Page 11 of Tough Luck

He held up the marketing ad for Blueberry Bakery. The design was clean and vibrant, and featured a beautifully laid out graphic of a morning pastry with perfect typography. Clear Creek was in the background, the sun hitting the water, making it almost glow. I knew the exact spot, knew the taste of the pastry, since I had taken the photo myself to save a little money for Bethany, the owner of the bakery. She was a family friend and often gave me free coffee when I had time to stop by in the morning before work.

“Was this your work?” Rick asked, his eyes fixed on mine.

I nodded slowly, my heart dropping straight into my stomach. I worried suddenly that he hated it. Was this the final nail in my coffin?

“Yes,” I murmured, bracing myself. “I handled the bakery’s branding refresh last month. I’m still working on their website, between my other obligations.”

Rick shifted again, setting the printout back onto the desk. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the mahogany surface, his expression turning serious.

“Leonard was in here an hour ago,” he started, his voice dropping into a calm, measured tone. “He claimed this campaign was entirely his doing. He said you were just support on it. He told me that he handles the list of things you just rattled off without even batting an eye. Yet, oddly, he couldn’t list one thing besides claiming he did it all.”

I froze, the familiar sting of frustration flaring up in my chest, mixed with the absolute terror of contradicting a senior manager to the temporary CEO. I opened my mouth to apologize, to offer to let Leonard take the win if it kept the peace, but he cut me off.

“But here’s the thing, Sofia,” Rick continued, a faint, knowing glimmer returning to his blue eyes. “I saw the hand-drawn concept sketches that fell out of your bag when you tackled me in the elevator this morning. The layout, the lettering, the specific color palette—it matches this bakery ad perfectly. Along with the hardware store.” He held up the ads for Miller’s that I had done last week. “The ones for…”—he glanced at the next ad—“Adam’s furniture. What I saw matched all the files Leonard just tried to pass off as his own. So, I did some calling around after Leonard left my office.”

He leaned in a little closer, locking his gaze with mine. It was going to be very difficult to focus with the man around.

“So, I need you to be completely honest with me,” he said softly. “What’s the truth?”

Chapter 4

Rick

I waited for Sofia to explain to me why she had let a man who had been put in charge of her take all the credit for what was very obviously her hard work.

She stared at me, her fingers curling tightly together in her lap. For a long moment, the only sound in the office was the distant, muffled hum of the Golden traffic on the street down below. The fierce, spitfire energy from the elevator had vanished, replaced by a raw, exhausted vulnerability that twisted something in my chest.

“When James hired me full time last year, I was completely overwhelmed,” she began softly, her eyes dropping to the desk. “I didn’t finish school, I mean, my degree.” She shook her head lightly. “So, naturally, I’ve felt like I’ve had to prove that I belonged here every single day since. Leonard was assigned as my… mentor.” She shrugged lightly. “I trusted him to guide me. If he took the projects I’d created and passed them off as his. He explained to me that everything was a group effort. I trusted him at first, but then…” She let out a dry, humorless laugh and finally looked up, meeting my gaze. “It didn’t take long to realize that ‘guidance’ meant presenting all of my concepts as his own. The one time I tried to gently contradict him in a team meeting about a target demographic, he made my life a living hell for over a month after. Anytime I pushed back, he would dump a mountain of tedious data entry or back-end web design work on my desk. If I did something he didn’t like, somehow files would go MIA.” She closed her eyes and reached up to rub her forehead. “In the past months, I’ve had to work weekends most of the time. I’m usually here until eight or nine o’clock every single night, just trying to keep my head above water. It’s better. Really. This way I can do all my creative work after he leaves. Then, when I get in in the morning, sometimes late”—she glanced up at me with an apologetic look—“it’s to find out that he’s already claimed what I’ve created. At that time, it’s too late to push back.”

Listening to her, a cold, sharp anger flared to life inside me. I’d dealt with corporate sharks, lazy executives, and aggressive competitors in San Diego, but there was a special place in hell for managers who preyed on someone else’s raw talent to mask their own incompetence.

“Well,” I said, leaning forward and resting my forearms on the desk. “That ends today.”

She blinked, looking slightly startled and confused.

“You are no longer working under Leonard,” I told her, my voice slightly firm. “Effective immediately, you report directly to me. And for the Clear Creek Brewery account, you’re going to be working right under my supervision. I noticed the raw talent you have when it was scattered all over the elevator floor this morning, and I want to see exactly what you can do when you’re actually given the room to breathe.”

Her jaw dropped slightly while her eyes narrowed. “Directly under… you?”

“Yes,” I confirmed, a small smile breaking through my serious demeanor as I remembered that she’d been the one on top in the elevator. My turn, I thought. “And that’s not all. If we land the Clear Creek Brewery account, this role comes with an official promotion to senior strategist—and a substantial pay raise to match.”

She sat completely frozen, looking like she was waiting for a hidden camera crew to jump out from behind the curtains. “A pay raise? But I… I tackled you this morning.”

I chuckled. “Consider the raise a hazard bonus for surviving the building’s infrastructure,” I joked. “Just so you know, I’ve spent my first two hours this morning finding the right crew to repair that elevator. They assure me it will be done first thing tomorrow.”

The shock on her face slowly morphed into a hesitant, hopeful smile, but then she paused, a sudden look of worry crossing her features. She cleared her throat, shifting slightly in her chair.

“Can I… can I ask a favor?” she asked nervously. “Can I still finish the Blueberry Bakery campaign? I know I’m supposed to be off Leonard’s accounts, but the bakery belongs to Bethany Williams, a close friend of my family. I used to babysit her twins when I was in high school. Honestly, I’m the only reason they signed with Gold Standard Media in the first place.”

I stared at her, the pieces of another puzzle violently clicking into place. I opened the folder Leonard had left on my desk, looking down at his typed summary of the bakery account. Right there, in black and white, Leonard had written that he had spent months wining and dining the client to secure the contract. He’d turned in at least a dozen receipts for hundreds of dollars spent on the account’s spreadsheet to back up his statement. Which was, obviously, another blatant, pathetic lie.

I closed the folder with a satisfying snap and looked back at Sofia, the anger evaporating, replaced by a profound respect for the woman sitting across from me.

“You can absolutely keep the bakery account,” I said smoothly, leaning back in my chair and letting a genuine smirk touch my lips. “I think it’s only fair that the person who actually brought in the client gets to cross the finish line with them.”

“Thanks.” Her smile grew so bright that I had to join in.

Standing, I motioned to a folder sitting at the edge of my desk. “This is everything we have on the Clear Creek Brewery account. I will make sure that the IT department gives you full permission access to their account folder on our network drives, if you don’t already have it, along with the bakery’s account folders. Look through the brewery’s data and see what you can come up with on your own.”