My brain rattles for something to say, and my gaze darts around the room, hoping for inspiration. Anything will do. My thought waves are like an analog TV without an antenna—static.
Sofiya seems to shake herself from her inner musing, and her eyes focus on me as she steeples her fingers. “Anyway, on to the other reason I called you in here. We’ve just acquired a new account for a start-up company needing pretty much everything. Logo and website to begin with, but they’re also talking about campaign art and layout for a magazine ad.”
“That’s great.”
She levels her gaze at me, and I swallow against the brunt of her full eye contact. “I want you to take the lead on the account.”
“Me?” My voice squeaks. “Are you sure someone else wouldn’t be a better choice?”
“Yes.” She’s firm in her reply. “It’s time to stop hiding in the corner. I know you can do this. Now’s the opportunity to prove it to yourself.”
I don’t want to prove anything. I likemy corner.But I smile tightly and keep those thoughts to myself.
“The CEO will be coming by in three days to go over your preliminary vision board.” She gathers a manila folder and passes it over her desk to me. “Here’s all the information about his company. He said he was open to any of our ideas, so you have full creative rein.”
I open the folder and read the top page. MedHealth Transports. The company offers a range of medical transportation services from picking up and delivering prescriptions to courieringlab specimens and medical equipment. An Uber for all things health related.
“I know you’ll do a great job,” Sofiya says.
I stand, my knees a little wobbly. “I, umm ... I guess I’ll...” I hold up the folder and give it a little wave before I turn and retreat.
Today is turning out to be one burned-out bulb after another on a strand of tangled Christmas lights. If I could throw the whole thing away and buy a new strand, I would. Instead, I’m stuck figuring out how to change these stupid bulbs, or my Christmas—and my life, apparently—is going to be about as bright as Times Square in a blackout.
3
Are you about ready to head home?” Keri has her oversized bag hanging from her shoulder.
“Just one second.” I save my current designs.
I’ve narrowed down my font options for the MedHealth Transports logo to five. My favorite is a simple serif called De Valencia. The lettering is in all caps and has a sleek, modern look with clean lines and easy readability. This font can stand on its own. But clients like options, so I’ve picked out a couple of other serif fonts and a script font in case the client thinks simple and clean is “boring” and wants something fancier. A monospace font rounds out my picks.
Keri leans over so her face is beside mine. She points to the screen. “I like this one.”
It’s a sans serif called Matchbook that features tall, skinny letters. I thought the initials of the company looked good in front of two slightly overlapping diamond outlines. I’ve also brainstormed a car with the medic cross on it as a possible logo. Sometimes the most on-the-nose ideas are the ones the clients like best. No one wants their consumers to be confused on what their brand or products are.
I close out of the program, log out of the system, and shut the computer down for the night. I still have a lot to do before the client meeting in three days, but narrowing down these font choices is a good start.
“I know it’s not really in the same direction, but do you mind if we stop on the way home to see my mom?” Without Keri, I’d be solely reliant on the city’s public transportation to get anywhere. I don’t usually feel bad about hitching a ride since we’re housemates and coworkers, so she’s already heading to and from work, but these extra destinations make me feel like a moocher.
She nods at my forehead. “Stop with the worry eyebrows. You’re not an inconvenience, so stop thinking you are.”
I grab my clutch from beside the keyboard. “I don’t know how you do that. It’s kind of creepy.”
“I’d say it’s my superpower to read minds, but your face just says what your mouth is too reluctant to.”
“Really?” I rub my cheeks and work for a neutral expression. “Okay, what am I thinking now?”
“That you want to trade Secret Santa names with me,” Derek interrupts from his desk space to my left. The long communal desks and open space may create a synergetic work environment, but they don’t allow for private conversations.
Keri smirks and juts her chin at him. “Who’d you get?”
I look between them. “Isn’t the whole point of Secret Santanotto know who the gift giver is?” Besides, I drew Rosa’s name and have already mentally purchased her gift—a Time-Turner necklace like the one Hermione used to take twice the number of classes at Hogwarts. It’s cute, with a miniature spinning sand clock in the middle of a decorative pendant. Rosa’s a huge Harry Potter fan. One time, I caught her whispering “alohomora” while she waited for the elevator. Derek had been standing on her other side and asked her what she’d said. I’d leaned over to Rosa and whispered, “Muggles.”
Derek’s smile is mischievous. “Half the fun is playing detective to figure out who has whose name. Then you can trade for the person you wish you’d gotten.”
Keri laughs. “Let me guess. You wish you’d gotten Annabelle’s name.”
Derek perks up, not unlike a dog who’s just heard the wordwalk. “Are you her Secret Santa? Will you switch with me? I’ll bring you a peppermint mocha every day for a month.”
