The Real Thing

Angel

Even though my freelance capacity at Harbour Campaigns is limited, I’ve still been keeping busy between the work they give me and a few other gigs I’ve had roll in. My portfolio is shaping up nicely, and Genie is pretty thrilled we won’t have to go hungry. Damian and I have been spending as much time together as our schedules will allow. My work may be freelance, but I’ve been too busy to carve out time for my sister because whenever I’m free, she has other things going on.

Today, however, I’m going into the office for a brief on a new job. I’m still under Elliot’s purview, but with a different project manager; much to Damian’s relief. He’s warmed up to Mitchell, who has stopped making passes at me. Plus, he submitted the finalized campaign to our oil-loving client, and the man was happy with everything after a few minor tweaks.

The next project is for a vodka distillery, so as I walk to work, I rack my brain, trying to come up with a new concept. I spent last night searching for other campaigns, running numbers based on their production and revenue, trying to find a common link amongst what works. I’m not going to leave things to chance by just creating something that looks pretty.

By the time I reach the office, I’m freezing because the threat of winter is looming—far too soon, if you ask me. It’s only been fall for a month. The lobby is warm, but still not inviting on account of the crotchety blonde at reception. At least the security guard flashes a smile.

I arrive on the fifth floor, and as much as I want to go say hi to Damian, I resist. It’s far too easy to blur personal and professional lines; I don’t want that to happen to us. Things have been going well between us for the past few weeks, and I don’t want to disrupt that. So instead of stopping, I continue into “the pit”, where I find Elliot and my new project manager, Meghan. She takes a minute to introduce herself, which quickly spirals into a history of her entire life, from where she grew up to her four children at home. I’m confident there won’t be any tension between her and Damian on account of her hitting on me. She seems pretty smitten with her husband, Jorge.

Elliot, Meghan, three other team members tasked with working on this project, and myself all enter the boardroom to discuss the project brief. From my position at the table, I can see across to Damian’s office, but his blinds are drawn, which is unusual. I must be staring and missing something important, because Elliot clears his throat and calls my name.

I apologize for drifting off and attempt to focus for the rest of the meeting, listening to the ideas shared by the other staff members to present this vodka as superior. None of which seems very appealing to me, but I’m just a graphic designer. And an eight-dollar wine drinker.

When everyone gathers their things to leave, I’m eager to get back home to my fur baby, but Elliot stops me before I exit the room. “Angel, a minute, please?”

I nod at everyone else as they walk out, mainly because aside from Meghan, I don’t remember anyone’s name, and I don’t want to admit that.

Once we’re all clear of other ears, Elliot says, “I know you have… something”—he waves his hands around in some misguided interpretive dance—“going on with the boss, and it might not be my place, but I just wanted to say, you seem like a nice girl, so you should be careful.”

Part of me wishes Dirrty was playing in the background because that’s my fight song now, but alas, I’m going to need to draw my own inspiration here. “Mr. Hannon, that’s a gross overstep on your part. You may think you know Dam… Mr. Taylor, but you know him in a minimal, professional capacity. I knew him personally before I started working here and I’m capable of making my own decisions. I also consider myself a good judge of character, though I was wrong about you.”

Elliot looks at his feet for a moment, but I harbour no guilt for calling him out for overstepping.

“Actually, besides that, how dare you claim to know anything about Damian as anyone other than your boss. What gives you the right to interfere in someone’s personal life because you don’t like something about them at work? Have you ever taken the time to get to know him? Have you tried to forge a friendship outside of work and learn who the man is behind those office doors? No, you haven’t. For months, Damian has been devastated over how much his staff seem to fear him or refuse to speak up because that’s not what he wants. He wants to be questioned. He wants push back so everyone can bounce ideas off of each other and grow as a team. But no one here has been willing to do that. So don’t come to me, acting like you’re trying to save me from him just because you don’t understand him.”

I don’t wait for Elliot to reply before I storm out of the room. I was lucky I still had a job after my initial blow up with Damian weeks ago. Now, they’ll probably see me as a loose cannon and fear me more than Damian. Maybe they should.

“Angel.”

I turn around to see Elliot speed-walking down the hallway behind me as I beeline to the elevator.

“Look… uh…” He scrunches his face and uses his right hand to rub the back of his neck. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“For…?”

“Everything. Making assumptions. Overstepping. It wasn’t my place to say anything.”

“I’m less concerned about you bringing it up with me than I am about you writing Damian off as some villain without getting to know him. He’s your boss. Last I checked, most people don’t like their bosses, but yours is actually pretty great. And I don’t say that as someone with a personal connection to him. I say it because it’s true. If I can return your caution, Mr. Hannon, it would be not to base opinions of someone off of office gossip or assumptions.”

As I finish my rant, I look up to see Damian’s assistant, Paxton, peering over his desk at us. He works closely with Damian, so I call him over, knowing if he’s fallen victim to company gossip, this could backfire.

“Yes, Miss Blake?”

“Angel is fine.” Like I’ve said fifty times already. “You’ve worked for Damian for how long now?”

“About ten months.”

“And has he ever mistreated you or been what you’d describe as a jerk?”

The kid looks like he’s going to pass out. He’s sweating, running a finger between his shirt collar and his neck, as if it’s closing around his throat. “No, ma’am.”

Oh, good grief. That’s even worse than Miss Blake.

“Have you ever seen him mistreat another employee?”

“No, ma’am.”

I turn back to Elliot, resisting the urge to roll my eyes at Paxton’s ma’aming, and level him with a sharp gaze. “See. For whatever reason, people made up their minds about him without collecting facts. Now, I know advertising is largely about the perception of something and not the reality, but maybe this time you should do some independent research, hmm?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Elliot replies with a smirk. “Again, I’m sorry.”

“So make it up to me. Put the work in and you’ll see. Don’t be afraid to speak up to him or eat lunch in his proximity. He’ll respect you for it, and he won’t bite.”

With everything that needed to be said out in the open, I step into the elevator after our goodbyes, and descend to the lobby, then out onto the cold sidewalk. I pull out my phone before I get outside and discover a text from Damian.

Damian: Want to grab lunch?

Angel: Sorry, I’m already headed home. Come over for dinner?

Seconds later, Damian: It’s a date.

I spend four hours working on my new assignment when I return home. I wrapped up the other freelance gigs I had over the weekend, so this one can have my sole focus. So far, so good.

With my conversation with Elliot still replaying in my head, I start preparing dinner for Damian and me. I can’t explain why, but knowing he can go to any of the city’s most expensive restaurants, yet chooses to come into my little condo and eat home-cooked meals means a lot to me. It feels more intimate, and we’re able to focus on each other, not on the atmosphere around us or the inflated five-star restaurant prices.

My phone rings, so I answer and buzz Damian up. I guess he couldn’t sneak in today.

“Damian’s here, Genie. Remember what I told you. Be a good girl.”

She stares at me with her big bright bully smile, but I know she’s just giving me false hope. Sure enough, as soon as he knocks, she takes off to the door like a woman possessed.

I open the door to find a smiling, roguishly handsome man waiting to enter. A man with a bouquet of roses, carnations, and gerbera daisies.

“These are for Genie.” He beams at me with his mischievous eyes as he steps into the foyer, wraps his free arm around me, and pulls me in for a kiss.

As captivated as I am by his lips on mine, I can’t help but giggle against his mouth. That puts an end to the romantic moment. “For Genie, huh?”

“What can I say? She’s wormed her way into my heart and I wanted to get her something special.”

I swallow the lump forming in my throat, eager to break the sudden tension. “You know heartworm is deadly, right?”

“You have no idea.”