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I bet Padma could probably do the math on that in her head, or maybe already has, but Jayme shakes her head. “That’s okay. Because those numbers are crazy good!” She points at Padma’s laptop excitedly. “Any brand recognition or impression stats?”
Xavier clears his throat. “I won’t speak to the online portion of that, but I can tell you that I interacted with hundreds of guests on Saturday as I escorted the photographer around. Every single person we talked to was absolutely thrilled to be at Americana Land and called the festival some version of brilliant.” He throws his hands wide to encompass all the positive feedback he heard. “If each of those people posted one thing about the festival, the reach and impact for our reputation will be exponential.”
“We did it,” Jayme says quietly. Looking around the table, she meets everyone’s eyes. Just her glance feels like praise and approval when she repeats, “We did it!”
She punches the air over her head, doing a weird shimmy shake of excitement that’s accented with a few whispered yes, yes, yeses. Then our eyes lock, and I want to cross the room to hug her. I want to kiss her. I want to tell her thank you by writing the Declaration of Independence on her clit with my tongue, curlicued cursive and all.
But what I say is, “Thank you so much, Jayme. You rescued not just me, but Americana Land with this idea.”
I hope she hears the truth, that she’s done much more than help restore my reputation after the unfortunate Abby Burks incident. She’s made me see myself in new ways, shown me a clearer vision of Dad as a human being, and given me hope for a future that includes her in it.
She clears her throat, sounding on the verge of tears. “It’s been my pleasure, Carson, to work with each and every one of you.”
She looks around the room once more, and it hits me that in succeeding, she’ll be leaving. I’m sure there’s someone else fucking up right this moment as we’re sitting here, and they’ll need Jayme’s specialized help, so she’ll be off to the next assignment. That’s what she does, over and over. Rescue, restore, move on.
The idea makes me sad for her in a way. Always jumping from one crisis to the next, never knowing if the next one is going to be unfixable. Also, the idea of her being on a different assignment soon makes me miss her even though she’s still here.
On the other hand, she’s been worried about our dating while I’m her client. With the festival and our reputation repair being a complete success, I’ll no longer be a client, allowing us to date freely. And that is something I’m very much looking forward to. I want her by my side, publicly and proudly claiming me as I do the same with her.
“I think we’ll call this project a complete victory,” I say, wrapping up the project review. “Keep an eye on your areas, and let me know of any wins that should be highlighted.” I don’t even mention potential losses, not wanting to jinx it, especially when there’s always someone willing to shit-talk Americana Land.
After wrapping up the team meeting, Jayme and I head straight to Dad’s office to catch him up.
“Hi, Boston,” I tell Dad’s assistant. He’s wearing a lime green polka-dot bowtie with a navy vest and slacks today. “Dad around?”
I want to ask him where he gets his unique combinations, but Dad opens his office door as if he was waiting for me to appear. “Hey. We just wrapped up post-project analysis, and I figured you’d want all the details.”
“Absolutely,” he agrees. We follow him into his office, where he sits down at his large desk. The windows behind him overlook the park, which opened a few minutes ago and is starting to fill with weekday visitors. Jayme and I sit in the chairs opposite Dad, looking out at the rides that fill the blue sky beyond the glass.
I remind myself of what Jayme said about him and steel myself.
Benefit of the doubt. He’s coming from a good place. He’s a bad communicator, but don’t make it even worse by jumping to conclusions and getting butthurt when he doesn’t mean it the way you take it.
I’m not going to let anything Dad says knock me off the high I’m on right now, I vow.
It works . . . all through the numbers and statistics, feedback, and blog. He even watches the viral video of Jazmyn Starr and King’s Krossing, giving my phone screen a faraway smile. “Toni really is something, isn’t she?”
I laugh, realizing he didn’t pay the slightest attention to the big star or the popular dance group. All he sees is his little girl all grown up and commanding the stage with her performance.
