“Excuse me?” I asked. I needed him to repeat what he’d said just to make certain I’d heard him right.
His handsome face relaxed and he smiled his big wide welcoming grin, but this time I noticed it wasn’t reflected in his eyes. “Because you’ll obviously be getting promoted, Ms. Big Shot. Everyone here knows you’re on the fast track to partnering with Sophie and Miguel. That’s why they brought you in, right?”
This was news to me. Is that what everyone thought? “I—”
“Trent, have you met Annabelle yet?” Carson cut me off and called to another man, who had just entered the room.
This abrupt shift in direction gave me whiplash, but the one thing I did recall very well was the feeling in my gut when he’d said my office should have been his. That hadn’t been the friendly comment he’d tried to twist it into. No, this guy was pissed, and I was his target, so now I was on my guard.
“Nice to meet you, Annabelle.” Trent extended his hand. “Trent Brockton. I’m the guy you want to see to get your paycheck.”
“So you’re the one I bring the Friday doughnuts to,” I said.
“Yeah, I’m that guy. And just for the record, the jellies are my favorites.” He patted his belly and pushed his glasses up on his nose. His smile was the real deal. He was older, in his fifties, with a buzz cut and square glasses, making him look like a scientist from the atomic age. He was wearing a plaid shirt and khakis with a loosely knotted tie and comfortable shoes, which only added to the look. I liked him immediately.
Carson walked away, and I felt my tension ease as he went. He took a seat at the large table, leaving it to Trent to introduce me to the rest of the staff. Okay, then. Ultimately, it was better this way but it felt like a slight, and I didn’t for one second buy his bologna about me being promoted. What I had on my hands, I was quite certain, was a man with some entitlement issues and bullying tendencies who reported directly to me. Oh goody.
Meeting the rest of the staff was a blur of handshakes and good wishes. I didn’t get any weird vibes from anyone else, so that was reassuring. But I did catch myself giving Carson a cursory glance every now and again.
The meeting was primarily so that everyone could meet me, plus there was cake. One of those luscious white chocolate raspberry Bundt cakes with the cream cheese frosting piped in thick stripes from the center, over the top, and down the sides. Delicious. Personally, I don’t trust people who don’t like Bundt cake, and I noted that Carson was the only staff member who abstained. Just sayin’.
Back in my office, I sat down with Booker Stevenson, assistant creative director. I was hoping we’d click as he was essentially my right-hand man. Black, tall, lithe, with close-cropped hair, rectangular black-framed glasses, and wearing a tweed sport coat over a white dress shirt and black jeans, Booker had a soothing professorial energy about him that I liked.
“Favorite designer?” he asked by way of greeting.
“ ‘Bridge the gap between seeing and understanding,’ ” I quoted.
“Milton Glaser,” he said. “Nice.”
“And you?” I asked.
“ ‘Beige is the color of indecision,’ ” he replied.
“Paula Scher,” I said. I lifted my fist, and he gave me a knuckle bump. “So you’re a type guy.”
“It’s all about the font.”
“Booker, I think we’re going to get along just fine,” I said.
He grinned at me and we spent an hour chatting about our work histories and the various projects in play at V2 and my vision for the team.
I then set up a schedule to meet each of our designers to find out what they were working on, when it was due, and the current status of the projects. On the one hand, I felt very grown-up and responsible, but on the other, it felt like carpool mom drudgery. I’d run my own business for so long, I wasn’t used to having to direct people. During the two-year stint I’d done before going solo, I’d only been a designer, never a director, art or creative, which suddenly made my acceptance of the creative director position much more daunting, especially with a direct report like Carson cruising around me, undoubtedly watching for me to make a mistake.
“Knock-knock.” Soph’s voice broke through my concentration. I felt as if my eyes were beginning to roll in different directions. “Hey, you, are you ready to grab some lunch?”
I glanced at her over my computer screen. “I don’t know, I’m kind of—”
“There’s an awesome restaurant up on the top floor, and they have an amazing Caesar salad,” she said. “Not to try and influence you or anything, but you’re not used to keeping regular hours and you need to fortify yourself if you’re going to make it to quitting time.”
“Fair point,” I said. I shoved my feet back into my shoes. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. The toes pinched and my heels were scraped raw. Tomorrow I was wearing ballet flats or sneakers and I didn’t care how it looked.
We walked together to the elevator. I scanned the office as we went, checking out the graphic designers and copy editors I’d be working with, which still felt weird. I’d gone over the accounts currently in progress, looked at the creative briefs, and I had questions. One of the main roles of the creative director was to question everything. I was skilled at questioning my own work because I rarely took offense at myself, but this was going to be a stretch for me, asking other designers to answer how their design met the goals of the client.
I already had a few ideas to tweak the logos and ads they were working on to make sure the deliverables were what the client was asking for, but I had to figure out how to do that without appearing as if I was just the new gal determined to get my sticky fingers on things. I was new but I wasn’t interested in laying claim to anything. I genuinely saw some areas for improvement, but my delivery had to be executed flawlessly. My job was to mentor and motivate. I planned to grill Sophie over our salads about how best to approach my team. I also wanted to get a sense of Carson’s role at Vasquez Squared.
My inner alarm had not stopped clanging after I watched him work the room at the staff meeting. He seemed to have an excellent rapport with everyone so why had he been so off-putting with me? Was it me? Was I being oversensitive? Was I just insecure because I’d never been in a supervisory position before? Maybe he really was the cool guy he seemed to be. My gut was shaking that off hard. No, there was something not quite right about Carson West, and I wanted to know what it was.
The restaurant offered casual cafeteria-style dining, but I had to admit the chicken Caesar salad was amazing. Also, there was a patio for outside dining. Soph carried her tray and led the way. We found a table in the sun, which felt heavenly, while the cool breeze kept it from being too hot. I took a moment to enjoy the view of Camelback Mountain, and the potted bougainvillea plants with their magenta blooms, which decorated the terrace.