CHAPTER SIX

Knocked Over

WITH ONLINE SOCIAL MEDIA, the world of marketing has changed. This means fewer designers and more programmers. Once, before my time here, there were more than twenty designers employed. Now, with fewer than half, we still have the workload of twenty.

Glancing over at my team, I notice everyone is busily working away. Checking the project log confirms we’re slammed. How are we in financial trouble? I have two more small projects to assign but no one’s open. I draft and send a quick e-mail to my team, asking who can take on extra, then prop my elbows on my desk and palm my head like a basketball.

The whole thing is screwy. There’s plenty coming in. So where’s it all going? I’d actually like to hire an additional designer.

I do a quick scroll of my Facebook feed and notice Ren’s now bogging it down with round-the-clock baby updates. Will baby Shaw be pink or blue? Foursquare has her pinned at the Carmel OB-GYN, and she’s tagged my mom as being with her.

Of course.

I type good luck! even though I might be the one that needs it. I have to call her about the gift registry. I have to fix the registry, first. And get back to work. Having the contract is not the same as keeping it.

ELLIE AND I ARE AT a little Italian bistro in the mall. I’m always in this mall. Not only is it superb shopping, but there’s fine dining and small eateries. In other words, carbs.

We’re splitting a lunch plate sampler. Three different kinds of pasta: spaghetti, ravioli, and fettuccini. Plus, it comes with garlic bread to completely tip the carb scale.

“Okay, so you know the whole history with me and Shane, right?”

Ellie nods and takes a bite.

I lower my voice and change my tone to do-or-die serious. “If you mention any of this, and I mean even the tiniest minute detail . . .” I lean over for dramatic effect. “I will tell the entire office that the photocopied boobs in the picture hanging in the break room are yours.”

Ellie’s mouth unhinges mid-bite. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would and I will. That’s how serious this is.” I take a drink of my tea, clear my throat, and unload. “Okay, you know that Tonya was the one who told me Shane cheated in college, right? Turns out it was only a drunk-kiss thing and it was Tonya who he was with.”

Ellie’s mouth drops. Her hand covers it.

I nod, pausing to let it sink in.

“But wait, there’s more.” The words are wrapped in thorns and scrape as they come out. “Shane called my house the weekend after when I went home. My mom told him to leave well enough alone. To leave me alone.”

Her eyes are huge and anime, peeking out over her fingertips.

I tell her how Shane signed the contract, with the added agreement of the Love Like the Movies list, then explain what the list means. “Here, look . . .” I hand her my phone so she can see.

Ellie’s lips form each word as she reads.

1. Sleepless in Seattle

2. Pretty Woman

3. Bridget Jones’s Diary

4. 27 Dresses

5. Dirty Dancing

6. Sixteen Candles

7. Love Actually

8. Say Anything

9. You’ve Got Mail

10. My Best Friend’s Wedding

I watch her, my insides percolating. Somehow sharing this makes it . . . what? Real. Yeah, maybe too real.

Her eyebrows are arched high. “I can’t believe he’s doing this. Can I have him?” She giggles, glances back at the list, and lowers her head suspiciously. “27 Dresses is crossed out. Where’d you go yesterday? Does Bradley know about this?”

My heart skips. I shouldn’t have said anything. I completely downplay it and tell her that we only registered a few things for Ren. “It’s really nothing. A few movie lines said in a similar scene to get inspiration for the redesign. But it’s better if it’s kept quiet. I mean, it’s already weird enough.”

I should feel relieved. But I don’t. I feel worse. I’m wading around in a thick pool of guilt. Even the carbs aren’t helping.

I decide to change the subject. “Speaking of weird . . . have you noticed your workload slowing at all? There’s been some talk that the agency isn’t having a good quarter.”

Ellie wrinkles her nose. “No. Not all. In fact, they keep piling stuff on. I’m getting behind. Where’d you hear that?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I add, finally taking a few bites of pasta myself. Oh, this is good. “But . . .” I fill her in with the rest. Since we work together, it’s not considered a violation of the confidentiality contract.

Ellie’s eyes are wide as she listens, her fork hanging in midair, which only adds to the guilt pile. My intent wasn’t to freak her out. I just wanted to see what she thought about Clive pressuring me to do whatever it takes to keep Shane’s account, the threat of layoffs, and the speech on financial struggles when we’re obviously swamped.

I smile, reassuringly. “Maybe Clive was just, I don’t know, being theatrical.”

“He is a drama queen,” Ellie adds.

“Right. I mean, if we’re busy there’s nothing to worry about.”

At least there shouldn’t be.

SHANE ARRIVED AT THE AGENCY about ten minutes ago, and Clive set him up in the conference room. He called and requested a meeting with the team that’s working on his account. I have no idea why, I haven’t designed anything yet. I’m all twitchy and nervous. The door’s shut and the shades are drawn.

Do I knock? I should knock.

I rap my knuckles lightly on the door and turn the handle, but then Tonya and Bradley appear around the corner and my hand drops.

I half smile. “Hi.”

“Hi, hon, you okay?”

“What? Yeah, of course.” Why? Do I look guilty? I feel guilty.

Tonya pushes past me, opens the door, and grins. “No water for you this time.”

I roll my eyes and announce I’ll be right back, spin around, and walk-run down the hall. Spotting Ellie, I wave her over. “I’m recruiting you. You are now officially on the Carriage House project. I’ll clear it later. Come on.” I’m pulling her arm and we’re speed-walking back toward the conference room.

“Kenz, what are you doing?” Ellie asks.

I shush her, open the door, and practically shove her in.

Tonya turns to Bradley. “She’s not on this account.”

“I invited her. I thought we needed a female technical perspective on the functionality,” I say and pull out a chair up front for Ellie. It makes sense. The other programmers on this account are male.

I really just need a sounding board in all of this, a voice of reason, another set of eyes on the situation. Is this a situation? Maybe I just need someone here in case I lose it and punch Tonya.

Shane clicks off his phone and stashes it in his pocket. “Good, welcome.” He smiles at Ellie.

She forces back a too-big smile and giggles. Shane turns to me, puzzled. I try to communicate I don’t know, but I have no idea what my face is doing.

“I guess we just need Clive, then.” Shane’s eyes are still on me.

I look away, feeling the burn in my cheeks, and catch Bradley look from Shane to me. Ellie is focused on Shane, Tonya is drinking her water. And just to note, Shane and Tonya are not looking at each other. All noteworthy stuff.

“So refreshing,” Tonya teases after setting down her water and fake coughs.

“Is that new?” I whisper, noticing her outfit. I’ve never seen it and it looks designer.

Tonya pulls down her eyebrows as if she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. Whatever, she knows. That’s completely new from head to toe. Sales is based on commission. You don’t shop when the money’s not coming in.

“All right, let’s see what you’re thinking, Mr. Bennett,” Clive says as he walks in.

The board up front has a few spec pieces leaning on the shelf and they’re covered. I fiddle with my engagement ring while we wait for Clive to get settled. He pulls the door shut behind him and sits on the edge of the conference table, because he apparently doesn’t believe in chairs. My attention snaps to Shane as he pulls the cover boards, one by one.

“Right, this won’t take long. I printed out some pieces I think represent what we’re looking for. It’s not just the design I want you to look at, but rather, the concept and feeling they evoke.”

Panic. That’s the feeling I’m emoting.

All three pieces are mine.

My mouth is hanging slightly open. He’s printed out copies of my designs from college, the ones in my Facebook gallery. My eyes dart from the display to Shane. There’s a knowing smile on his lips.

Two are romantic, figurative illustrations of couples in color blocks and loose line art. The third is an up-close portrait. I’m not sure how to react. Clive walks over to inspect them. Everyone else follows suit. Shane explains how these are made from online copies and the print quality isn’t up to par. What if none of it’s up to par?

This is my naked nightmare. I’m completely exposed.

Shane looks around the room. “Maybe, if the artist would be kind enough . . .”

No, no, no, no . . .

“. . . she would bring in the originals for you to see.” His eyes now rest on me.

Everyone turns.

Um, shit?

“These aren’t Kenzi’s,” Bradley says, giving me a confused glance.

I shrug. “Yeah, from college, they’re at Mom and Dad’s.” I don’t tell them they’re buried under my Kensington box.

“I’ve never seen them,” Bradley says and gives me a look that matches last night’s tone. He isn’t on Facebook, only LinkedIn to network.

“Oh . . . they’re in my Facebook album,” I say quickly and instantly regret it. Now I’ll have to explain to Bradley why Shane is on my Facebook account. I feel guilty, but I never intended to keep Shane friended.

My shoulders tense. Is Shane trying to start fights between us? Is that what he’s up to?

“These are simple in design but produce a strong emotional response.” Shane’s voice is filled with energy. “One look and you feel what the image is portraying.” He points to the first couple tangled in an embrace with a loose cityscape behind them. “Love.”

My insides are churning. Shane has no idea when I painted these, or why. It’s us. Well, not us literally, but the feelings of us, transferred through the paint to this couple.

He motions to the next, a couple holding hands in a park. “Romance. And this one . . .”

Tonya pulls her brows down. “No offense, Kenz, but the colors are all backwards in that last one.”

It’s a portrait in abstract expressionism and the color technique is intentional. Using broad strokes and opposite shades, it creates a dynamic juxtaposition. She was just a figure model in class, but her soulful eyes captivated me. Still do.

“Actually, Tonya, that’s what speaks to me. Imagine this blend of colors and realistic imagery as murals across the lobby.”

I look up. My work, as murals?

“I’ve purchased limited license use for the movie images and want to blend them with this treatment for the Web, our marketing materials, and the theater.” He’s looking around the room, but then catches my eye. “This is what I want to see the conceptuals as.”

Clive stands. “Yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem. Kenzi can start right away. Great. Effective and to the point, wish all my meetings wrapped as quick.” Clive’s up.

Everyone follows and the room fills with chatter. Shane fishes for his phone to take a call, and Ellie’s quickly at my side.

“Did you really paint those?” She seems impressed.

Even Bradley’s still looking at my artwork.

This is different from an online album. There’s nowhere to hide. I’m sitting right here. That’s me up on that board, stripped down, raw. I breathe deeply through my nose and hold it, trying to keep the tears back. I’m overwhelmed. I feel seen.

I glance at Shane. He’s watching me from across the room, lips curled slightly with the phone to his ear.

“Oh, almost forgot,” Tonya says loud enough to get everyone’s attention. “Friday night, we’re having a work get-together to celebrate Bradley and Kenzi’s engagement. I’ll send an e-mail.”

What is she talking about?

Tonya answers my confused gaze. “It was going to be a surprise, but when Bradley told me you guys were moving the date up, I didn’t have time to plan anything. And really, I don’t know how you’re going to plan a wedding in six weeks anyway.” She snorts her disapproval.

What the hell?

“Six weeks? Holy cow. Why didn’t you tell me?” Ellie’s voice is an excited bubble.

Um, because I didn’t know. It’s like I’m in The Proposal, when Sandra Bullock’s character announces they’re engaged, but they’re not.

But I am.

Except I didn’t agree to six weeks. I give Bradley a what-is-she-talking-about look.

He’s shaking Clive’s hand. “Thanks. It’s quick, sure—”

“Um, quick doesn’t cover it.” Clive guffaws, cocks an eyebrow, and drops his eyes to my belly.

Now everyone else is looking, too.

Wait. What?

I’m having a moment. Not a good moment. I’m looking at Shane across the conference room, standing in front of my college artwork. He’s ended his phone conversation abruptly and is staring back. I’m confused. Embarrassed.

And not pregnant.

There’s suspicion on everyone’s faces. They’re glancing at my stomach.

I suck it in.

Control-top undergarments will be a permanent wardrobe piece from now on. Maybe one pair on top of another. Maybe a full body suit.

Now, not only will I not have the time or budget to plan the wedding I really want, but it will also be forever clouded. Right after I say “I do,” I do want to start trying to get pregnant, which will look like I was, when I wasn’t.

I think of My Best Friend’s Wedding, right before they pass under the bridge on the boat, when he says, “You commit to this wedding, and then there’s this momentum, and you forget you chose it.”

I did choose the wedding. But I didn’t commit to six weeks. I didn’t choose to have everyone think I’m knocked up.

That’s a completely different movie.

This is messed up. Anger rips up my spine. What the hell is Bradley thinking? I’d like to take a chair and hit him over the head. We didn’t talk specifics about anything.

Clive snaps a finger in front of my nose, and then does it twice more in rapid succession. “Did you hear me, Kenzi? Hell-oo?”

“Mm?” I turn my attention to him.

“We have our annual client appreciation outing at River Paintball next Tuesday after work, remember? Be there dressed to kill,” Clive says and laughs at his joke. “Since you can’t participate due to—” His eyes again drop to my midsection. His eyebrows hike.

“Clive, I’m not . . .” I wave to my belly and shake my head adamantly, looking from him to Bradley.

“Oh, right, of course.” Clive clucks his tongue with a laugh, then continues discussing the game with Bradley.

Bradley seems nonchalant, as if it wasn’t even implied. My eyes fall to Tonya and Shane in the back. They’re talking in hushed tones, eyes darting toward me.

And that’s my cue. I glower at Bradley and break for the door.

Exit, stage right, it’s Runaway Bride.