Chapter 2
Chapter two
The Board Meeting
Asterile white space of emptiness is all I see, every night, when I approach them. Every night hearing him yelling at her in this eerie space. No matter how hard I try to avoid the dream, my eyes always give out, replaying his words in my head.
“She would be so disappointed in you,” the man would say before throwing his hands up in the air. Everything fades to black. I’ve been running on three hours of sleep because of this dream, every damn night since the fire.
My whole body at night shivers uncomfortably because of my faulty AC system, perpetually at sixty-eight degrees on the thermostat. Bad dreams, lack of sleep and a freezing apartment are a lethal combination for a bad mood.
When Tuesday morning arrives, I’m thankful for the distraction. My routine that keeps me steady and distracts me from the chilling image of her in my window, reaching out to me.
Stacking nineteen coffees on my little to-go cart as I pull it slowly through the giant wooden doors of Blackburn Press, one of Hollywood's top PR firms. The tagline on our front door reads ‘Reshaping your story’ in italics underneath the company’s name.
The large clock in the entryway shows my arrival: seven-thirty on the dot. Perfectly on time.
I begin with my usual rounds, retrieving the latest reports from each department as I hand out the coffee. With every variation of “good morning” said to my coworkers, who bluntly ignore my existence.
None of it bothers me today.
Not when my mind isn’t far away from the brown-eyed girl in the window. Fingertips grasping on the windowpane.
A chime sounds off from my computer, signaling an incoming email. The subject line reads “Get me a brAND NEW suit from AJ Customs by 2 P.M.” to completely disrupt my morning.
Every distraction I have in my head is conveniently replaced with anxiety, dread and fear from getting this email. See, AJ Customs suits take about three weeks to make. A custom suit on the same day for Chris is nearly impossible to deliver on.
I responded to his email, asking if he had placed the order already. A few moments go by before he messages on Slack: What do you think?
Before I can even roll my eyes, I’m sprinting toward the elevator, barely clinging onto my purse hanging off my shoulder.
From the elevator to AJ Customs, it was approximately a thirty minute ride. I knew I was in the right place when my eyes set sights on the brick wall and red door.
“Thank you for the ride,” I say softly as I exit the car and enter the store covered in luxury. At the dead center of the room, I catch a salesman wearing an all black suit.
I’m breathless, getting the words out. “I need a new custom suit today.” It comes out more frantic than I’d like as the salesman looks at me, amused.
“That’ll be two-fifty,” he says to the customer standing next to me.
When the salesman mumbles, “Next,” I eagerly make my way toward the front marble counter again, leaning against the cool surface. “I need a new custom suit today.”
The man says nothing, only exhales sharply with a blank look on his face. He smells like menthols and Axe body spray.
“You know, my boss recommends you guys to every person he knows, Bradley.” I put more emphasis on his name as I read it off the metallic nameplate pinned to his suit.
His voice is pitched higher than the average man as he snaps into a different character than his last customer.
“And who’s your boss?”
“Chris Blackburn.”
“Ah, yes.” He pauses. “I know him.”
“He is willing to spend whatever it costs to get a suit today. He just really needs it today.”
With his simple response, “We value all of our customers, but that’s impossible,” I begin to freak out. All the air I’ve been unknowingly holding inside my chest finally escapes, forcing me to breathe.
“You have his measurements already, Bradley.” I peer over the counter separating us.
“Ma’am, please, stay on your side of the counter.”
My body recoils as I divert my eyes away from the screen, stomping my left foot into the ground as I return to where I was just a moment ago.
“You wouldn’t want to lose a valuable customer that brings in thousands of dollars of revenue a year.”
Bradley just stares at me for a moment before walking away. No words, he just leaves.
Some customer service in this establishment. I plop down in one of their lounge chairs. Scrolling and waiting. Hoping he will come back out with a miracle within the next four hours.
While waiting, I received a play-by-play from my coworker, Lena, on Slack of her recent client charades.
She just staged a paparazzi photo of her latest client at a homeless shelter to increase their chances for an Oscar win.
Every detail of her strategy is the only thing keeping me entertained in this uncomfortable chair.
Especially when the commentary is about how the client detests old, homeless people.
Thirty minutes later, Bradley returns, giving me a somber expression when I look up.
“Are we good?” I wince.
“I found a ready-to-wear suit that I restitched to look custom on the sleeves.”
“Bless you!”
“I am marking this up to be double,” he says, presenting the garment bag before me.
“That’s fine. Use the card on file.”
His smug grin on full display. “Already did.” I grab the bag from his hands and throw it over my shoulder. My smile hangs proudly as the door chimes when I exit the building.
A simple Slack notification resurfaces me to reality. It’s from Lena. It contains no words, just a devil emoji. We all know what that means—Chris is in a mood.
All the way up on the fourth floor, I arrive to see everyone in a panic. A commotion of some sort that has everyone running to do something important. Chris is in his office, feet up on the table, on yet another call.
I tiptoe into his office and drop the suit off on his office couch.
“Hold on. I am gonna call you back…” He hangs up and my body freezes.
“Is this the suit from AJ Customs?”
I nod.
“Is it a cashmere blend with the sleeves cut to show a quarter inch of cuff?” I raise my eyebrow and my eyes go wide. I didn’t check the bag. Why didn’t I check the bag?
I nod again.
“This should work,” he says, pulling the jacket over his powder-blue dress shirt. In the full-length mirror, he adjusts the cuffs of each sleeve, running his hands through his hair a few times before he reaches for the gel on his shelf.
A few other people have entered the room, unannounced.
Raquel from the third floor, who is in finance, is lumped into the herd that now crowds this room. In a black pencil skirt and white silk blouse, she pushes through the crowd.
“We need to talk.” Her words are firm and to the point as she clutches her iPad tightly in her hands. Chris nods, acknowledging her as he gestures for the rest of the room to exit.
“Close the door on the way out,” he says, but his eyes are only focused on me. Signaling that my time in his office has run out. The suit was delivered. He’s now occupied with whatever this was for.
My smile is still slightly there, hanging with the micro satisfaction that today felt like a win. I got the suit.
When I get back to my desk, I resume the rest of my day. Returning to the notifications on my desktop.
Lena: Who even needs a water sommelier?
Charlotte: Who asked that?
Lena: One of Jason’s clients…
Everyone was so stuck up about their water preferences in this town.
Lena: I even know the PH difference between tap, Aquafina and Dasani…
My fingers reach for my keyboard, ready to respond, but a dark shadow blocks my view.
“Charlotte, grab your notepad.”
My whole body jumps at the sound of the bass of Chris’s booming voice, demanding me to follow.
Is this his way of saying thank you for the suit? Without a second to resist, I scramble all my things in my hands and follow him into the boardroom. Standing in my designated corner, without a chair.
Everyone slowly trickles into the largest boardroom in our office, the most important people at the foot of the table, waiting for this meeting to start. A draft sweeps through the crowd, forcing me to grit my teeth.
The chair at the head of the table swivels around as everyone gets quieter in anticipation. When the chair fully turns, I lock in on him. Holden Strauss is sitting pretty at the very end of the row of people.
A shouting match begins, with every suit calling out ideas. This is a “think tank,” as Chris has coined. Holden slowly sinks in his chair with each passing moment.
I should take the time to learn my coworker’s names, but they never tried to learn mine, so in my mind everyone is called “suit.”
“He is a leading man. We need to position him as a love interest.”
“How about a reality show?”
“I know a luxury watch brand that would totally pivot his image.”
“He needs to be on TikTok. Introduce him to a younger generation.”
Each suggestion is more ridiculous than the last. When the meeting becomes stale, Chris graces us with the finale, aka whipping his dick around to show everyone who’s boss.
“All press is a good thing. We are just trying to spin this to make you America’s sweetheart again. Besides, your career can only go up from here—you dug yourself into quite a hole with that video.”
Holden remains silent. His aloof expression is now focused in my direction. I refocus my eyes back toward Chris, feeling his eyes on me without saying a word.
Somehow, everyone has caught on to his stare because I’m the object of everyone’s fascination now.
“What about a heart-stretching tell-all book to depict his troubled past and his parents influence to explain his recent poor behavior?” a suit blurts out, directing his suggestion to Chris and avoiding Holden’s gaze.
This sparks a knee-jerk reaction of rolling my eyes. The last hour in this room has been hopeless. I am not even sure what notes to take on this. Without a doubt, I can assure you that Holden Strauss will not sign with us after today.
“I think we have all come up with some great ideas. What do you think?”