Chapter 3: Whiplash

AVA

I choked on my water, earning an annoyed look from Mr. Porthouse. My eyes watered, and my vision blurred. ~CEO?!~ The girl with the pixie cut pulled a pocket tissue pack out of her purse and handed me one. I gratefully took it, and gathered myself, wiping the tears from my eyes.

The Brentstone team pitched their design first. It was lovely, of course, a colorful, bright pencil drawing that fit the vibe of the book well. ~Not as well as my watercolor painting had, but much better than the stiff, textual design we had ended up with.~

When it was our turn to pitch, I felt about as hopeful as a mouse in a room full of cats. Luckily, Jay did most of the talking.

“It’s…great,” Ms. Helen’s representative said hesitantly, “what made you go with this design?” Jay chimed in again, blabbing on about font choices, as I willed the ground to swallow me whole. “Yes, it’s a lovely font,” the representative said, glancing at her colleague. “But maybe something more…playful would be a better fit for the book we’re talking about?”

Mr. Porthouse scoffed. “That’s what I said.”

I furrowed my brows, but one look from Mr. Porthouse told me I’d better keep my mouth shut if I wanted to still have a job tomorrow. I sneakily peered at Cyrus, and my heart fluttered when he returned my gaze. “They haven’t been with the company long,” Mr. Porthouse continued, waving his hand dismissively. “They haven’t really picked up the ‘Porthouse flair’, if you know what I mean.”

I balled my hands into fists in my lap, staring at my reflection in the polished table. A rustling sound to my right made me look up, and I found Cyrus shifting in his seat, his already-cold face hardening.

The representative smiled, understanding. “Ah, that explains it,” she said, “because—”

“I didn’t even know this is the design they chose for the pitch,” Mr. Porthouse cut her off, “I would ~obviously~ never have gone along with it if I knew.”

I felt my cheeks darken with anger and shame. ~How dare he cross us like this?~ I quickly began making calculations in my head. ~If I quit, would I be able to pay rent if I went back to being a barista?~

The representatives and Mr. Porthouse shared a laugh at our expense, and I could feel my anger building inside me. ~Who did this guy think he was?~

~I sat up straight, plastering a sweet smile onto my face. “You’re absolutely right, how silly of us,” I said, my voice dripping with honey. “Now that you mention it, this design does feel a little… stiff.” I ignored the glare Jay threw my way.

“I actually brought another option, that might fit the vibe a little better.” I rummaged through my purse, and pulled out the crumpled illustration. I quickly unfolded it, and used my hands to smooth out the folds. Some of the watercolor had run a little, affected by the snow from last night, but it wasn’t ruined beyond recognition.

I nervously glanced around the room, and my eyes immediately caught on Cyrus. He was leaning forward, bracing his forearms on the table, looking at me intently. There was a flicker of mischief in his eyes, and the slightest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. It was like fuel on the fire of sudden bravery that had ignited within me. Before I could talk myself out of it, I slid the paper towards the representative, who raised her brows in pleasant surprise. Her eyes scanned the paper, and she looked genuinely impressed. “This is–” “That is ~not~ the design we went with,” Mr. Porthouse bellowed, ripping the paper from her hands. His already-red face darkened with anger, turning him an unhealthy-looking shade of purple. A vein snaked across his temple, throbbing dangerously, and for a second I worried it might burst.

The representative’s eyebrows knit together. “Actually, I really–” “Ms. Mayweather, ~outside, now~,” he sneered at me, cutting her off. Then he turned back to the lady, lowering his voice slightly. “I will not stand for her behavior,” he seethed through gritted teeth. “She will be dealt with. We will provide a new design, something ~professional~–not this garbage.” He crumpled the paper back into a ball. Humiliated, I rose to my feet and grabbed my purse.

A deep voice cut through the room, making me jolt.

“And how exactly do you plan on ~dealing~ with her?”

I whipped my head up to look at its source. Cyrus was staring at Mr. Porthouse with a challenging glare.

Mr. Porthouse grabbed his tie, loosening it slightly. “I-I will… She will…”

It was the first time I had seen him caught off guard–his attitude finally seemed to match his small stature.

“It doesn’t look too great, trying to save your own face over the backs of your employees, Rick.” Cyrus’s face was cold as stone. “Ms. Mayweather’s work could have actually given you a shot here, but apparently keeping her in line means more to you than winning the pitch.” My own shock was mirrored by everyone around the table. Jay’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his skull.

Ms. Helen’s representative cleared her throat, and gathered the papers in front of her. “Well, this has been… interesting. You’ll both be hearing from us within two business days,” she said, addressing both Mr. Porthouse and the Brentstone team. She got up, and swiftly left the room, her colleague following close behind.

We all sat in an uncomfortable silence for a second, and then Cyrus got up. “You two need to rethink your positions here,” he said, looking at Jay and me. “Clearly, you’re letting your talents go to waste.” He looked at his employees, and gestured to the door. They all got up, and walked toward the exit. Then, Cyrus turned to me.

“Actually, Ava, you know what?”

I nearly fainted at the mention of my name.

“A position in the illustrations department at Brentstone just opened up. It’s yours, if you want it. Might be nice to work for someone who ~actually recognizes talent.~”

My jaw literally fell open in shock. “What?!”

“Work for me. You can start tomorrow, I’ll take care of your two weeks’ notice.”

My heart was pounding so fast I was getting dizzy. I glanced at Mr. Porthouse, who looked like he was about to spontaneously combust.

“I… I’d have to—”

“I’m not asking again.”

I stared at Cyrus, my mind racing as fast as my heart. Jay nudged me beneath the table, sending me a meaningful look.

I blinked slowly, as if waking up from a deep sleep. I looked at Mr. Porthouse one last time, the look on his face finalizing my decision.

“Okay.”

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