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“Sean has developed the sort of sister-version of this concept for the slightly older consumer.”
She nailed it. Hailey absolutely nailed it. I barely kept myself from jumping out of my seat. This was the stuff of legend. Not a single stammer or misstep, not a false move.
Meredith beat me to it, getting to her feet and going around the table to shake Hailey’s hand. “You are a rising star, Hailey,” she said. “I’ve got to speak to my other veeps here, but our notes concur. This is the direction we want to go, the concept we couldn’t quite crystallize and describe to you effectively. We want this team, everyone in this room, bringing the rebranding to life. Do you hear me, Rick? Graduate her early or something if you have to,” Meredith chuckled.
I nodded. Hailey would be contracted to see the project to completion. It was the right thing to do, since the original idea was hers, and because her presentation had so perfectly captured the concept. Her pitch was so good I had to hire her, I thought ruefully. She just landed my firm a multi-million dollar account in less than twenty minutes of face to face time. She was phenomenal and having her on the team was going to be a thorn in my side that I’d just have to ignore. Because seeing her shine like this just made it worse.
I walked Meredith and her colleagues to the elevators, assured her that the same team would be moving forward with her account. I just wondered in the back of my mind how that was going to work. Both accounting for Hailey’s class and work schedules and the growing attraction I felt for her.
CHAPTER13
HAILEY
After that pitch meeting—the one that had me sweating through some stick-on armpit garment shields and had kept me awake the last two nights fizzing with excitement and terror—I felt like I could do anything. Climb Everest. Solve climate change. Turn a cartwheel—which I never quite learned how to do as a kid. I was off the charts happy.
The creative team was so cool with me doing the presentation and said it would be a great on the job learning experience for me. I felt the pressure to represent the solid concept we developed and make a good showing for them, and that was probably what propelled me through when I was so scared I thought my knees were locked at one point. I hadn’t had an adrenaline high like that since the day we found out my mom was in remission.
Elation and a rush of jittery, bright energy coursed through me. The pitch had been successful, and I had helped secure the big client for REM. The jolt of confidence was huge. I could be good at this, I thought to myself. I’d wanted to be and worked hard to be, but it could actually happen.
Never mind for a moment that there was no way I could work with the actual creative team on the account. Development and presentation, yes. The execution and rollout? No way. I had an overloaded course schedule and I worked forty to fifty hours a week waiting tables. There was no time for a resume boosting role on a major marketing campaign. I’d have to take the recommendation I got for my idea being used to secure the account and be grateful. No whining about how I couldn’t have absolutely everything I want just because life showed me an amazing opportunity I was in no way capable of taking at that point.
I called my mom in the car on the way back to my apartment and she squealed and said she was so proud of me and knew I could do it. She also chimed in that she wished she could help me financially so I didn’t have to work.
“Mom, you survived cancer. You went through all those horrible surgeries and treatments, and I will never ask you for anything else! All I want is for you to be okay. And maybe for us to go get our nails done sometime and have a nice lunch together—that’s my goal if I can score enough overtime. We can treat ourselves. Don’t you worry about me. I have skills, see? I can turn this extra credit project into a big jewel for my resume. It’ll work out,” I told her, tears in my voice.
I wanted to do so much for her that I couldn’t afford to do, and I knew she felt the same about wanting to help me out. We had each other and it was going to be okay, that’s what I told myself pretty much every day since I was seventeen and she got diagnosed. At home, I made sure everything was ready for my classes tomorrow and took a shower, washed off the makeup and hairspray I wasn’t used to. The green top would have to be hand washed because of major pit stains. I chuckled to myself as I squirted detergent on it and washed it in the bathroom sink carefully.
My phone rang and I knocked wet hair out of my eyes and answered it.
“Hailey, it’s Rick Esperanza,” he said. I turned off the water and stared at the wet glob of polyester dripping in my hands.
“Hi,” I said lamely.
“You took off before I had a chance to speak with you further. I want to discuss the account and how to deal with it going forward. Are you free?” he said.
I looked at myself in the mirror, my pj pants and tank top, my wet hair and no makeup.
“Sure,” I said brightly. “I can meet you somewhere.”
“Great. Say we meet up at Il Trovatore in half an hour?” he said, naming a fancy Italian place I’d never been to.
“Uh, it may take me longer to get there from where I live,” I said, hedging because I needed to dry my hair and change. “How about forty-five minutes?”
“I’ll see you then.”
There had never been a time that I got ready faster. I was laser focused on making sure I was quick and presentable. I couldn’t wear jeans to a place like that. I googled it while I dried my hair part of the way and then winced when it sizzled under the flatiron. I put on mascara and eyeliner and a sundress of Maria’s that I hadn’t given back yet. The top was a little tight, but it zipped up. It was a cute vintage find of hers, a blue fit and flair dress with little daisies on it.
Il Trovatore was a small restaurant with a striped awning in front. When I got there, I noticed a long line of people waiting outside. I texted Rick to say I was there, and we could go somewhere else with no wait if he wanted to.
I have a table, come on in, he replied.
A hostess escorted me to a narrow booth lit by candles. I slid into my seat and put a cloth napkin in my lap, awed by my surroundings. He poured us each a glass of wine and made a toast.
“To your continued success in marketing. You were brilliant today, and I’m sure it’s the herald of great things to come,” he said.
I took a sip of the rich, smooth red and gave a faint smile. “Thank you,” I said. I knew what was coming. I couldn’t be included in the project, he’d explain to the client himself and he understood my schedule would make it impossible. I sighed a little, steeling myself.
He was about to speak when a waiter came. I hadn’t even opened the menu. In fact, I’d been too busy staring at Rick with his crisp white shirt open at the collar, his tanned skin seeming to gleam in the candlelight, and the dark, mischievous eyes that looked intelligent and slightly wicked. Maybe I was imagining the look of appreciation on his face when he looked me over. Maybe it was the candlelight and the sip of wine on an empty stomach. Or maybe I had a huge, disabling crush on the man.
