3. Sofia
Sofia
The rest of my morning was a blur of absolute, unadulterated mortification. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back in that steel death trap, flying through the air like a WWE wrestler and planting my face directly into the sandalwood-scented collarbone of my new temporary boss.
Rick Mylonas. The name itself sounded like old money and impeccably tailored suits. Not Rick, the nice guy client who I should aggressively tackle to save his life.
I should have known he was a Mylonas the second I’d locked eyes with those blue ones of his. Jax also had his father’s eyes.
To make matters worse, Leonard—the senior account manager who treated micromanagement like an Olympic sport—spent the next three hours hovering over my cubicle like a persistent housefly.
“Sofia, did you change those margins on the bakery’s spreadsheet?” Leonard asked, his nasal voice cutting through the hum of the office for the fourth time in an hour. “You know I like a half-inch border. And the fonts need to be uniform.”
“Yes, I used the exact template you gave me,” I said, forcing a tight, professional smile while my soul quietly exited my body. “It’s all in the folder in the shared drive.”
“Good. Because with the big boss stepping down, we can’t afford any slip-ups. I’ll need to review your digital strategy mock-ups for the hardware store by two o’clock as well.”
With Leonard, every job was organized in his mind by the type of business—the bakery, the hardware store, the baby clothing shop. Not once since I’d been there had he called a client by its business name.
The bakery was Blueberry Bakery, a place I frequented often since it was two blocks away.
The hardware store was Miller’s Hardware.
Everyone in Golden knew of the place and had been there for one thing or another.
I had pretty much done one-hundred-percent of the jobs for both clients thus far.
Yet Leonard had taken the credit for everything.
I resisted the urge to bang my forehead against my keyboard.
Leonard didn’t actually do any of the strategy work; he just liked to look at it, change a comma or a color hex code, and then pass it along to James as his own.
And today, of all days, I didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to handle his power trips.
At noon, an email notification popped up on my screen, and my stomach did a violent downward jolt that rivaled the elevator’s third-floor drop.
From: Elizabeth Barrett on Behalf of Rick Mylonas
Subject: Briefing: Clear Creek Brewery & Current Accounts
Time: 4:30 p.m.
The last meeting of the day. He’d intentionally scheduled me at the very end, probably so HR would have fewer witnesses when he officially handed me my pink slip.
“What’s up?” Nova’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.
I glanced up at her and she frowned.
“You look as if you need to breathe before you pass out.” She slid into my cubicle, leaning against the partition with her purse slung over her shoulder. “Lunch. Now. Before Leonard finds another font to complain about.”
Ten minutes later, we were sitting outside at a small metal table in front of the sandwich shop a few doors down from the office.
Spring in Golden was an absolute dream, the kind of weather that made you want to abandon your responsibilities entirely, run barefoot through some grass, and count the clouds that floated overhead.
The Colorado sun was brilliant and intense, warming my skin, while the crisp, cool mountain air swept down from the Rockies to keep it from feeling too hot.
A block away, I could hear the rushing, churning sound of Clear Creek, which was swollen with melted snow.
It was incredibly peaceful—or it would have been, if I wasn’t waiting for the executioner’s axe to fall at 4:30.
“So,” Nova said, taking a sip of her iced chai. “I had my fifteen-minute briefing with the new dictator this morning.” She growled and wiggled her eyebrows.
I perked up, leaning across the table. “And? Is he a tyrant? Did he ask if anyone on staff has a history of unprovoked physical violence?”
Nova laughed, shaking her head. “No, actually. He’s sharp.
Thorough, too. He and Jax are so much alike.
He went through my current roster, asked a few pointed questions about the retail metrics, and told me he’s keeping me as the lead on my smaller accounts.
He didn’t micromanage. He just wanted to know the bottom line.
” She paused, eyeing me with a smirk. “Though, I did notice his suit jacket was remarkably wrinkled for a man who looks like he stepped out of a GQ catalog,” she teased.
The moment I’d rushed into my cubicle, I’d hastily explained what had happened in the elevator, though I hadn’t known who he was at that time.
I groaned, burying my face in my hands.
“I can’t believe I slapped his hand away, and I tackled him. I was literally lying on top of him at one point.” I buried my face in my hands.
“Trust me, I don’t think he minded,” she joked.
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, he didn’t fire you on the spot,” she pointed out. “And I saw the way he looked at you in the meeting.”
“Hasn’t fired me yet,” I corrected.
“It was an accident.” She waved her hand and took another bite of her turkey sandwich.
“I was trying to save us from getting stuck,” I whispered frantically, trying to justify it in my mind. “And now he has me scheduled for the very last meeting of the day. I’m doomed. Just when I thought I could start looking for an apartment with a stove that isn’t touching my mattress.”
“Hey, if he was going to fire you, he would have done it this morning,” Nova reasoned, squeezing my arm. “Just go in there, be the brilliant marketing strategist you are, and blame the infrastructure, like everyone else does when they’re late. Everyone knows that elevator is a hazard.”
Her pep talk helped, but the second we stepped back onto the fourth floor of Gold Standard Media, the fragile peace shattered.
“Sofia!” Leonard’s voice boomed across the creative floor before the elevator doors had even fully closed behind us.
He marched down the hallway, his face flushed with an ugly, impatient red.
“Where have you been? I’ve been looking at the hardware store files, and the digital ad copy hasn’t been finalized! ”
Several heads popped up from their cubicles to watch the drama unfold. My cheeks burned.
“I checked those files in before I went to lunch,” I said, keeping my voice low and even. “The copy is completely done. I finished the split-testing variations, the SEO keyword integration, and the graphic alt-text last night. They are all up on the drive.”
“Well, they aren’t now,” he snapped, crossing his arms aggressively. “I am the lead on this account, Sofia, and your delay is making us both look bad on the new CEO’s first day! I want it completely redone by four o’clock, or I’m writing you up!”
He turned on his heel and stormed back to his office, leaving me standing in the aisle.
I took a deep, shaky breath, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. I had done all the work. I knew it. Every single bit of it had been put up on the drive before Nova had stepped into my cubicle.
However, when I sat down and logged in, there was no sign of them, either up on the shared corporate drive or in my own desktop folders.
The entire project was empty. And now, between Leonard trying to scapegoat me and Rick Mylonas waiting for me at 4:30, it was officially the unluckiest Monday of my entire life.
I spent the next three hours furiously redoing work that I’d spent almost a full week of overtime doing.
By the time 4:25 p.m. rolled around, I had re-exported every single graphic variation, tweaked a dozen flawless copy lines to appease Leonard’s fragile ego, and checked the hardware store files back into the server.
I didn’t even care that he was taking credit for it anymore. I just needed to survive the next thirty minutes.
I smoothed down the front of my blazer for the hundredth time that day, grabbed my folders, and walked down the executive hallway. When I reached the corner office, Elizabeth gave me a sympathetic look. “Go right in, Sofia. He’s waiting for you.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, turned the handle, and stepped inside.
The heavy oak door clicked shut behind me, sealing me inside the spacious office.
Rick was sitting behind his father’s massive mahogany desk.
He looked up, his striking blue eyes locking onto me, and the air immediately left my lungs.
He’d ditched the wrinkled suit jacket from this morning and rolled the sleeves of his white dress shirt up his forearms. He looked entirely too comfortable for a man holding my professional fate in his hands.
“Take a seat, Sofia,” he said, gesturing to one of the leather armchairs facing the desk.
I nervously sat across from him, resting my folder on my lap and folding my hands tightly over it. I stopped myself from bouncing my leg nervously and waited for him to speak, the silence stretching between us for a long, agonizing beat.
Mentally, my mind flashed back to a little over a year ago.
James Mylonas had interviewed me for this very full-time position in this exact office.
I remembered staring at the view of Table Mountain through the large windows, my hands shaking as I tried to convince James that a college dropout with a passion for design and words was worth taking a chance on full time.
I was probably just as nervous right now as I had been back then.
Only this time, I had a wrestling match on my resume.
Rick leaned back in the leather executive chair, tapping a pen against his palm. “You spell your name S-O-F-I-A? That’s an unusual way.”
“It was my nona’s name,” I answered, and held my breath.
He nodded slightly. “So, Sofia. Tell me exactly what it is you do here.”
The dam broke. The nervous energy inside me took over, and I started to ramble, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a breathless rush.
“Well, officially I’m a junior associate, but realistically I do a bit of everything because our team is tight.
I handle web design and coding for the client’s landing pages, plus all the custom graphics for the digital ads.
I write most of the marketing text for the accounts that I work on—SEO optimization, variations for split-testing, email newsletters—and I build out the entire monthly deployment schedules for the retail clients I’m assigned to.
When we do physical media, I design the billboards.
I’ve even coordinated the local television commercials, which means I handle hiring the local SAG actors, scouting locations, getting the permits from the city, and directing the shots for the ads.
Literally every detail from inception to launch. ”
I finally stopped to inhale, my chest heaving as I realized I’d just dumped my entire daily existence onto him in under sixty seconds.
Rick didn’t look angry. In fact, he looked intrigued. He shifted in his chair, let out a quiet sigh, and reached for a color-printed document resting on the side of his desk.
He held up the marketing ad for Blueberry Bakery.
The design was clean and vibrant, and featured a beautifully laid out graphic of a morning pastry with perfect typography.
Clear Creek was in the background, the sun hitting the water, making it almost glow.
I knew the exact spot, knew the taste of the pastry, since I had taken the photo myself to save a little money for Bethany, the owner of the bakery.
She was a family friend and often gave me free coffee when I had time to stop by in the morning before work.
“Was this your work?” Rick asked, his eyes fixed on mine.
I nodded slowly, my heart dropping straight into my stomach. I worried suddenly that he hated it. Was this the final nail in my coffin?
“Yes,” I murmured, bracing myself. “I handled the bakery’s branding refresh last month. I’m still working on their website, between my other obligations.”
Rick shifted again, setting the printout back onto the desk. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the mahogany surface, his expression turning serious.
“Leonard was in here an hour ago,” he started, his voice dropping into a calm, measured tone.
“He claimed this campaign was entirely his doing. He said you were just support on it. He told me that he handles the list of things you just rattled off without even batting an eye. Yet, oddly, he couldn’t list one thing besides claiming he did it all. ”
I froze, the familiar sting of frustration flaring up in my chest, mixed with the absolute terror of contradicting a senior manager to the temporary CEO. I opened my mouth to apologize, to offer to let Leonard take the win if it kept the peace, but he cut me off.
“But here’s the thing, Sofia,” Rick continued, a faint, knowing glimmer returning to his blue eyes.
“I saw the hand-drawn concept sketches that fell out of your bag when you tackled me in the elevator this morning. The layout, the lettering, the specific color palette—it matches this bakery ad perfectly. Along with the hardware store.” He held up the ads for Miller’s that I had done last week.
“The ones for…”—he glanced at the next ad—“Adam’s furniture.
What I saw matched all the files Leonard just tried to pass off as his own.
So, I did some calling around after Leonard left my office. ”
He leaned in a little closer, locking his gaze with mine. It was going to be very difficult to focus with the man around.
“So, I need you to be completely honest with me,” he said softly. “What’s the truth?”