Hurt

Angel

Damian finishes washing the dishes, so I lead him into my office to pull up the images I’ve been working on to fit the creative brief. Marketing to other businesses rather than consumers is unfamiliar territory and the points I need to hit don’t leave a lot in terms of creative freedom. The words are written, and it’s my job to make it look intriguing.

I have to be convincing enough with layouts and images that it looks like all of life’s unanswered questions come in the form of fat that’s solid at room temperature.

“This goes against everything I stand for.” I click open the last three images I was fiddling with, showing Damian what I’ve got so far. The images that have drained thirty hours of my life and countless tears.

“These look great.” He leans over my shoulder as I’m seated in my rolling desk chair, his face centimetres from mine.

If I wasn’t so stressed about work, I’d kiss him. But beyond work, something feels off between us.

“It’s not the images I’m having issues with. It’s the words I have to include. How can any company market this as something it’s not?”

He heaves a sigh that sounds an awful lot like the noises I’ve been making in here, then straightens and steps back a few paces. “There are laws in place for advertisements; whatever they’ve asked you to include, it can’t be an outright lie. So if that’s what you’re worried about, don’t.”

“It might not be an outright lie, but it’s deceitful. It’s intentionally misleading, and that’s just as bad as a lie.”

“Sometimes omitting the full truth is done to protect people from things they don’t need to know.” He’s staring at me with a different intensity and I can’t help but feel there is a double meaning to his words. That’s something a dishonest person would say to justify their behaviour.

“I disagree. I think people should always be told the truth and be able to decide for themselves.”

He leans against the wall beside my small white bookshelf, crossing his ankles. “What would you put on the ad?”

I don’t understand where he’s going with this. “That’s not my department. I’m not supposed to write the copy.”

“Maybe they didn’t ask you to, but say the client came directly to you and said he was really passionate about marketing this as a health food; what would you offer?”

Sure, this is hypothetical, but I’ve thought about rewriting this ad many times in the last two days. “I’d say ‘It’s okay to treat yourself.’ Create an ad that doesn’t flat out lie, but makes it okay for people to consume in moderation. It’s not a matter of making it seem like something it’s not. It’s a matter of getting people to choose this product over its competitors.”

“So do that. Give them a few options with the text they requested, but send them your vision too. Sometimes people get so hyper-focused on a project, it’s hard for them to see another option. Give them another option. The worst they can say is no.”

On one hand, he’s right. They could just need another perspective because I’m not being pressured by the client and, therefore, blinded by their requests. But, the worst they could do is fire me and kill this opportunity before I have a chance to prove myself.

“I’m afraid to overstep. Apparently, the boss is a jerk, so I don’t want to upset him. Not on my first project.”

I look back at Damian and watch as he scrubs his face with his hands.

“Did someone tell you that? The boss is a jerk?”

I wish my chair could wheel me out of this conversation because it’s getting more uncomfortable by the second. Whatever is going on with him, I don’t have the energy to sort out today. Not with a deadline looming.

“They didn’t say those words, but as soon as they mentioned the boss, everyone seemed terrified. I put two and two together. The one manager didn’t disagree with my use of the word ogre.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, making him appear really closed off, before meeting my eyes for a second and looking away. “Well, he might not be that bad. People judged Shrek, too. I think you should go for it because you’ll never know if you don’t try. Weren’t you the one telling me to find a job I love? Make this the job you love.”

That’s easy to say when you have enough disposable income, you can leave thousand dollar tips.

“I can’t lose this opportunity, Damian. Companies aren’t knocking down my door for my skills. Nowhere else gave me a second look.”

Something in him shifts. This entire night he’s been weird, but now, he’s not acting like the Damian I’ve enjoyed getting to know.

“I should probably just focus on this. I hate to say it, but…”

“Yeah, I’ll get out of your hair.”

If he wasn’t being so standoffish, I’d laugh, considering he got caught in my hair earlier, but I don’t feel like laughing.

“Oh, here.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a milk chocolate bar, setting it on my desk. “I didn’t forget.” He leaves the room and walks straight for the front door.

“Damian, wait.” I hop up from my chair and rush to where he’s standing, slipping his foot into his shoe. “Are we okay? Did I do something wrong?” Deadline or not, if I don’t get answers, it’s going to eat away at me.

He exhales a long, exaggerated breath. “No, Angel. You’re perfect.” He leans down, kisses my forehead, then walks out the door.

When I hear the elevator chime, I slump back against the wall. “Well, Genie. I hope you have some inspiration because my last hope at finishing this just left.”

Despite what my professional judgement was screaming at me all night, I took Damian’s advice and loaded some alternatives onto my thumb drive to present to Mitchell. My stomach is churning as I pick up my badge from the security desk and ascend to the fifth floor.

When the doors open, no one is in the hallway, so I wonder if I’m in the right place. Once I walk toward “the pit”, I hear the buzz of activity. I feel like I’m showing up to a party uninvited—if the party was sombre, dull, and intended to age people faster than gravity.

Mitchell greets me as we converge at his office door. “Angel, Hi. Glad you made it. We’re going to meet the team manager in the conference room and you can show us what you’ve come up with.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond before ducking into his office. He emerges seconds later with a file folder and a laptop. “You ready for this?”

Confident Angel has left the building. “I hate to be cliché, but as ready as I’ll ever be.”

Mitchell’s laugh is barely recognizable as he walks ahead of me. “You’ll be fine. This isn’t meant to be the final draft. Just sharing the ideas you’ve come up with. We’ll go over what we do and don’t like, then go from there. Don’t take anything personally.”

Why would anyone take criticism of creative work they spent hours pouring their heart into personally? I roll my eyes, grateful he can’t see me as I plod along behind him.

I sit at the far side of the long table in the conference room.

A few seconds later, the other man who peeked his head in Mitchell’s office two days earlier joins us. “Miss Blake, I’m Elliot Hannon, the team manager. Pleasure to meet you.” He leans in to shake my hand, so I stand to greet him properly.

“Thank you for this opportunity, Mr. Hannon.”

“Elliot is fine. Some of us try to keep the environment here casual.”

Elliot and Mitchell pass a weird, knowing glance between each other, making Mitchell’s shoulders shake in silent laughter.

I missed the joke.

Once Mitchell sets up his laptop, he turns it toward me, so I pop in my thumb drive, holding my breath.

“I… came up with a few ideas, so let me know which ones you prefer and I’ll go from there.” I pull up the mockups and turn the laptop to face the only other people in the room.

Their jaws simultaneously go slack, which doesn’t ease my nerves one bit.

Mitchell speaks first. “Wow. We can hire you as a copywriter and a graphic designer.” His smile widens. “What do you think?” he asks Elliot.

“I think having a fresh set of eyes was exactly what we needed on this. I’m impressed.”

“Let’s just hope boss-man agrees.” Mitchell looks at Elliot again, with the same look as before.

Is this how underlings at all advertising companies view their superiors? Between these two and Damian’s experience, I’m wondering if it’s an industry standard. But then I lift my eyes to investigate the shadowed form walking past the wall of windows and my eyes lock on Damian. Now it’s my turn for my jaw to go slack.

Mitchell clarifies what I’m afraid of. “I guess we can ask him now.”