Chapter 5 Grayson #2
I remember the day that I knew that being at the top of my field was going to be the only way to earn my family’s approval.
It was the moment I told them I was going to Boston University for public relations and not to Cornell for law, like every member of my family has done for the past three generations.
I remember the shocked gasps and dropped jaws.
Because how dare I not follow in the Ross family footsteps and join the law practice of Ross and Family Associates—a law firm that has been in my family for seventy-three years and used to be named Ross and Sons but had to change when my sister became the first female lawyer in our family.
Along with my sister, my younger brother is also a lawyer.
So are all eleven of my cousins. Obviously, their fathers, along with mine, were lawyers. And my grandfather.
Then there’s me. The outcast. The ne’er-do-well. The only one to move outside of Connecticut to do what he wanted to do, despite being the oldest of this generation of Rosses.
To say that my family doesn’t get my life choices is a drastic understatement.
Which is why I only plan on spending forty-eight hours with them over the holidays.
I learned a few years ago two days was the sweet spot.
A person can only be on the receiving ends of tsks and condescending looks for so long.
Yup, I’m the family failure in every sense of the word. They don’t see the success I’ve had. They didn’t understand why I opted to spend my summers in college interning in Boston or New York. Why I studied so hard.
Maybe one day they will. But until then, all I can do is keep grinding.
“Really, Melinda? There’s nothing?” I ask again. “Not even the sniff of a lead?”
She shakes her head. “Sorry, Grayson. It’s the end of the year, so the well is pretty dry. There are some smaller inquiries and accounts we have an eye on, but I was going to toss those to the juniors.”
I nod and sit back in my seat. While I have a drive to be the best, I also know what my time is best spent on.
Plus, I remember my days starting out and salivating at every possible account or project I’d get fed.
I wanted to make it the best. Show my bosses what I could do.
I wouldn’t be here today if I didn’t have those early experiences, and I’d never want to take that away from someone getting started.
It’s now confirmed: My Christmas break will be spent researching the whales. Or, maybe doing some digging on the one person in this town who’s keeping me from them: fucking Katherine Smith.
Seriously, who is she and what’s she doing that’s so much better than what I’m bringing to the table? If I can figure that out, it’ll be better than any Christmas present.
“How about a beach?” Melinda asks. “I think you could do well with a beach. I recommend St. Lucia. To me, you can't go wrong there.”
My first instinct is to dismiss her idea, but frankly, a beach sounds kind of nice right now. Warm weather. A drink with an umbrella. Beautiful women. Though after last night, the only beautiful woman I want to see in a bikini is Kat.
Oh, Kat on a beach… Now there’s an idea.
As my brain starts to wander off to the image of Kat with sun-kissed skin, the telltale sound of an email pings through. The Pavlovian response I have to it immediately has me navigating to the browser to see who it’s from, and when I see the name I immediately suck in a breath.
"What is it?" Melinda asks.
I take a few deep breaths to calm myself. "It's Hazel."
“Fuck.”
I don’t have to open the email to know what it’s going to say. It’s going to be a rejection letter. That’s why you get an email. Phone calls mean you get it. Emails means you didn’t.
Grayson,
I want to start off by saying thank you very much for presenting your ideas to Left for Love and Quiz and Cupid.
Your ideas were fresh, bright, and exactly on line with what we were looking for.
Unfortunately, though, we will be going a different direction with our campaign’s public relation and media strategy needs.
Again, thank you for your ideas, and I really hope we can work together in the future.
Happy holidays,
Hazel Montgomery-Calhoun
I fall back into my chair and close my eyes, trying to breathe through the anger I’m feeling right now.
“She fucking did it again,” I say under my breath.
"Who's she?" Melinda asks.
Okay, apparently it wasn't as under my breath as I thought. “Katherine fucking Smith."
Do I know for a fact she’s the one who Hazel’s going with? No. But I know what my track record was before she came to town, and I know after. And because I'm a betting man, I’m going all-in on the fact that somehow this woman has bested me again.
“She's some new fucking independent media specialist. And I have it on good authority that she’s the one I’ve lost out to in the last three pitches I’ve made.”
I’d expect my boss to have my back on this one, be just as mad as I am, but instead, she just has an amused smile on her face.
"Sounds like my kind of girl. We should hire her.”
“You’re not helping, and fuck no,” I say, horrified, which only makes Melinda laugh. "This isn't funny.”
“Oh, but it is.”
“Care to tell me how?”
“Because, this woman is going to make you better.”
I’m a little thrown by her words. “And how is that?”
Melinda stands up, but doesn't make her way to the door quite yet.
“We all have our rivals when we're coming up in this industry.
Some are in-house, some are competitors.
Does it suck losing to them? Absolutely.
But you do one of two things: You can pout that you lost and act like a toddler, or you can use it to make yourself better.
Because at the end of the day, that's all a rival does, is make you better. If you let her.”
I don't respond, but let her words sit, because she's right—though I am going to pout for just a minute. But after I’m done pouting, I refocus on what my Christmas plan was. Yes, I’m going to figure out who Katherine Smith is.
I’m going to figure out her pitches. What she’s doing.
How she does it. What she’s doing that I’m not.
Because she’s not going to get the best of me forever. And today’s win was the last one she’s going to have.
“Timberline Inn.”
I’m very confused, because I’ve never heard that name before. “Excuse me?”
“Timberline Inn. That’s what you can work on over Christmas break.
Get your mojo back. Start the new year off with a bang.
The owner, Howard, has worked with us for years and was asking if we had anyone available for a project starting after the first of the year.
How about you go up there for a few days, clear your head with that Smoky Mountain air, and then meet with him next week before you take off for the holidays? ”
That…sounds absolutely perfect. “Thank you.”
Melinda gives me a warm smile. “Anytime.”
She starts to walk away, but there’s one other thing I need to ask her. “Melinda. You said you had a rival. How did it end?”
She cracks a smile. “I married him.”
With those words, Melinda turns to leave my office, and she’s not even two steps out the door before I am searching up the Timberline Inn.
It's an old hotel in East Tennessee, right in the heart of the Smoky Mountains. It’s giving a lodge and cabin vibe, but without actually being in a cabin.
There seems to be a nice-looking restaurant, a decent bar, and plenty of activities that guests can register to do.
And look at that, they have a room open for the next few days.
Yes, this is exactly what I need. A new client. A few days away to regroup and actually relax before I go to see my family. And far enough away that Katherine Smith isn’t going to be anywhere near me.