Chapter 7. Brynn
brYNN
I shift around, sitting on my clammy hands at my printer desk, my knees locked and feet lifted like the wood floor is lava. Rows of tables, four workstations across, lie empty. Their computers hum with large monitors scrolling the agency’s logo.
That last coffee sent my bladder over the edge. It’s got to be close to thirty minutes since Micah left me here, though, and I don’t see a restroom sign anywhere. I can’t miss my first team meeting.
At last, Micah motions for me to join him in one of the glass-walled conference rooms, where a glossy gathering of twenty- somethings has assembled.
My stomach sinks.
“Everyone, meet Brynn Gallardo.”
My team, I presume.
“Meredith, senior account supervisor.” Micah’s up-facing palm slices the air toward each of them.
“Josie, art director, Priya, media, Lucius, design, and Donovan, senior copywriter. Scott McKenzie, one of the partners and the agency’s creative director, arrives back from our San Diego office later today. ”
Their eyes fasten on my face.
I’ve clearly walked onto the set of Gossip Girl. Each member of this team gives off an I’m-not-trying-to-be-chic-because-I-already-am air sitting behind their designer coffees and shiny electronic devices. Compared to them, I look like a kid playing dress-up.
Micah takes a seat at the other end of the oblong white table and opens a notebook.
I lower myself into the nearest vacant chair across from Meredith, whose long auburn hair flows in soft waves around her freckled white shoulders. Her tortoise Warby Parker–esque glasses, with their oversize frames, give her that nerdy-pretty vibe. I bet they’re just for show.
Micah’s eyes stop on mine then peel away. “Brynn will be assisting Meredith over the next two weeks while we prepare some new client pitches.”
Meredith’s head bounces up from her rose gold laptop. Her eyes expand, lips pursed. “Would have been nice, Micah, if you’d told me this was happening and given me a chance to interview a few candidates.”
“Surprise.” His tone comes off matter-of-fact. “Brynn appeared today and though we’ve filled our summer intern slots, I thought you could use the help. Consider it a gift. Use it wisely.”
It? What a dick.
Meredith rolls her eyes and turns to me.
Her mouth moves but I miss what she says, too overwhelmed to pay attention.
“Where . . . are . . . you . . . from?” As if I don’t speak English.
Everyone stares.
My cheeks burn. “Heeere . . .”
Snickers spread around me.
I tug on the hem of my skirt.
“Where do you go to school?”
“Um.” I clear my throat. “I graduated from LaGuardia.”
“High school? What the hell, Micah.” She sniffs.
His head stays buried in his writing.
Meredith sighs like a prom princess. Her shoulders slump as if I’m adding to her workload. “I have you for two weeks, and then what, you’re off to college with a stop in Europe first—Lynn, was it?”
“Brynn. With a B.” For bitch, Bitch. I squint hard at this girl for being nosy. I don’t share that I bought my MetroCard with loose change this morning. Forget college, let alone travel outside the Tri-State area. I’m stuck here. And, Miss Nerdy Pretty, my personal life doesn’t concern you.
Except. I do need her to like me.
I soften my stink-eye into a smile.
She arches her brow.
Micah closes his notebook and rests an elbow on the back of his chair, his other arm on the table. “What do we have this week, Meredith?”
She adjusts her glasses and peers at her screen. “Quotagian Inc. launches its new dating app this year, aimed at twenty- and thirty-year-old fans of historical romance—e.g., Shakespeare, Austen, Bronte, James, Hemingway, etc.”
She reads her notes like they’re a soliloquy from Macbeth. Her delivery reminds me of the theater kids at my high school, including her distracting facial expressions.
Cody’s impersonation, one of many private jokes we shared, floats into my head. My throat squeezes.
“It generates love letters for unattached literary romancers wanting to find like-minded classic prose enthusiasts and poets for a possible rendezvous. They call the app Couplet Couplings.”
Told you—Macbeth.
The team groans.
“No, not really. I made that part up.” She grins.
“Nerds.” Donovan makes eye contact like he and I rank above them.
“How does it work?” Priya, wearing a baby pink, puffy short-sleeve top and the only other Brown girl besides me, raises a tentative finger.
“Do people use inspirational quotes or lines from their favorite authors in place of their bios, like, ‘Austen girl seeking Dickens boy’?” Her large doe eyes flicker underneath a silky fringe of bangs, her wide smile dazzling.
I suck in my lips, concealing my Scooby-Doo canines.
“Dickens? Speaking in code or you looking for action, Priya?” Donovan cracks a lopsided grin and high-fives Lucius, another male model type.
This place boasts more runway castoffs than reality TV.
Priya’s face reddens; her scowl is almost as pretty as her smile.
“Sort of.” Meredith looks at Priya. “‘Within our cold texting world lies a desire to bring back the art of love letter writing to woo your next true match,’ says here.” She makes a small popping sound with her lips.
“People can swipe on your profile and contact you through a digital love letter created by the app. Users fill out a questionnaire about themselves and the kind of person they’re looking for.
They’re encouraged to be as detailed and honest as possible, and PG in their execution. ”
Donovan murmurs something under his breath.
Lucius’s jaw drops, eyes pop wide.
The two of them suppress a laugh as their shoulders shake.
Micah’s eyes narrow. “Mature, Donovan.”
Donovan lowers his face into his iPad.
I peek over at Micah without turning my head, taking him in fully for the first time.
The guy’s striking when he’s not acting all jumpy, with his inquisitive khaki-brown eyes and that messy, dark, Ivy League hair.
He exudes an artsy vibe—which I used to fall for—with an edge. His skinny tie is growing on me.
He catches me staring.
I look away.
“What do they need from us?” Josie sighs, acting unfazed by this group. In fact, she looks positively comfortable in her long-sleeve graphic tee and jeans. Wish I could switch clothes with her. Not sure my suit would go with those facial piercings and edgy haircut, though.
Meredith slides her pink-manicured fingers over her touchpad. “They need help with brand positioning, logo ideas, tagline, website, and a social media campaign to start. I’ll send you guys my notes and a preliminary wireframe of the app. We’re competing with Day & Foster.”
“Of course, they do all the big dating apps.” Micah sighs.
Lucius crosses his arms over his pecs, pushing up his vein-popping biceps under his white polo. “I think this app needs some hot celebrity from one of those period films. How about the actress who came in last time?”
I’m not sure who this one’s trying to impress. Maybe himself. I can’t place his accent. He sure works hard to keep up with Donovan.
Lucius shifts his unreturned grin to the other faces around the table. Our eyes meet, and his lips bend even farther up. He likes attention. With his caterpillar eyebrows and light beard scruff, he reminds me of Zayn from One Direction. Another of my middle school crushes.
“I got this.” Donovan arches his back and stretches overhead.
Micah turns to him. “Decide how you’re going to split it up with Meredith and Brynn. The three of you should brainstorm together.”
Oh no.
“Sure.” Donovan’s upbeat tone sounds forced. “Three minds work better than one.” He throws me a blank stare.
I roll my fingers into fists under the table.
No one says anything for several seconds.
“What about bookstores and poetry slams?” I wince.
All eyes cut to me.
I should explain that I once helped my parents organize an open mic night at their club for new artists and got the actress/rapper Awkwafina, a LaGuardia HS alum, to host. And how I used to help them brainstorm on promotional ideas to attract new audiences and bands through TikTok and other social media.
But the lump mounting in my throat stops me.
The team waits, unrelenting.
“I-I mean, maybe we focus on the right media platforms where people with similar interests discuss using the app and what they like about it.” Like what influencers do, I guess? I don’t even know what I’m saying.
Donovan side-eyes Lucius.
“You mean publicity?” Meredith blinks.
“We create marketing campaigns. We don’t do publicity. Do you even know the difference?” Donovan whistles through his teeth.
Ouch. “O-of course.” I haven’t a clue. Aren’t they sort of the same? “I can write a press release.” With Google’s help, of course.
No one responds.
My face grows hot. I need to shut up.
Meredith clears her throat and turns back to the group. “I’ve asked them to send over research from test groups to give us some parameters. Lucius, that reminds me. See if you can get that same photographer, the one with the reasonable fees.”
“Yeah, make sure he shoots some fine-looking ladies.” Donovan snickers.
“Inspire, not intimidate,” I blurt, my voice low. Why am I still talking?
“What was that?” Micah’s khaki-brown eyes throw me off.
Focus, Brynn.
“Um, I think we should inspire people to have fun with the app, not intimidate them.”
Donovan pulls a face. “Wrong. A dating app is only good if hot people use it. Otherwise, why bother? Look at Hinge or Tinder. Hell, maybe you already have a profile.”
Meredith’s brows lower over her eyes. “She’s a bit young.”
I grip the seat of my chair. Dating apps? High school was a free-for-all when it came to hookups. I never heard of anyone using one. I couldn’t tell you what went down senior year anyway. I’m shutting up for real this time.
“Let’s meet again and see what you guys come up with.” Micah rises. His eyes drop on me, then pull away.
Meredith closes her laptop and stands. “I agree, L—Brynn, was it? I think those flawless models are intimidating.”
“Maybe you should hit the gym, then.” Donovan wheels back his chair as if to block her passage.
Meredith’s eyes become slits, but she just sidesteps him and strides away.
How does he get away with these comments? This place is so high school.
The IT guy delivers a silver MacBook Air to my desk and mumbles something about creating a passcode. He rushes off before I have a chance to ask his name or for a tutorial.
I open it and three default avatars with a gray floating head appear across the middle, one labeled Maia, another Celeste. I tap on Brynn and a chat window pops up from Meredith to me and Donovan: New client samples arrived.
I retrace my steps through the metal screens and find the lobby.
Eunice, seated at her curved desk, looks up from her monitor. Her dark, overplucked eyebrows wiggle together in the center of her forehead. She clutches her phone tighter to her ear.
I hold my elbows behind my back and wait.
Her eyes grow icy.
I gaze at the white exposed ceiling in the center of the lobby.
A cluster of vintage lightbulbs dangle from black cords wrapped around pipes.
Two camel-colored tufted leather benches fill the corner of the sitting area, a royal blue cylinder table between them.
An abstract painting of a rocket blasting off hangs behind Eunice’s head.
Its conehead and fiery dog bone shaped base give me pause.
Eunice ends her call.
I press on a smile. “I’m looking for some customer samples that got delivered?”
“Receiving.”
My feet don’t move.
She points her boney elbow back toward the metal room dividers I just came through, then reaches for a flowered Kate Spade lunch tote. Her narrow shoulders twitch as she unzips it and pulls out a bowl full of what looks like bean sprouts, bok choy, and jalapenos over rice noodles.
The aroma of the medley of spices reaches my nose and hunger pangs stab my stomach, despite the peanut-butter bagel I consumed a mere hour ago.
The agency reminds me of a modern factory with its tall, black-paned windows, open layout with rows of workstations, primary-colored upholstered seating areas, and quirky meeting nooks.
My head whips back to a mural of graffiti pop art that connects a couple of unisex restrooms. Aha!
Coming out of the bathroom, I continue my hunt for the samples. I pass the same floating staircase twice. Finally, out of desperation, I approach a skinny White girl with blue spiky hair, her makeshift desk similar to mine. Her 1960s-inspired dress looks like it was lifted from the set of Mad Men.
She perks up when she sees me.
I offer her a tentative smile. “Um, which way is Receiving?”
“Head left and down the long hallway.” She tilts her head, examining my flower.
I cross my hand over my chest, covering the crushed bloom. “Um . . . are you new as well?”
“Been here about a month. I work on Benji’s team. I’m Zoe.”
“Brynn.” Her long limp fingers are like cold asparagus in my hand as we shake. “Thanks,” I say, already backing away. “Appreciate the help!”
Without waiting for a response, I speed walk down the hall and through a double set of doors. I find Meredith just inside, standing by a tower of pink boxes.
“Is Donovan coming?” I spy the wall of packing supplies next to her.
“He didn’t think he needed to be here.” She gives me a side-eye and hands me a box cutter.
I slice open a box stamped with a scroll monogram: BPC. I stop short from asking what’s inside.
“New client pitch—Bradley Products Complete. Scott McKenzie brought them in.”
Inside lies rows of baby-size dumbbells no bigger than my hand.
“They’re pink.” I hold one up. “I can curl it with my pinky.”
She puckers her lips, thinking. “Open all the boxes for other sizes and colors.”
“Purple, green, orange . . . are they marketing them to kids? What makes them complete?”
She considers me for a moment. “You ask a lot of questions. That’s good.”
“What did they tell you about the product?” I smile, feeding off her praise.
“I haven’t met the client yet. Scott forwarded me a photo. He said they are trying something new aimed at sixteen-to twenty-five-year-olds.”
“They weigh nothing.”
She pushes the bridge of her glasses. “High reps, I guess.”
“You’re not going to get strong lifting one of these.” I twirl it between my fingers. “Maybe they’re part of a weight vest, like the ones runners wear in Central Park.”
“Hmm, I like that idea.”
I play with it some more. “Look, this end unscrews. Weird.”
She purses her lips again. “Maybe you fill them with water or sand?”
I twist the bottom and a waxy, hot pink tip emerges. “Nope, it’s a lipstick.” I grin.
“Come.” She claps her hands together. “We have a call to make.”