15. Side Quest Accepted #3
“Well, the emails were extra. Originally. Then we moved some things around, and she was having a rough month, so—”
“How many hours?”
“It depends.”
“On average. In a normal month.”
I give her a number. She glances at my laptop again, then back at me, and I add the hours I spend responding to messages and handling revisions.
“Cami.”
“I know.”
Except I don’t know what I know until she turns the notebook toward me and shows me the division and my hourly wage.
Oh. That is an ugly little number.
“And that’s before your expenses and taxes,” she says.
“They’re small businesses.”
“Then give them a smaller scope. You can care about their budget without pretending your time doesn’t cost anything.”
I look down at the math. “If I raise it, some of them will leave.”
She doesn’t immediately disagree, which makes me trust the next thing she says more.
“Some might. I’m not telling you to blow up your income tomorrow. Start with new proposals. Be specific about what’s included. Limit revisions. Charge separately when they add work.”
“They just call it a ‘quick change.’”
“They can call it whatever they want. You still have to do it, and you still have bills to pay.”
“I cover my rent. Groceries. Basics.” My thumb rubs a worn spot beside the trackpad. “Griffin insists on covering a lot of the medical stuff. And some months are good. It’s just hard to know what next month is going to look like when half my clients don’t know what theirs will look like either.”
“That’s a lot to carry.”
I brace for the offer to help. Or the carefully phrased suggestion that I find something more reliable than what I’m already doing.
Instead, she taps the screen lightly beside the results.
“This is work someone can budget for, Cami. You’re already doing it. We need to get you charging for all of it.”
There’s a pressure behind my eyes that has absolutely no business showing up over sandwich crumbs.
“We?”
“If you want another set of eyes on a proposal, yes.” She pauses. “And I might have a contract for you.”
I look up as my eyes widen.
“Laugherty has a software launch coming. Carter and I are handling the core campaign, but I want more support on organic social and creator strategy. Some launch copy, potentially.” She gestures toward my laptop. “What you’ve just shown me is relevant.”
“You want to give me a contract for Laugherty?”
“Yes.”
My mouth opens, but she keeps going before I can produce anything useful.
“I’m also about to disappear on approximately fifteen hundred honeymoons.”
“Fifteen hundred and forty-nine,” I correct playfully.
“Something like that.” She smiles. “They’re spread out, but I need coverage that doesn’t require Carter or others to absorb everything every time I leave.”
“Are you saying you want me to cover for you?”
“I want to start you with a project. Defined deliverables and a proper contract. If we work well together, we can talk about more.”
“I don’t know anything about your company or your software.”
“We’d give you a briefing.”
“I don’t have—”
“Cami.” She waits until I meet her eyes. “You asked better questions about your client’s landing page than some people ask about an entire launch. I can teach you our product. I need someone who knows to ask why people aren’t signing up.”
The restaurant carries on around us. Silverware clinks. Somebody near the counter laughs. Our server walks past with a fresh pot of coffee.
I’m sitting very still. “I don’t want you to do this because you feel bad for me.”
Her face softens, but her answer is immediate. “I don’t spend my department’s budget because I feel bad for my friends.”
Friends.
Then Alexis turns her notebook back toward herself and asks when I could realistically start.
“I have two deadlines early next week. After that, I could make room. Depending on how much content you need and who handles approvals.”
“Good questions. I’ll include that.”
Something in my chest loosens enough to let me breathe all the way in.
“Okay,” I finally say. “Send me the brief.”
“Send me your portfolio link.”
I do it before I can make the request into something scarier than it is.
By the time we ask for the check, my coffee is cold again, and my notebook app contains more questions about both marketing and polycule logistics for a lawyer.
“We still need to get everybody together,” Alexis says as she slides her laptop into her bag. “Dinner at our house? Before Christmas, if we can make the schedules work.”
“I’d like that.”
She already has her calendar open on her phone.
Of course she does.
“Let me give you a couple of possibilities. Holden’s schedule is the one I need to really check.”
“Griffin’s too. And the other have evenings that can get complicated. We have campaign night tonight, so I can ask when everybody’s together.”
“Perfect. And tell me about allergies or anything I need to plan around.”
My phone buzzes with the dates while she’s still talking.
“You’re very efficient.”
“We’re trying to arrange eleven adults in one room. I’m not leaving it to optimism.”
I laugh and tuck the phone away. “I’ll check with the guys and get back to you.”