Twenty-Two
Sophie
In the few days since the scandal snaked its way to front pages, whispers invaded Covey, hounding Sophie at every turn.
In the breakroom, people spoke in muted tones around her. They danced on their toes, but the murmurs found their mark each time.
What she and James did fell outside the realm of professional, but the constant reminders hurt. Especially the accusations of not being good enough at her job by people who knew the opposite to be true.
At least Nico was on her side.
He’d gloated, of course, and had his “I was right” moment. But he soon sobered and was quick to snap at anyone who looked at Sophie too long.
It was only right for Sophie to speak to Marilyn about stepping down as account director, given that Sophie hadn’t secured the job through her own efforts. But she hadn’t yet, and if she was honest, it was because she was scared.
If she lost her job due to this scandal, she’d be blacklisted from every PR firm in the area. On top of her reputation, she’d lose her paycheck and the years she spent turning the city from a house to a home. Worst of all, she’d lose her mother’s pride.
But … days had passed, and Marilyn hadn’t sought her out either. Hell, the only time she mentioned the scandal was when Sophie asked to be taken off Lotus’s case. But other than that, it was business as usual.
Whether that was for the best or worst, Sophie had yet to decide. But until Marilyn came to a conclusion, what choice did Sophie have but to give it her all?
She sighed, settling into her office chair and glancing at her phone.
James had tried to call her back twice, and she declined the calls each time. Honestly, she shouldn’t have called in the first place, but once she overheard George and Amelia in the breakroom …
“Well, it is some weird way of showing that he likes her, I guess. Do you think she knew?”
“Of course, she knew. Why else would she date him when he’s such a big client for us?”
“Yeah, you’re right. I knew she wasn’t as good as everyone claimed. Wow, Marilyn really fucked up promoting her, huh?”
Sophie gritted her teeth and rested her head in her hands.
A text from James rolled in on her phone screen in her peripheral vision, and against her better judgment, she opened it.
I’m sorry. Please call back?
She shut her eyes and clicked her phone off.
I’m sorry. She opened her eyes. I really did try to let you in.
But just like every other time she thought it would be fine, it came back to haunt her.
I guess it is better to deal with things on my own.
It was always worse for the woman than the man in a situation like this, and conveniently, he was out of the country.
If she didn’t know him better, she’d have accused him of doing it on purpose.
But what if he is doing it on purpose? Remember what Chloe said about the lengths the rich are willing to go to.
But that was the thing. In the days since the news broke and in his frantic apologies, Sophie found no evidence that James harbored any intention to throw her to the wolves.
It doesn’t matter.
She sighed again before opening her email and clicked on the first one in her inbox, going through it on autopilot.
Then she repeated the process again and again until it was time for her to leave.
Before she signed out of her computer, she ensured that she had fully booked herself in meetings for the entirety of the next day.
If she just kept herself busy, maybe she could reverse the rumors.
Maybe then people would see that she was working for her accomplishments.
She tossed on her coat and collected her bag. Tucking her chin, she read a file as she walked.
As she passed Marilyn’s office, the other woman called out to her. “Sophie, can you come in here, please?”
Oh, God. Here it was—the inevitable conversation.
She took a deep breath, counted to three, then backtracked. Poking her head in, she pasted a smile onto her face before stepping fully into the office. “Yes?”
Marilyn motioned for her to sit as she leaned against the desk.
“I wanted to talk about this since Monday, but I just haven’t found the time,” she started. An apologetic look crossed her expression. “I know you’ve been going through a tough time at the office, and I’m sorry about that.”
Sophie crossed her legs and smiled wanly. “That’s … one way to put it. But really, I’m the one who should be sorry.”
Marilyn frowned. “What do you mean?”
Sophie looked past Marilyn’s shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Marilyn, I was the one who made Covey look bad. So I understand why you’re doing this.” Her following words latched onto her throat like burrs, but she forced them out. “I’ll have my office cleaned out by the morning.”
Her stomach twisted into knots and pinched her skirt, rubbing the fabric so hard, she was convinced she’d dig a hole.
It’s fine. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. I’ll just find a new job not in Manhattan. There’ll be less growth opportunities and job outlook, and oh yeah, I’ll lose the past five years of hard work, but I—
Marilyn held up a hand. “Sophie, I’m not firing you.”
Sophie’s spiral screeched to a halt. “You’re not? Why?”
Marilyn snorted. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not happy with you or James. However, you’re doing a remarkable job handling this problem while still working on your campaigns and excelling at them. I’d be an idiot to fire you.”
Sophie’s heart slammed against her ribcage. Was Marilyn being serious? “But I’m bringing the company bad—”
“Sophie,” Marilyn interrupted. “Remember that no PR is bad PR. This situation is less than ideal, but it puts our boutique company out there. Rather than losing business, our waiting list is months long.”
“But they’re all looking to get you on their campaign, right?” Sophie asked. Her lips pressed thin and she gripped the handles of her chair. And they want nothing to do with me.
“I won't lie to you and say no,” Marilyn acquiesced. She brushed a curl of honey-blonde hair from her face. “But the point is, you’re doing well on the campaigns you are working on. So no, I’m not firing you, and instead, I want to talk to you about a joint solution.”
Sophie’s eyes widened as the gears in her mind chugged along. “What are you suggesting?”
Relief shuffled through her veins, melting her into the chair. But her palms still sweated up a storm.
Marilyn was proposing a solution, not firing her, like she suspected. Unless Marilyn’s solution was to fire her and James—maybe that was what she meant by ‘joint.’
“Articles.” Marilyn shut the door and turned. “What we need is another leak.”
Sophie blinked, her palms going clammy. “Tell me more.”
“Once we’re done here, I’m going to make a call,” Marilyn started.
“As you know, we have connections at several news outlets. So, we simply tell them that you and James attended the gala separately, as nothing more than business partners. You both had a bit too much to drink, and it led to poor decisions.”
She took a seat at her desk, crossed her legs, and continued, “We make it look like you were targeted by the media—which you were. Our connections spread the word to other outlets, and we let it snowball from there.”
Doubt crowded Sophie’s veins, scampering straight toward her mind and bombarding her with worse-case scenarios.
What if this didn’t work? What if this just made everything worse?
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “Do you think that’ll work?”
Marilyn shrugged and laced her fingers together in front of her chin. “You tell me. I made you account director for a reason, didn’t I?”
Sophie took a deep breath and held it before releasing it slowly through her lips. But that reason wasn’t me.
Scrunching her eyes shut, she pushed that aside and focused on the situation at hand.
Even though the circumstances were different, this was precisely what she went through with James’s family. They needed to control the narrative by seizing the reins and never letting go.
It was simple when put like that, and much less nerve-wracking.
Her eyes locked on Marilyn’s in the fluorescent lighting of the office, dark brown clashing with slashing hazel.
“We can make it work,” Sophie replied.
Marilyn’s lips tilted upwards into a smile, and she braced her elbows on her mahogany desk. “That’s what I like to hear.”
Sophie walked into her office, hand closed around her cold cup of coffee. Looking around the cramped space, she closed her eyes and breathed in whatever product the cleaning crew had sprayed the night before.
Eight-forty-five. Fifteen minutes till the article broke.
“Hang on!” The mail courier ran up to her with a package. “Got this for you!”
She frowned, taking the scratchy rectangular box. She hadn’t ordered anything, especially from … Hong Kong.
Wait, is it from…
Taking it to her desk, she opened up the package and froze.
Under the layers of wrapping was a simple, lacquered box. Flowering branches scrolled across the otherwise unmarked surface, carved into the dark wood.
Gingerly, she removed the top to reveal six golden, round mooncakes, nestled in swaths of deep red packaging. Intricate designs shone atop their glossed surfaces, gleaming in invitation.
Her eyes slid to the box they came in and a quick Google search of the return address showed the mooncakes came from an upscale bakery. The chef who made them had three Michelin stars and only made ten sets a year.
There was only one person who would have sent them.
Sure enough, familiar handwriting unraveled over a creamy notecard taped to the cover.
‘Sophie, since the Mid-Autumn Festival is coming up, I thought you’d like these. What you choose to do with them is up to you, just know I’m sorry, 宝贝 bǎobèi. -J’
Jumping at the knock on her door, she dropped the note as her door opened.
Marilyn strode in, checking her iPad. She nodded at the box sitting on the desk. “What’s that?”
Sophie blinked.