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Meanwhile, she had no doubt Brandon would find some way to corner her. So she’d meet that head-on. She’d make it clear to him, in private, face-to-face, that they were done. And she’d do that calmly, dispassionately.
He’d hate the calm and dispassion, she thought, and smiled as she pulled into the employee parking of the two-story refurbished factory that housed By Design.
She went in the side door, straight into what she thought of as the Nesting Area. She’d started there, right out of college, at one of the workstations. And most who’d man those stations now, working on assignments, assisting designers, hoping to make their own mark, would be as green and eager as she’d been.
Some would move up, some would move out, others would take a leap and strike out on their own.
She’d moved up, happy with the rhythm and tone of her workplace. From production artist to graphic designer and now senior graphic designer.
She’d come in early deliberately, and walked straight through to her office.
Not big, not grand, but it had a window, and she’d put her treasured African violet, Xena, in that stream of southern exposure. It rewarded her with pretty pink blossoms and glossy green leaves.
She set her briefcase on her desk, glanced at her mood board.
She routinely created a physical as well as digital mood board for a project. The digital—easy to share, to change. But the physical meant she could stand, shift, study from different angles.
And this one, laying out the plan, the visual for a start-up company, just worked.
Baby Mine, founded by crafty sisters, created handmade baby clothes—no charge for personalization if desired. For preemies—specific to the needs of infants in the NICU—and up to eighteen months.
For the logo, she’d drawn an infant in an old-fashioned cradle with a mobile overhead spelling out the company name in softly rounded fonts, in quiet pastels.
Soft, sweet—that’s what a parent wanted for their baby.
The website visual followed that tone, adding in the easy care, the lovingly handcrafted accessories, photos not just of the products but of babies wearing the products, or parents using the blankets, the burp cloths.
Various social media posts would increase those visuals, consistently. And a fresh and, again, consistent, look for the sisters’ blog.
And now that they’d moved their little company out of their homes and into an actual workshop, she’d carried that design into the physical space.
A few finishing touches, and they’d be off and running.
She’d so much rather sit down and work on those finishing touches than air her personal business with her bosses.
But it had to be done.
She started out. She heard voices now, artists coming into the Nesting Area, or hitting the break room for coffee before they settled in.
She walked up the metal stairs to the second floor. It held the directors’ offices—art, design, creative—and their assistants’ work areas, the presentation room where designers pitched their concepts and completed work to the directors, the owners’ offices, a second, snazzier break room.
Since Laine Cohen had hired her, she went there first, knocked.
“Come!”
When she opened the door, she saw Laine, hair a sharp, angled wedge of mahogany, bright blue readers dangling from the silver chain around her neck, at her desk. Her partner sat on the corner of her L-shaped workstation.
The window behind her offered a view of the Boston Common on a perfect summer day. Posters of designs created in-house lined her walls. She rotated them every few months.
Sonya currently had one displayed. So did Brandon.
And she saw, when Laine and Matt Berry looked at her, they already knew.
Matt, slim in chinos and a pink polo, slid off the desk. As usual, he had his glossy blond hair pulled back in a tail. A gold hoop winked in his left ear.
“I wonder if I could have a couple of minutes,” Sonya began.
“Of course, of course.” Matt gestured her in. “Close the door, have a seat. How are you, Sonya?”
