4. Rick
Rick
I waited for Sofia to explain to me why she had let a man who had been put in charge of her take all the credit for what was very obviously her hard work.
She stared at me, her fingers curling tightly together in her lap.
For a long moment, the only sound in the office was the distant, muffled hum of the Golden traffic on the street down below.
The fierce, spitfire energy from the elevator had vanished, replaced by a raw, exhausted vulnerability that twisted something in my chest.
“When James hired me full time last year, I was completely overwhelmed,” she began softly, her eyes dropping to the desk.
“I didn’t finish school, I mean, my degree.
” She shook her head lightly. “So, naturally, I’ve felt like I’ve had to prove that I belonged here every single day since.
Leonard was assigned as my… mentor.” She shrugged lightly.
“I trusted him to guide me. If he took the projects I’d created and passed them off as his.
He explained to me that everything was a group effort.
I trusted him at first, but then…” She let out a dry, humorless laugh and finally looked up, meeting my gaze.
“It didn’t take long to realize that ‘guidance’ meant presenting all of my concepts as his own.
The one time I tried to gently contradict him in a team meeting about a target demographic, he made my life a living hell for over a month after.
Anytime I pushed back, he would dump a mountain of tedious data entry or back-end web design work on my desk.
If I did something he didn’t like, somehow files would go MIA.
” She closed her eyes and reached up to rub her forehead.
“In the past months, I’ve had to work weekends most of the time.
I’m usually here until eight or nine o’clock every single night, just trying to keep my head above water.
It’s better. Really. This way I can do all my creative work after he leaves.
Then, when I get in in the morning, sometimes late”—she glanced up at me with an apologetic look—“it’s to find out that he’s already claimed what I’ve created.
At that time, it’s too late to push back. ”
Listening to her, a cold, sharp anger flared to life inside me. I’d dealt with corporate sharks, lazy executives, and aggressive competitors in San Diego, but there was a special place in hell for managers who preyed on someone else’s raw talent to mask their own incompetence.
“Well,” I said, leaning forward and resting my forearms on the desk. “That ends today.”
She blinked, looking slightly startled and confused.
“You are no longer working under Leonard,” I told her, my voice slightly firm.
“Effective immediately, you report directly to me. And for the Clear Creek Brewery account, you’re going to be working right under my supervision.
I noticed the raw talent you have when it was scattered all over the elevator floor this morning, and I want to see exactly what you can do when you’re actually given the room to breathe. ”
Her jaw dropped slightly while her eyes narrowed. “Directly under… you?”
“Yes,” I confirmed, a small smile breaking through my serious demeanor as I remembered that she’d been the one on top in the elevator.
My turn, I thought. “And that’s not all.
If we land the Clear Creek Brewery account, this role comes with an official promotion to senior strategist—and a substantial pay raise to match. ”
She sat completely frozen, looking like she was waiting for a hidden camera crew to jump out from behind the curtains. “A pay raise? But I… I tackled you this morning.”
I chuckled. “Consider the raise a hazard bonus for surviving the building’s infrastructure,” I joked. “Just so you know, I’ve spent my first two hours this morning finding the right crew to repair that elevator. They assure me it will be done first thing tomorrow.”
The shock on her face slowly morphed into a hesitant, hopeful smile, but then she paused, a sudden look of worry crossing her features. She cleared her throat, shifting slightly in her chair.
“Can I… can I ask a favor?” she asked nervously.
“Can I still finish the Blueberry Bakery campaign? I know I’m supposed to be off Leonard’s accounts, but the bakery belongs to Bethany Williams, a close friend of my family.
I used to babysit her twins when I was in high school.
Honestly, I’m the only reason they signed with Gold Standard Media in the first place. ”
I stared at her, the pieces of another puzzle violently clicking into place.
I opened the folder Leonard had left on my desk, looking down at his typed summary of the bakery account.
Right there, in black and white, Leonard had written that he had spent months wining and dining the client to secure the contract.
He’d turned in at least a dozen receipts for hundreds of dollars spent on the account’s spreadsheet to back up his statement.
Which was, obviously, another blatant, pathetic lie.
I closed the folder with a satisfying snap and looked back at Sofia, the anger evaporating, replaced by a profound respect for the woman sitting across from me.
“You can absolutely keep the bakery account,” I said smoothly, leaning back in my chair and letting a genuine smirk touch my lips. “I think it’s only fair that the person who actually brought in the client gets to cross the finish line with them.”
“Thanks.” Her smile grew so bright that I had to join in.
Standing, I motioned to a folder sitting at the edge of my desk.
“This is everything we have on the Clear Creek Brewery account. I will make sure that the IT department gives you full permission access to their account folder on our network drives, if you don’t already have it, along with the bakery’s account folders.
Look through the brewery’s data and see what you can come up with on your own. ”
She stood and walked toward me. “I… have a few ideas already sketched.”
She opened the manila folder that she’d been gripping like a shield and pulled out a stack of loose-leaf paper and, to my surprise, a napkin with an impressive sketch of a beer can on it.
My mouth twitched into a grin at the sight of the napkin.
I knew that some of the best marketing strategies in the world had been drafted on them over dinner or drinks.
She stepped closer, placing them on the desk between us. As she started pointing to her sketches, that hesitant, defensive posture completely evaporated, replaced by the same sharp, captivating energy that I’d glimpsed in the elevator.
“Clear Creek isn’t just trying to sell beer,” Sofia explained, her eyes lit with genuine excitement as she traced a beautifully hand-drawn logo of a kayak paddle slicing through stylized water currents.
“They’re trying to sell the Golden lifestyle.
The kayakers, the hikers, the people who sit on their balconies after a long day and just want a crisp, local brew that tastes like the mountains.
Leonard wanted to focus purely on more traditional billboard ads and radio spots with sports and a bunch of cheering men watching TV.
But I think we need to go softer, with more geo-targeted social campaigns aimed at locals and tourists alike, including women.
” She held up her hand as if to stop me from arguing and frowned slightly when I didn’t.
“They make up 50 percent of the CCB’s drinking demographics.
” She tilted her head and watched for my reaction.
Happy with my slight nod of agreement, she continued.
“We’ll couple that with multiple can designs that I’ve sketched of local trailheads, creek, and ski areas, and an idea I had last night about recycled cans. ”
I looked from the sketches up to her face, thoroughly impressed. Her instincts were lethal. She had a better grasp of this demographic than the seasoned executives that I’d left behind in San Diego.
“This is excellent,” I said, tapping the logo sketch.
“You’re exactly right about the lifestyle angle and not hitting fifty-percent of the population by only angling toward men watching sports.
Let’s do this: take all the files, go over their desired parameters, and we’ll meet tomorrow sometime to start structuring the actual pitch. ”
“I’ll have a full digital framework on your desk first thing in the morning,” she said automatically, already reaching for her papers and the folder with the frantic energy of someone used to working under a tyrant.
I glanced at the brass clock on the wall. It was 4:52 p.m.
“Tomorrow afternoon will do just fine,” I corrected gently, stepping around the desk. “You’re off the clock in less than five minutes. The days of you pulling unpaid overtime and working weekends are officially over. Go home, relax, and we’ll tackle this fresh tomorrow.”
She blinked, momentarily stunned by the concept of a normal work schedule, before a brilliant, relieved smile broke across her face. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” I nodded.
I watched her walk out of the office, her step noticeably lighter than when she’d walked in. The moment the heavy oak door clicked shut behind her, the warmth left my face.
After spending a full day in my father’s seat, I knew that it was time to take out the trash.
I walked over to the threshold, opened the door, and caught the receptionist’s eye. “Elizabeth, do me a favor. Pull Leonard’s personnel file from HR and send it to my computer. Then get him back in my office immediately.”
“Right away, Mr. Mylonas,” Elizabeth said, her eyes widening slightly at my tone. “I think he’s already left for the day.”
“Then call him and get him back in here,” I said as I shut my door.
Ten minutes later, Leonard strutted into my office, looking smug. The man had left the building almost half an hour early. No doubt, he’d claimed he’d left at five on his time card.