“Come on, come on.” Soph grabbed my hand and led me through a glass door that opened into a large meeting room. It was empty at the moment, but the wall boasted a huge smart board, and I surmised this was where the big meetings took place. We passed through another glass door on the opposite side, stepping into a large communal work space.
My artist’s heart did a pitter-pat as I surveyed what could only be described as graphic designer nirvana. There were drafting tables; workstations with iMacs, Macbook Pros, iPads with Apple Pencils; shelves full of paper and art supplies. On a large table, I saw mood boards with color swatches, sketchbooks, Pantone color books, paper samples, and a fat stack of design annuals.
And, oh, my heart. There was artwork on the walls! Great big pieces of hand lettering, and poster designs from famous designers I recognized—Milton Glaser and Seymour Chwast—as well as some fine art prints from Keith Haring and Andy Warhol.
“It’s great, right?” Soph asked.
“So great,” I agreed.
No one was using this communal space at the moment, and we plowed through the room to a row of offices, situated all along the exterior of the floor, giving each one floor-to-ceiling window views. Sophie passed two of them and then paused. She held up her hands like a game show model, and it was then that I realized the frosted glass door had an engraved nameplate. Etched into the brushed copper was Annabelle Martin, Creative Director.
“Oh, wow,” I said. I ran my fingers over the letters. They’d been done in an original font exclusive to Vasquez Squared. Somehow, seeing my name on the door made my being here seem more real. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but I knew how Soph wanted me to feel, and I cried, “This is the best!”
“Isn’t it?” She did jump, just a little one, this time. She reached past me and opened the door, pushing it wide.
I walked in feeling as if I’d crossed over some mythical threshold into adulthood. This was not a space to be inhabited by a woman who wore yoga pants and T-shirts. I felt an itch in the middle of my back and wondered if I was developing a rash. I’m not allergic to full-time work, I swear. I am a little skittish about working for other people, even best friends, however.
“We’ll leave you to get settled,” Miguel said. “Staff meeting in the conference room at ten.”
“I’ll be there,” I promised.
Soph hugged me tightly about the neck. “I’m so glad you’re here. This is going to be fabulous.”
I had no words so I hugged her back and hoped really hard that I did not screw this up. Six months. We’d agreed that I’d try this for six months. Surely I could behave like a proper professional woman for a mere six months.
* * *
After pacing the room to get the feel of the space, while contemplating my new job, I sat down and adjusted my ergonomic chair. Then I began to zip through the programs preloaded on my desktop computer. There were some I had never utilized before, which was both thrilling and terrifying but definitely more thrilling. At ten ten, I glanced up from the Adobe Illustrator program I was using on my sweet new setup with the massive screen. Ten ten! Shit! I was late.
I popped up from my desk, toeing on the shoes I’d kicked off. I fluffed my hair and straightened my clothes as I hurried to the door. I shot out of my office, not bothering to close it, and hustled down the hallway to the meeting room. As I drew closer, I could hear the low rumble of voices and was afraid the meeting had started without me. Damn it.
I tried to slip unnoticed through the door but my skirt pocket got snagged on the door handle and what would have been a quiet entrance became a scuffle of me versus the door. I won but it was dicey for a moment, and when I glanced up from unhooking my pocket from the door handle, the entire room had gone quiet while everyone watched me. So much for going unnoticed.
“Annabelle, you’re here. Fabulous,” Sophie cried.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said. “I lost track of time.”
“No problem,” she said. “Start times are flexible here since everyone is on one deadline or another.”
“Oh, okay.” That was a relief. The one job I’d had at a company after college had been super stressful with late nights, crazy deadlines, and no forgiveness for missed meetings. Frankly, it was one of the reasons I preferred to freelance. My experience with working for others had been demoralizing at best and borderline abusive at worst.
“Is this the new kid?” a voice asked from behind me.
I turned and found myself gazing up at a startlingly handsome man, who looked to be about my age. He had short, light brown hair that was stick straight but side parted to make it more interesting, a wide forehead, sharp cheekbones, caramel-colored eyes, and a square jaw. He wore a pale blue dress shirt and creased gray trousers. He had a congenial air about him that was welcoming, as if he didn’t take life too seriously and was always looking for the laugh.
“Carson West, this is our new creative director, Annabelle Martin,” Sophie introduced us. “Carson is our senior art director.”
We shook hands, and I noticed, before he released my hand, that his grip was firm and warm. I liked that.
“Pleasure to meet you,” I said.
“You must be loving the change of climate,” he said. “Miguel said you hail from Boston?”
“It wasn’t a hardship to pack away the sweaters and coats,” I agreed.
“Carson’s been in Phoenix for—how long now?” Soph asked him.
“Fifteen years. Since my time with Miguel at ASU.” He glanced at me. “We go way back.”
My quick mental math put him at thirty-three-ish. I did a visual scan of his hands and noted there was no wedding ring. I wondered if he was single, oh, not for me. Nope, nope, nope. I wasn’t anywhere near ready for anything like that. I was just trying to placeholder him, you know, guy who could be a friend, potential guy for dating way, way down the road, possible gay best buddy if he swung that way, and so forth. It was the curse of being single, always trying to figure out the potentiality of anyone you happened to meet.
“Soph, can I talk to you for a sec?” Nyah waved to Soph from across the crowded room.
“Sure.” She nodded. “Carson, can you introduce Annabelle around? We’ll try to get started in the next five minutes.”
“Happy to,” Carson said. He smiled as he watched her walk away, but when he turned back to me, his expression was devoid of anything even remotely friendly. Instead, his lip curled up in one corner and his eyes were cold. “Just so we’re clear, in six months, your office becomes mine like it should have been all along.”
5