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“Blocky?” Mark smiled at him. “I think you’ll find, with our concept?—”
“It looks like a shipping crate laid on its side.” Johnson swiveled our model to inspect it from all angles. “Did you go down there? Check out the area? Because that whole neighborhood, it’s not shipping crates. It’s vibrant. It’s colorful. We were expecting you’d bring us something more…”
“Less underwhelming,” supplied one of his partners.
I stood up halfway, sensing my chance. I still had my notes from our brainstorming phase, all kinds of ideas Johnson would love. “I have—” I started, but Jim cut me off.
“Those are just the bones,” said Jim. “The heart of the structure. We have plenty of ways to add personality, and we can do that and still stay on budget.” He pulled a sketch from his portfolio, and my breath caught in my throat. I’d seen that sketch before — when I’d sketched it. When I’d presented it, Jim had shot it down.
“We had this idea for a fall of terraced gardens, with the roof garden on top, then shelves down the south side. A cascade of greenery facing the road, which, if you see here, it breaks up the concrete. Instead of the boxy look, you get something organic.”
I sat frozen, ears buzzing, as he trotted out my ideas — the gardens, the atrium, the bright, glassed-in stairwells. He’d shot down the lot of them, him and Mark both, and now they were sitting here blithely taking credit.
“I like the roof garden,” said Johnson. “And the atrium too. That opens things up a bit. Goes more with the street.”
“With the glass in the atrium, you’ll need to save energy elsewhere. At least, if you’re looking for that LEED platinum rating. But we can make it work for you, no worries there.” Jim turned to Mark. “Anything I’m missing?”
“Not that I can see,” said Mark. He picked up a ruler and tapped on the model. “Though, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention, if you’re looking for color, your commercial space is a bonus. We’ve left space for terraces, outdoor displays, all kinds of street life based on who you rent to. You could have a café here with tables out front, planters, a garden, all sorts of action. It’ll be a good-looking building. A good-looking space.”
Johnson nodded slowly, gathering his notes. “What the vendors do with their outdoor space is up to them. What I’m looking for from you guys is the space itself. And from what I’m seeing, you’ve got some ideas, but a lot of the best ones aren’t here in your blueprints. We’ll meet up next week and see where we are, and if everyone’s happy, we’ll take it from there.”
Johnson got up. Stern did too. They went out together, Johnson’s partners in tow, and the minute the door closed, I rounded on Jim.
“What the hell?”
Jim’s brows shot up. “What?”
“What do you think? What was that crap with Johnson?”
He backed away from me, hands raised, still smiling. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite… What crap with Johnson?”
I stared, disbelieving. Did he really not get it? Or was this some new, devious shade of gaslighting?
“You fed him all my ideas like they were yours. The cascading garden. The stairwells. The atrium. I had my sketches. I could have?—”
“Your ideas?” Jim frowned. “This is a team effort, not?—”
“You talked right over me. Cut me right off. And what the hell, moving the meeting up, and you didn’t tell me?” My eyes prickled hotly, and I paused to draw breath. Mark saw his opening, and he dove right in.
“It wasn’t your meeting.” He stood up, hands out, talking in that slow voice reserved for angry children. There, there, kiddo. No need for a tantrum. “This was for team leads. That’s me and Jim. We had no idea you even wanted to come. And as for your ideas, like Jim said, we’re a team. It’s not about any one person, or what they came up with. How would we even keep track of all that?”
“It’s about results,” added Jim. “Pleasing the client. And, hey, congratulations. Your ideas did that. Now you can work on them. Isn’t that what you want?”
I stared at the douchebros. My neck had gone hot. I wanted to throttle them, or slap their fool faces. How could they not see it wasn’t about the ideas? It was about getting shoved aside, trodden down, silenced. If Johnson was happy, he’d come back to the firm, but he wouldn’t come back here looking for me. He’d come for his team leads. For Jim and Mark. The play-it-safe dweebs who’d have built him a shoebox.
I swallowed hard, cleared my throat, and spoke as evenly as I could manage. “If I’d been presenting, and he’d wanted boring, I’d have given you credit for your boring-ass pitch. My associate had an idea I think you might like. That’s all. Is that so hard?”
“It’s not professional,” said Jim. “It makes us look scattered.”
“Like we’re doing one thing and you’re doing another.” Mark gestured at the model. “We need to keep it coherent, one team, one pitch.”
“It’s a rising tide, right? It floats all our boats.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Whatever I said to them, they wouldn’t hear it. They’d just spout more platitudes. Management bullshit.
“Our brainstorm’s at ten,” called Jim, as I turned to go. “Maybe go get a coffee, or a herbal tea?”
I resisted the impulse to run back and kick him.
