Page 9 of Tough Luck

I’d seen what the woman could do in all the scattered images on the elevator floor. Most were hand-drawn and more impressive than what I typically saw from my own team at my business in San Diego. There was a lot of talent there, and I wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to utilize it while I was here.

Besides, I wanted another chance to talk to her before the day was over.

Chapter 3

Sofia

The rest of my morning was a blur of absolute, unadulterated mortification. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back in that steel death trap, flying through the air like a WWE wrestler and planting my face directly into the sandalwood-scented collarbone of my new temporary boss.

Rick Mylonas. The name itself sounded like old money and impeccably tailored suits. Not Rick, the nice guy client who I should aggressively tackle to save his life.

I should have known he was a Mylonas the second I’d locked eyes with those blue ones of his. Jax also had his father’s eyes.

To make matters worse, Leonard—the senior account manager who treated micromanagement like an Olympic sport—spent the next three hours hovering over my cubicle like a persistent housefly.

“Sofia, did you change those margins on the bakery’s spreadsheet?” Leonard asked, his nasal voice cutting through the hum of the office for the fourth time in an hour. “You know I like a half-inch border. And the fonts need to be uniform.”

“Yes, I used the exact template you gave me,” I said, forcing a tight, professional smile while my soul quietly exited my body. “It’s all in the folder in the shared drive.”

“Good. Because with the big boss stepping down, we can’t afford any slip-ups. I’ll need to review your digital strategy mock-ups for the hardware store by two o’clock as well.”

With Leonard, every job was organized in his mind by the type of business—the bakery, the hardware store, the baby clothing shop. Not once since I’d been there had he called a client by its business name.

The bakery was Blueberry Bakery, a place I frequented often since it was two blocks away. The hardware store was Miller’s Hardware. Everyone in Golden knew of the place and had been there for one thing or another. I had pretty much done one-hundred-percent of the jobs for both clients thus far. Yet Leonard had taken the credit for everything.

I resisted the urge to bang my forehead against my keyboard. Leonard didn’t actually do any of the strategy work; he just liked to look at it, change a comma or a color hex code, and then pass it along to James as his own. And today, of all days, I didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to handle his power trips.

At noon, an email notification popped up on my screen, and my stomach did a violent downward jolt that rivaled the elevator’s third-floor drop.

From: Elizabeth Barrett on Behalf of Rick Mylonas

Subject: Briefing: Clear Creek Brewery & Current Accounts

Time: 4:30 p.m.

The last meeting of the day. He’d intentionally scheduled me at the very end, probably so HR would have fewer witnesses when he officially handed me my pink slip.

“What’s up?” Nova’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.

I glanced up at her and she frowned.

“You look as if you need to breathe before you pass out.” She slid into my cubicle, leaning against the partition with her purse slung over her shoulder. “Lunch. Now. Before Leonard finds another font to complain about.”

Ten minutes later, we were sitting outside at a small metal table in front of the sandwich shop a few doors down from the office.

Spring in Golden was an absolute dream, the kind of weather that made you want to abandon your responsibilities entirely, run barefoot through some grass, and count the clouds that floated overhead. The Colorado sun was brilliant and intense, warming my skin, while the crisp, cool mountain air swept down from the Rockies to keep it from feeling too hot. A block away, I could hear the rushing, churning sound of Clear Creek, which was swollen with melted snow. It was incredibly peaceful—or it would have been, if I wasn’t waiting for the executioner’s axe to fall at 4:30.

“So,” Nova said, taking a sip of her iced chai. “I had my fifteen-minute briefing with the new dictator this morning.” She growled and wiggled her eyebrows.

I perked up, leaning across the table. “And? Is he a tyrant? Did he ask if anyone on staff has a history of unprovoked physical violence?”

Nova laughed, shaking her head. “No, actually. He’s sharp. Thorough, too. He and Jax are so much alike. He went through my current roster, asked a few pointed questions about the retail metrics, and told me he’s keeping me as the lead on my smaller accounts. He didn’t micromanage. He just wanted to know the bottom line.” She paused, eyeing me with a smirk. “Though, I did notice his suit jacket was remarkably wrinkled for a man who looks like he stepped out of a GQ catalog,” she teased. The moment I’d rushed into my cubicle, I’d hastily explained what had happened in the elevator, though I hadn’t known who he was at that time.

I groaned, burying my face in my hands.

“I can’t believe I slapped his hand away, and I tackled him. I was literally lying on top of him at one point.” I buried my face in my hands.

“Trust me, I don’t think he minded,” she joked.