Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Zoe
I spend the rest of the morning with my Prismacolor pencils and sheets of paper, working up multiple concepts and then blending some ideas together.
I know a lot of people in the industry use computers now with programs like Photoshop and Illustrator to design logos, but I’ve always loved the pencil-to-paper method better because I feel like I can be more creative and not so focused on how to make the computer program create what’s in my mind.
A teacher once told me my imagination was the only thing holding me back. Now I laugh because, in actuality, it was always the computer holding me back because I wasn’t as good at making it do what I was imagining.
Thankfully, I brought my lunch today, so I head to the break room to grab it. Of course, David is leaning up against the counter, staring at his phone, which he’s quick to put away once I enter the room.
“Do you always enter a room so quietly, or is dramatic always your default?”
“Looking at porn is frowned upon in an office setting,” I state as I open the fridge.
“Obviously, I wasn’t looking at porn,” he bites back.
I shrug. “If you say so.”
He pushes off the counter with a scowl. “Not everything in my life revolves around whatever inappropriate narrative you’ve built in your head.”
“Pity,” I mutter, pulling out my container. “It really spices up my workday.”
I move to the microwave, put it in, and look at the panel, trying to decide how long to heat it up for. Before I can hit any button, he steps in just close enough to hit the Express option twice, giving me one minute on my food.
I glare at him. “Do you mind?”
“You were taking too long,” he says smoothly. “Decisiveness is important in business.”
“It’s a microwave, not a boardroom.”
“Tell that to the seconds you waste debating leftovers.”
I roll my eyes and lean against the counter opposite him. “Are you always this bossy, or do you save that just for me?”
His jaw tightens a fraction. “You bring it out in me.”
“Oh, I’m flattered.”
The microwave hums between us, loud in the silence. I can feel his attention on me without looking. When I finally do glance up, he’s already watching, his expression unreadable.
“What were you really doing on your phone?” I ask casually.
“None of your business.”
“So, it was something interesting.”
His mouth twitches despite himself. “You spend an awful lot of energy thinking about what I’m doing.”
I smile sweetly. “Occupational hazard. I’m stuck working with you.”
“That goes both ways.”
The microwave beeps. He doesn’t move. Neither do I.
“I believe that’s my lunch,” I say.
He finally steps back, raising his hands in mock surrender. “After you.”
I brush past him to retrieve my food, and I’m painfully aware of how close he is—how the space between us feels charged instead of empty. When I turn back, he’s still standing there.
“You know,” he murmurs, “for someone who claims to find me unbearable, you sure like picking fights.”
I lift a brow. “And for someone who acts like he can’t stand me, you sure seem eager to engage.”
For half a second, something unreadable flickers in his eyes. Then it’s gone, replaced by that smug, infuriating calm.
“Enjoy your lunch,” he says coolly. “Try not to choke on the tension.”
I snort. “Trust me, David, I’ve survived far worse than you.”
I walk out with my food, fully aware of his gaze following me—and even more aware that neither of us won that round.
Once I’m back at my desk with my food in hand, my phone goes off with a text from Joey, asking if I got the link from Donny. I respond, acknowledging that I did, then sit back to open the app, forgetting that I never finished setting up the account this morning after I downloaded it.
Before Joey first mentioned his idea, I never even thought about doing a dating app. If I’m honest, it still kind of freaks me out, meeting complete strangers this way, but I want to help Joey, so I do the unthinkable and click the button to create an account.
In an effort to prevent people from catfishing or lying about who they are, the app makes you upload a picture of your ID to prove you look like the photo you are using as your profile and your name is actually what you say it is.
I know my first name isn’t that unique, but it’s also not super popular.
I worry about using my real name, just in case it’s someone I know, so I put in the app that I go by my middle name Jenelle to keep it a little more incognito.
Since Jenelle is indeed on my ID, the app accepts it with no problem.
It asks simple questions, like what I do for a living, my age, hobbies, and things like that.
It will use my location to decide which guys to show my friends as potential matches, so the only thing left to do is assign which friends I trust to set me up on dates.
Turns out, I’m the last to sign up, so Macy, Chasity, and Candace are already there, asking for my approval.
I give them access, and within a few minutes, I get the ding of approval that I’ve completed my account setup.
I click the button to show me the male options and am instantly impressed at how clean and interactive the app is. As someone who does this for a living, I’d say they are spot-on with their design and use.
On my right are three circles, and each circle contains a picture of one of my friends.
Then, filling my screen, is a guy who I have to admit isn’t too bad-looking.
Since this is my first time playing matchmaker, it explains to me how I can click on the photo and simply drag it to the friend I think would be into him.
He does look like a guy Macy dated in the past, so to test the app, I hold down the photo and slide it over to Macy’s photo, where it displays a little heart to acknowledge my suggestion.
This makes me smile, so I swipe through some other guys, suggesting a few more, and swiping left on others I don’t think anyone would be interested in before closing the app and getting back to my lunch.
The day flies by, and I totally lose track of time until David walks up to my desk.
“You ready? I’d like to get this over with so we can actually get out of here on time.”
“I’d ask if you had a hot date, but, one, I don’t care to know about your personal life, and, two, I don’t think anyone would actually want to date you, so I know that couldn’t be the case.”
“Ouch. That hurts,” he states with zero emotion. “Can we meet now that you’ve wounded my soul with your hateful words?”
I glare at him, but he just smirks before leaving. When Jana chuckles under her breath, I turn my expression to her.
“Have fun,” she singsongs.
I flip her off, making her laugh even harder as I walk toward the conference table with all of my drawings.
David and I take a seat across from each other, where I lay out my drawings while he opens his laptop.
“Okay,” he starts. “I did some more research on the company and actually spoke to Samantha, the owner, so I could get more of a feel for what they are looking for and who they are.”
I pop my head up, surprised. “You did? How?”
“I asked Christina for her number. That’s not rocket science.”
I sit in thought for a moment. I’ve always been so intimidated by Christina that I avoid asking for anything.
His eyebrows rise. “Hello? Did you hear me?”
“Sorry.” I shake my head. “What did you say?”
“She lives here, but her family owns a cattle ranch in Montana.”
“Montana? That’s quite a difference from New York City.”
“Yeah. Obviously.” He gives me a duh expression, then continues, “She misses her life back home, and this was a way for her to tie her two worlds together. I guess her grandma used to use beef tallow on her skin, and she used it growing up as well.”
“Oh wow. That’s cool.”
“Yeah, so she wants to tie parts of her childhood in somehow.”
“Do you know why she stopped using it?”
He shrugs, almost like he’s annoyed that I asked that question. “I don’t know. Because it’s beef fat.”
“Did you research the actual product and how good it is for your skin or just focus on this woman?”
“Of course I researched the product. And, yes, I found all the benefits it can offer.” He opens a folder that’s sitting next to him and hands me a printout, explaining how it’s nutrient-rich and full of vitamins, minerals, and fatty acids.
I glance over it, then set it down and look back at him.
“So, what’s the competition like?” I ask.
“She’s getting in when it’s just starting to explode, so there’s competition, but from smaller, family-owned companies. With the right campaigns, she could run the market just due to the visibility she can afford over the others.”
“What vibe is she wanting? High-end or family farm?”
“Both.” He looks straight into my eyes. “That’s where we come in. Since it’s her family farm, she wants that aspect, but she wants to sell it to the elite of Manhattan and make them think it’s worth the extra fifty dollars she’s putting on each bottle because it will be marketed as high-end.”
I nod, my mind already racing with ideas.
He pulls out a few more sheets of paper. “Here’s the competition.”
I glance over the product sheets he laid before me.
They are very different, but all have the same theme of a cow or bullhorns in some kind of way.
Some are bright colors, and some are muted.
Instantly, I can tell which are family-owned, like they’re doing everything themselves out of their garage, and who is trying to be more high-end.
I understand though how each brand has its own market and how they are trying to attract just that.
“Okay.” I nod. “Good work.”
I truly mean it and am surprised when he acknowledges what I said.
“Did the Zoe Jones just give me a compliment?” He places his hand to his chest, like he’s in shock.
I roll my eyes at him, then move on to my part of the project and lay out everything I’ve been working on in front of him.
“I start with as many different ideas as I can come up with and then see how I can whittle them down or merge them in some way.”
“You drew these?” he asks, looking up at me and pointing to one of a little girl hugging a cow.
“Yeah. If they like the concept, we can hire a professional artist.”
“I don’t see the need for that. I didn’t know you could draw.”
I’m a little taken aback by his comment, and I’m mad at myself for when he notices before moving on.
“I just like to doodle. Always have.” I point out different color schemes and ideas that might be better now that I know the details a little more. “The pastels of this one can blend with—”
“This one, this one, and blend these two,” he says, interrupting my explanation of my ideas. “All of these you can throw away.” He gathers the ones he doesn’t like in a pile and tucks them in his folder.
“Excuse me?” I lower my chin and raise my eyebrows, trying to comprehend what just came out of his mouth and not lose my shit from the way it just came off.
“Those are what we’ll present. Can you work on blending these two and have them to me by morning?” he asks, not seeing how pissed he just made me.
“You’re not even going to let me finish explaining my ideas?”
“No need. I like those ones. Buyers aren’t going to listen to your spiel about why you did what. They are either going to be drawn to it or not. I was drawn to those and think if you blend those two, they might be something as well. Good work.”
With that, he closes his laptop, slides his chair back, picks up his things, and starts to walk away, then pauses and turns back to me, handing me his phone. “Give me your phone number.”
I keep my head down, gathering my papers. “Why?”
He pauses, obviously holding something back, then says, “Because we are working on this together, and there might be a point in time where I need to speak to you, and people speak through a telephone when they aren’t together in person.”
I roll my eyes, grab the phone, and enter my number, then hand it back to him.
He turns to walk away again, leaving me both fuming and a little happy that he liked my work, which makes me even madder because he’s not supposed to make me happy in any way, shape, or form.