I shake my head.
“The two of you, of course,” Garrett points to us in turn, again with heavy hands.
“MeandCharlie?” I ask. “But Charlie is already in a team with Sasha.”
“My work wife,” Charlie says a little smugly and I ignore him.
“Well, it’s not like you have an established team,” Garrett points out and I flinch at the accusation, because it’s true. I’ve managed to avoid becoming one half of a Creative Team since joining HNO seven years ago and I like it that way. It’s a little unorthodox, I accept, but the thought of working with only one copywriter on every single project turns my stomach. That said, I know it’s held me back. I know that if I maybe had a few more team awards under my belt I would be in with a shot of becoming Creative Director, a role that hasn’t yet been filled since last month when the last one left claiming burnout but a week later photos of him surfing in Bali emerged on his Instagram. My brain kicks in as I start to think how I can use this to my advantage.
“But we should have a project lead now so we can really hit the ground running and maximise our time.” I sit forward myself now. “My direct reports should be able to take on a decent chunk of my outstanding work and I can easily clear my schedule for the rest of the week—”
“As can I,” Charlie interjects. “Faith is more than capable of leading my other campaigns for a week, and Hassan is whizzing through both the Cadburys and British Airways copy.”
The way he name-drops his team’s star players prompts another micro-eye roll from me, but not before I go on to do exactly the same thing. “Well, Toby has already delivered Heinz’s proofs and I sent you the concepts Kwazi and Olivia came up with for Interflora, didn’t I?”
“You did,” Garrett drawls with a nod, his eyes half-closed, but I’ll take it. I give Charlie the quickest but most conceited grin.
He reacts by stretching even more towards Garrett. He must have exceptional core muscles to stop him toppling forward. “You know, Garrett, I really think Faith’s ready to take the lead on Cadbury’s. She’s been here as long as I have, which is a fair few years longer than Mina,” he shrugs at me. “I’m sorry, but it's true.”
I narrow my eyes at Charlie. I’m about to open my mouth and tell him that strictly speaking, I am at a higher level than Faith but then a thought crosses my mind. Is he pitching me against Faith, because she’s also a woman of colour? That’s low. And actually, not at all like him. He’s annoying in any number of over-the-top ways – he’s too cheerful and chatty, and his campness knows no bounds – but he’s not a bitch. Until today, apparently.
“Well, I’m sorry I joined the company many years after you and yet you’re still at the same level I am,” I say directly to Charlie and my words twist with sarcasm.
“But with a much bigger team. Anaward-winning team,” he says back quickly and with emphasis.
“We’ve won awards too!” I point out.
“No, Mina,you’vewon awards. Not your team, which I know you can’t always blame on the leader but…” Charlie trails off, his unsaid words as intentional as those he speaks.
I roll my eyes and look away. Whatever it is that’s got his knickers in a twist, and I’m not altogether joking when I refer to Charlie’s underwear as knickers, I have no time for it. Not today. Not after the weekend I’ve just had. A weekend that involved me moving all my stuff out of my ex-girlfriend’s flat into the dingiest bedsit, an overpriced one-room studio flat that was the only thing available at such short notice. Because I couldn’t stay there a day longer with Hannah. Not one more day.
I shake my head a few times to refocus my attention on the conversation, to stake my claim on being the lead. I look at my boss whose eyelids have fallen so low I could question if he’s still conscious. “Status is a modern hotel and events brand. They’re visual. They’re all about aesthetic and design. It makes sense that they have a design lead, Garrett. I speak their language and—”
Garrett holds his hands up in an unusually fast action and that silences me. “Alright, alright, I get what you’re both doing. You’re peacocking. I know you both want the lead on this campaign, and you’re both more than qualified. But frankly, I don’t have time to pick a lead now. Besides, I want to see how well you work on the pitch together.”
“Together?” I repeat.
“Yeah, you’re a Creative Team now,” he says with a yawn.
“But then we’re both taking time away from our existing campaigns and pitches,” Charlie points out with a sunshine smile that doesn’t match what he’s saying or the slightly jittery tone of his voice. “And I’m already in a Creative Team with Sasha.”
“Are you saying I don’t know how to run my own creative department?” Garrett stares at Charlie from under a heavy brow.
A snort of a laugh wants to roll itself up my throat and out of my mouth, but I manage to hold it back. Charlie never pisses people off, even Garrett. That’s typically my job.
“No, Garrett, God no.” Charlie holds his palms up in defeat, that smile only slightly slipping. “Not at all. You’re excellent at what you do.”
I find myself shuffling in my chair and needing to cough rather than say the words that are at the tip of my tongue, because what the fuck,kiss arse.
“Then you’ll crack on then, won’t you? This campaign will be worth a fuck ton of money and some of that will trickle down to you both. So, you can buy some more stripey polo shirts, Charles, and you, Mina, you can go and get the inside of your eyeballs tattooed because it seems you’ve run out of space anywhere else.”
I resist the urge to pull my shoulders in and cross my arms over my chest, to hide my heavily-inked body from his gaze and his words. Once again, it’s a passing comment, an indirect remark that would be hard to explain to HR why it feels so inappropriate, so wrong. Especially because HR at HNO is made up of white twenty-something straight women who rely on Garrett to get their bumps during after-work drinks.
“You can count on us,” Charlie says, his hands clasped together again, but now it looks more like he’s praying than gripping them together in delight.
“Mina?” Garrett says as he stands, putting his tightly denim-clad crotch far too close to my eye level.
“Sure, yeah, whatever,” I mutter, glancing away. I spread my hands flat on the table as if to steady myself, because suddenly the ground doesn’t feel so sturdy. In fact, one of these human migraine attack triggers could be having some success with me as I feel the sudden sting of my nearly ever-present headache sharpen a little above my left eye.
