Chapter 3 - Whispers in the BullpenWord travels through an advertising agency faster than a bad Yelp review about a trendy downtown restaurant.
By Tuesday afternoon, the entire creative department was buzzing with a brand-new rumor: Mason Vance had somehow landed the lead presentation slot for Apex Financial in New York, and rumor had it that Rebecca Sloan herself was taking a personal interest in the project.
I was sitting at my desk trying to finalize the storyboard frames when Sarah Jenkins slid into the empty chair opposite me without invitation.
“New York, huh?” Sarah asked, resting her chin on her hand, her eyes sharp and assessing. “Apex Financial is a career-maker, Mase. How did you manage to pull that off? I thought Sloan hated that draft.”
“She didn't hate it,” I said smoothly, keeping my eyes fixed on my monitor. “She just wanted adjustments. I made them.”
“Right.” Sarah’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Adjustments. Funny how those adjustments landed on her desk right after you spent Friday evening...” She paused, letting the silence hang heavily in the air.
My fingers froze on the keyboard. I turned slowly to look at her.
“What did you say, Sarah?”
“Nothing,” she said innocently, smoothing down her sleeve. “Just that it’s fascinating how some people manage to climb the ladder through sheer... talent. By the way, did you know Derek was bragging at lunch about setting up his sister with someone in the office?”
The blood rushed to my ears. “Derek runs his mouth about everything. He’s an idiot.”
“Maybe,” Sarah murmured, standing up and smoothing her skirt. “Just be careful, Mason. Rebecca Sloan doesn't tolerate conflicts of interest. If anyone finds out you’re sleeping with—or even dating—the boss's boss... well, let’s just say HR doesn't have a great sense of humor about office romances.”
She walked away before I could formulate a reply, leaving a trail of expensive perfume and pure, unadulterated poison in her wake.
I slammed my palm against the desk, earning a startled look from the copywriter in the next cubicle.
I needed to talk to Derek. And by talk, I meant strangle him with his own designer belt.
I grabbed my phone, dialed his number, and marched straight toward the exit stairwell where I could yell at him in peace.
On the third ring, he picked up.
“What's up, big guy? Celebrating your big New York promotion yet?”
“You absolute lunatic,” I hissed into the phone, pacing back and forth on the concrete landing of the stairwell. “Did you tell people at lunch about your sister and me?”
“I may have dropped a very subtle, highly artistic hint to Sarah Jenkins,” Derek said cheerfully.
“A hint? Sarah Jenkins is practically the CIA of Landon Creative! She smells gossip before it even happens!”
“Relax, Mase. Drama is good for creativity. Think of it as fuel for your campaign.”
“I am going to end you, Derek. I am going to find a way to legally disown you as my best friend.”
“You love me,” he laughed. “Besides, have you talked to Rebecca yet? How’s she handling the office chatter?”
Before I could answer, the heavy metal door of the stairwell clicked open.
I spun around.
Standing on the landing, holding a stack of printed proofs, was Rebecca.
May you like
She froze, her eyes locking onto mine, and then drifting down to the phone clutched tightly in my hand.
The silence in the stairwell was deafening.
