you after.”
Lucius rises, his leather backpack over his shoulder. He gives me a little wave. His dark eyes linger on me for a long moment before he turns away.
Strange Donovan’s not going with them to present his Fit Girl idea.
Donovan arrives a half hour later, wearing a pressed button-down and khakis with dress shoes.
I look up from my laptop. “They left for Bradley Products already.”
“I can see that.” He glares, eyes bloodshot, acting like the venti-size coffee in his hand hasn’t kicked in yet.
“Meredith wants our ideas for Quotagian. Have you started?”
“I’ll get to it.” He rubs his temple.
“She sounds like she wants our ideas today,” I press. “It’ll go faster if we brainstorm together.”
Donovan crinkles his Cro-Magnon brow at me. “I call writing love letters to a prospective hookup working too hard.”
I pull a face. “Creative intelligence can be sexy. Like composing a love song or creating a painting for someone.”
“I don’t know one guy who does either of those things to get laid.”
“Well, I know a few.” I smile at my screen like I have a bevy of artistic admirers tucked away somewhere. Timmy McGillicuddy in kindergarten once conveyed his feelings for me through a crayon rendering of the two of us holding a heart. Big mistake. I liked to brawl back in the day.
Donovan’s eyes roll back. “You do it then. I’ve got more important things to deal with.”
“Anything wrong?”
“Nothing I’m going to tell you.” His jaw tightens as he reads something on his phone.
“Nice,” I mutter. I hate this guy.
I watch him leave through the metal screens toward the lobby. Hope he’s dressed for an interview. He sure doesn’t work much. Five short days ago he sounded like he enjoyed it here. Yes, Meredith, I’d be happy to train for Donovan’s job. And his paycheck.
I smile to myself and head over to the Little Shop of Horrors plant wall for my free coffee and a bagel or two.
I’m almost there when blue-haired Zoe, wearing a peacock-inspired A-line dress straight out of the ’60s, steps into my path.
I blink a few times, adjusting to the sensory overload.
“Oh, hey, Brynn.” Her eyes flick over to another intern who’s standing by the coffee machine. I’ve never met her, but I see the two of them palling around a lot. The girl grins at Zoe like she knows what she’ll say next and ignores me.
“Hi.” I take a step back.
Zoe folds her arms over her fowl dress. “Heard you presented to Scott. I’m curious how that came about.”
“Just trying to get hired.” I shrug.
“Other interns have been at this agency longer than you.”
I squint hard. “Meaning?”
“Not fair they let you present creative in your first week when the rest of us are still getting coffee and cleaning conference rooms.”
My head jerks back. “Not my problem. Like I said, I’m looking to stay on here. Maybe get a copywriter position.”
She scoffs. “Good luck with that.”
Echoes of freshman year, when girls like Zoe accused me of taking roles away from them, flood my mind. I grit my teeth, working up a good comeback.
She zips down another row of workstations.
Coward.
I walk back to my printer desk, a coffee with oat milk in one hand and a bagel in the other.
Inside a conference room, Priya leans her shoulder on one of the glass walls, her feet and arms crossed. Donovan stands inches from her face, speaking rapidly. She frowns and nods.
They must be close. She did buzz out of here when I told her he’d left the other day; bet she met up with him.
At least she’s nice enough to me—so far, anyway. Between Donovan and Zoe, I’ve already managed to form a couple of enemies after one week here.
Sounds about right.
Since Donovan’s clearly not going to help me, I need to work harder and prove to Micah and Meredith I can do this.
Josie walks by my desk, looking at her phone and fingering the silver hoop in her septum.
She pivots to her workstation at the other table, where Meredith and Lucius sit.
I detect her gum chewing from the way her scalp moves where her head’s shaved.
Her cell chimes and she lifts her eyes in my direction.
“Brynn, Meredith just sent a text: ‘Great meeting. Asking for a 3rd spec. @Tropical question mark flavor.’”
“Um, anything nondairy.” Hm, that’s unexpected but still cool. Wait. “A third spec? I thought they went to present only Donovan’s idea.”
“’Bout time this agency became more inclusive. Even if the patriarchy doesn’t agree.” She sighs and disappears behind her monitor, the tips of her hair still bopping.
Meredith breezes in thirty minutes later carrying three large smoothies. “Good news.” She passes me the one with an X over an illustrated cow’s head.
My stomach bubbles over with glee. I love food surprises, especially free ones.
She puts her drink on her desk. “Let me pull in Micah. Donovan here, Josie?”
Josie’s eyes track across the room to the long table next to the exposed brick wall where Micah usually sits. She flips a hand in that direction. “Micah’s around. Haven’t seen Donovan since this morning.”
Meredith types something on her phone. A minute later, Micah exits from one of the far conference rooms and heads our way.
I enjoy a long sip of my kiwi and strawberry concoction, suppressing the urge to gape at how his navy dress pants hug his quads and his white button-down tapers at his waist. And don’t even get me started on his dark Harvard-meets-rocker hair. My pulse quickens as he nears.
“We have a direction change on the Bradley Products account.” Meredith’s face lights up. “They’d like to see a combination of both ideas.”
I stare at her. “Wait, you presented my concept?”
She grins. “Micah pushed Scott to let Lucius mock up both, like I’d suggested.
Thank goodness we did. Fit Girl came off pedestrian, you could see it in their eyes.
Marketing it as a gender-fluid line made them uneasy but they definitely found it interesting and said they’d consider it.
They requested to see more specs before making a final decision. ”
My breath catches. Micah’s trying to help me?
He reaches out his hand.
For a split second, I imagine him touching me. My cheeks heat up. I drop my eyes.
He fist-bumps Meredith. “Nice work.”
His smooth, well-groomed fingers return to his hip. He dips his chin, his soft brown eyes on me. “You have good instincts. Keep going.”
“Um, thanks?”
Meredith shoots me frosty eyes like I’m some ungrateful child.
An inconvenient warmth spreads across my neck and chest. Without looking, I know I’m getting blotchy. I open my mouth but words fail me.
He moves his head a fraction. “Appreciate the update.” He does a swift about-face.
My gaze follows his erect posture, the way his shoulders swag when he walks. Moths flutter in my belly, lots of them, sending tingles through my legs.
Meredith’s fingertips touch my arm.
I jump.
“Micah’s got a million things going on.” She gives me a knowing look. “If he likes it, that’s good. He’s intuitive and good with the clients and knows what the partners at Kershaw McKenzie want.”
“Donovan called him aloof.”
She laughs. “Because he’s jealous of the guy. Don’t be deceived by his age—Micah’s sort of a wunderkind. I find him difficult and pretty snarky most days. But he’s got a shrewd eye for design and more so for copy. If he helps us keep our jobs, more power to him.”