Chapter 52
I find an old mood board I made for a past client in the office closet and peel off the samples, photographs, and notes as carefully as I can, trying to preserve the integrity of the foam board beneath, since I don’t have time to run out and buy a new one.
Then I re-create the missing layout as best I can with the leftover scraps of fabric, photos, and paint chips that I didn’t use on the original board.
I stare at my hasty replacement with dismay.
After ninety minutes of frenetic activity, all I’ve managed is a pale comparison to the original.
Which is hardly surprising, because I poured my heart and soul into the missing board, and this one looks like a school art project thrown together by a disinterested student.
In the end, I accept that it’s what I have to work with. I gather together my laptop and phone, grab the mood board, and head for the door. Ten minutes later, I arrive at the library on the ground floor to find the executive board already seated and waiting.
The presentation takes about an hour. I show them my less-than-perfect mood board, then go over my vision for the coffee shop, explaining how I’ll use mixed metals for the fixtures alongside reupholstered and refinished vintage furniture to create a cozy, inviting space where patrons can relax and enjoy their favorite beverage.
The board members sit in silence and listen with blank expressions on their faces, then subject me to a barrage of questions at the end.
It’s hardly the enthusiastic response I was hoping for, but I don’t expect much else under the circumstances.
The missing mood board has left me unsure of myself, and my presentation is discombobulated and rambling.
Instead of projecting an aura of confidence, I come across as nervous and unprepared.
The crying baby from last night and my exchange with Sam this morning aren’t helping.
At one point, Dr. Burgess clears his throat and asks if I’m just having an off day, or if my work is always this shoddy.
He fixes me with an unnerving stare as he speaks, and when my gaze briefly meets his, there’s a coldness in his eyes.
I give him a stuttering, clumsy answer, even as I wonder where the compassion normally associated with people in his profession has gone, or if it was ever there in the first place.
When the executive board finally dismisses me, I can’t wait to get out of there.
The weird vibe I’m getting from Dr. Burgess, and the general mood of everyone else in the room, only adds to my discomfort.
I slink from the library and head toward the elevator.
But I don’t get far. I’m halfway across the lobby when Catherine catches up with me.
“Jordan, my dear,” she says in a stern tone that foreshadows what’s about to come. “I assume that you have a good explanation for the uninspired nature of your performance just now.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, trying to sound calm and collected when in reality I’m anything but. “I had some issues with the original mood board and had to make a new one. I guess it threw me off.”
“Issues?” Catherine raises an eyebrow. “You’ve had weeks to prepare your presentation. Perhaps you shouldn’t have waited until the last minute.”
“You don’t understand. It wasn’t like that. I had it made ready, but then—”
“I’m not interested in excuses.” Catherine cuts me off and folds her arms. “Your presentation was sloppy and unprofessional. That mood board looked like some sort of dreadful kindergarten art project.”
“I know.” The strap of my laptop bag is starting to slide from my shoulder. I hike it higher and in the process almost drop the offending board, which is tucked under my other arm. “I’ll do better next time, I promise.”
“Assuming there is a next time.”
My heart sinks. After all my hard work, I’m on the brink of losing this job. After what happened with Judy Abelman, it feels like fate is kicking me while I’m down. “Please, don’t fire me.”
Catherine studies me with narrowed eyes. I shuffle my feet, uncomfortable under her gaze.
At last, she sighs and shakes her head. “I suppose we can give you one more chance, but fair warning, we were not impressed with your work. Honestly, if you weren’t a part of the Glendale family, we would probably just cancel the contract right now for noncompliance.”
What is she talking about? I might have been a little off my game today, but noncompliance? The replacement mood board wasn’t that bad. My first instinct is to argue back, but it would just make things worse, so instead, I try to look contrite. “Thank you, Catherine. I won’t let you down.”
“Make sure you don’t, because if there’s a repeat of this debacle, we’re done. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“I hope so, for your sake.” Somehow, Catherine manages to look even more stern than before.
“Because the contract you signed has a performance clause that clearly states you must return any advanced payments if you cannot fulfill your end of the bargain due to incompetence, and I’m pretty sure that you can’t afford to do that. ”
Incompetence? What a nerve this woman has.
I might not have been in top form today, but I was far from incompetent.
Still, she’s not wrong about the money. I’ve already been paid a quarter of my fee, which was due upon signing the contract and amounts to $3,750.
Half of it has already been spent on living expenses like the Glendale’s monthly maintenance charge.
If the board decides to fire me and demand the money back, I don’t know what I would do.
How would we survive with only Sam’s wage coming in?
Because I don’t have any other clients right now.
I was hoping that the coffee shop would be a springboard for my future.
The catalyst for picking up more commercial clients. Now it’s all crumbling around me.
Catherine fixes her gaze upon me, as if she expects me to say something else. When I don’t, she tuts, then pivots and strides back toward the library, leaving me staring after her.
I watch her go, stunned and dismayed, then turn back to the elevator and press the call button.
Five minutes later, I’m back in the apartment and heading for my office.
After stepping into the room, I let the laptop bag slip from my shoulder and place it on the floor near the door; then I start toward the desk, intending to put the mood board down.
Then I notice something that stops me in my tracks.
The original board is back, leaning against the wall under the window, as if it was there all along.