Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Joey
Today I’m headed to the infamous “big client meeting” at Fernrose.
And unfortunately, I’m feeling a bit withdrawn.
I’ve only been in Hemlock for a few days, and already, I’m completely thrown off.
Temporarily living with my sister is bad enough, but to faint in her store?
She’ll never let me live it down. Then there’s the handsome nurse—whose name I cannot remember on account of having almost died of potential blood loss.
Needless to say, my brain has shriveled up.
Fine. Maybe I didn’t almost die, but my brain is definitely not working at full capacity. That could also be because Vera, the snoring golden, enjoys spooning me in the middle of the night, making it difficult to sleep.
My body is failing me one system at a time, and no amount of caffeine could save me today.
Granted, my headspace isn’t great most days. I’d say it’s satisfactory on the best of days. Today? It’s teetering in the don’t do or say anything that could get me involuntarily hospitalized category.
I’m trying my damndest not to fall asleep at my desk.
“Everything okay, Jo?” Max questions, as I stretch and let out a long yawn. He and I work closely together since he’s the creative director at Fernrose.
I jump, startled by his voice. I didn’t know he was here this early. “Yeah. My life has just been a whirlwind since I got here. My mind, body, and soul are crying for help.”
“You move into your new place soon, right?” He settles next to me at an empty desk, placing his color-coded folders full of notes in front of him.
So organized. Couldn’t be me.
I nod, my eyes gritty from exhaustion. “Yes. I love my sister,” I mutter, “but between the late-night horror movie marathons she and her boyfriend are into and my dog niece snoring like a freight train in my bed, I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since I’ve been back.”
Max winces. “Looks like you’ll have to fake it today. Dig deep and pull up every ounce of energy you have left.”
My stomach knots at the edge in his tone. “Oh god. Why?” I’m not sure how much more my nervous system can handle this week.
“I heard the client’s project manager is an interesting person. Rumor has it her preferred source of fuel is the tears of those who’ve wronged her.”
Shit. I’m going to get eaten alive.
Uneasy energy swirls in the air of the conference room. The client company’s CEO and project manager are seated already. I recognize them from the internet sleuthing I did on Droplet, a stainless-steel water bottle company looking for a total rebrand.
Droplet’s CEO, Bryan, is a fit man in his forties with immaculate posture. While the project manager is a woman in her mid-sixties who projects an air of seasoned experience. Her name is Norma, if I recall.
As I approach the table, she gives me a slow, deliberate look that travels down the length of my outfit.
I mirror her actions, glancing down at my denim jacket, vibrant floor-length skirt, and floral-patterned boots.
When her eyes finally make their way back up to my face, she’s wearing a disapproving frown.
The CEO stands, extending a hand to Max and I and flashing us a smile. “Hey. Bryan. CEO of Droplet.”
When I hold my hand out to the project manager, she reluctantly takes it, her grip limp.
“Hi! I’m Joey, senior brand designer. I’m looking forward to working with you all.” I keep my voice high and friendly, trying my damndest to turn this situation around.
Almost instantly, she drops my hand, face flat. “Norma. Project manager.”
My heart sinks, but I keep my smile in place. Today is not my day.
As Max and I take our seats across from Bryan and Norma, I do my best to ignore the weird energy in the room.
“Thanks for meeting with us,” Bryan says. “I don’t mind video conferences, but I prefer meeting in person for these types of discussions.”
Max smiles. “Couldn’t agree more.” He’s lying. That man would rather be on the beach with his husband and two kids than sitting across from a CEO who over-whitens his teeth and a perpetually displeased project manager.
Bryan clears his throat and laces his fingers on top of the table.
“We’re looking for a complete overhaul. The industry is changing and we want to appeal to a younger audience.
I’m thinking fun, fresh, and eye-catching.
I want people to stop in their tracks when they see our company’s products.
” His eyes are hopeful, his excitement genuine.
Hope sprouts in my chest. CEOs with this kind of energy are usually great to work with. “I love that approach.”
“We also need to appeal to our existing older audience,” Norma says, her eyes narrowed on me. “They prefer simple and traditional.”
Because I’m a professional, I manage to refrain from rolling my eyes. Of course Nefarious Norma likes simplicity.
Bryan steeples his fingertips under his chin. “Yes, we need to appeal to both audiences.”
Dammit. Bry-guy and I were so close to hitting it off before she piped in.
“Can you do that?” Norma asks.
Max perks up. “Yes, ma’am. We have a very skilled team of—”
“I was talking to your brand designer,” she says. “Jocelyn, correct?”
Oh no she fucking didn’t. What is her problem? Did I accidentally cut her off while driving this morning?
Could I have crossed her in a past life?
I shake off the thought and plaster on a wide smile. “Yes, Nora. I can most certainly do that.”
“It’s Norma.”
“It’s Joey.” With a shrug, I cast her a sardonic grin.
“Well, Joey. Can you do this for us? Combine both visions?” The devious smirk she’s giving me leaves an unsettling sensation in my stomach.
“Oh yes. This is my expertise,” I reply, my voice overly cheerful.
Norma homes in on me, scrutinizing every move I make.
“Can the final design brief be prepared by next week? Or do you need more time? I really want to get this redesign off my plate.” Her tone is practically dripping with bitterness, as if this project is an inconvenience to her. As if I’ve personally offended her.
Don’t be a bitch, Joey. Don’t. Be. A Bitch.
“Early next week is perfect.” I flash her a smile, trying my damndest to not let my expression crack with annoyance.
Perfect might be a stretch, but I’m just spiteful enough to make it happen.
She lets out a sigh, her head shaking, and the tension in the room ratchets up a notch, making it hard to breathe.
Max peers over at me and scratches behind his ear. The signal we use when one of us is swimming in dangerous territory and needs to be reeled in. Unfortunately, that territory for me is matching Norma’s energy.
To get through the rest of the meeting, I don my mental armor so the enemy can’t smell my fear. Surprisingly, it goes well. Minus the glares from the project manager.
Max blows out a breath as we head back to our desks after saying goodbye to Bryan and Norma. “Wow. What a piece of work.”
My shoulders sag. “I thought I was going to turn to stone under her watchful eyes. I was waiting for her hair to turn into snakes.”
“We’ve got our work cut out for us.” He stops and turns to me. “You know I adore your personality. . .”
There’s a but lurking around the corner. I can feel it.
“But you need to be extra careful around this PM.”
He’s right, and typically, when faced with challenging clients, I have no issue standing up for myself in a respectful and professional manner. But sometimes my emotions can cloud my judgment.
Every so often, we find ourselves working with clients like Norma.
It’s always the combative and impudent ones who throw me off my game.
In practice, I try to come into every meeting with an open and understanding mind.
Sadly, some people see this as a weakness and enjoy using me as their punching bag.
I’m not a perfect human by any means. Some days I come off confident and ready to punch back—professionally, of course. Other days, like today, it doesn’t take much to wear me down. And the project has only just begun.
Already, Norma is coming on strong and it’ll only get worse from here, making for an uphill battle for Fernrose.
“Yeah, I know. I just—” I huff out a breath.
His sympathetic eyes meet mine. “If you ever need backup, I’m here. Scratch the bridge of your nose if you need me to step in, okay?”
That makes me chuckle, lifting some of the anxious weight off my chest. Max and I have so many secret signals that people must wonder why we’re always scratching our noses, flicking our earlobes, or tapping our fingers on the table in Morse code.
Of course we know Morse code. Over a holiday break a couple of years ago, we did a deep dive on the subject and have gotten pretty good at it.
“Thanks. I really, really appreciate you.” I give him a soft smile.
“Anytime. Now pack up and get home. We both need to dissociate after today.”
In the parking lot, I slide into my van and take a deep breath. I refuse to let this woman get to me.
I’ve worked too hard to become the strong woman I am today, and I’ll be damned if I let one unhappy person drag me down into the pits of doubt and despair.
On my way to Charlie’s, I stop at the store for toothpaste. I also want to pick up dog treats to lure Vera off my bed at night.
I scurry into the store, eyeing the gray storm clouds overhead, cursing myself for not leaving an umbrella in my van.
The store is eerily quiet, the lights a tad too bright for my liking.
Boots squeaking on the tile floor, I stride toward the toothpaste aisle.
What should be a quick decision gets a little complicated when I can’t decide between the vibrant peppermint or advanced enamel protection.
“Joey?” a man says, startling me out of my toothpaste thoughts.
“Hmm?” I turn, and instantly, my stomach lurches. Great. My high school boyfriend, Kyle. The boy who left me for another girl on prom night. How lovely.
Determined not to show weakness to this man, I plaster on a fake smile. “Oh, hi! Wow, long time no see. How’ve you been?”