Of course, this was all learned at the Halloween party last weekend, when I casually found my way over to her group and infiltrated enemy territory. I shamelessly admit that I was looking for dirt, because Sophie Miller has been too damn perfect at work, and I wanted something to have even a small leg up on her.
Instead, I came to the conclusion that not only is she a stand-out intern, but she’s also pretty fun to party with.
Currently, she’s at the biggest Okay, Cool event of the year — our relatively small and intimate after-party for the Southeastern Advertising Conference held in Miami. It’s invite only, costs a thousand dollars a head, with all proceeds benefitting a local charity, and it’s reserved for the agencies my beloved boyfriend sees as leaders in the industry. Getting an invite as an agency is like finding Willy Wonka’s golden ticket, and being asked to attend as an Okay, Cool employee is arguably better than a ten-thousand-dollar bonus.
I know why I’m here.
I landed one of our biggest clients to this date while I was an intern. I completely dismantled and rebuilt our current project management team from the ground up, revamping old and outdated systems and ushering us back into our top spot in the industry. I am already building a reputation as one of the most competent and creative account managers and creative directors in Florida, and I haven’t even graduated yet.
I’ve earned my spot in this bougie mansion, standing in my brand new, rose gold and crystal-covered Jimmy Choo heels next to a giant pool that no one at this party will enter.
What I can’t figure out is why Sophie Goddamn Miller is here.
The party is in full swing, even though the conference just ended an hour ago. And though Florida may be immune to the rest of our country’s quickly declining temperatures during the holiday season, we’re still a victim to the days being shorter, so the sun has already set, and the party’s up-lighting and pool-lighting and candles littering every table make for an elegant, sophisticated feel. A jazz trio plays music from the corner of the pool balcony, a pleasant background to the soft buzz of chatter and laughter coming from each little pod of people.
It’s the networking event of the year, and that’s what I should be doing — networking. I should be rubbing elbows with other creative directors, making proposals for how we could work together to bag large, out-of-our-league clients, or steal the most coveted ones from other agencies who are lacking what we have.
I should not be staring death lasers with my eyeballs into the intern, but it’s all I can manage to do.
Presently, we’re both in a small gathering of executives — including the CEO of Atlanta’s hottest agency, Ball & Pen, the director of the conference, who also hands out the most sought-after agency awards each year, our CFO, and of course, Brandon.
He’s who stands between me and Sophie, one hand tucked into his pocket, and the other wrapped confidently around a glass tumbler of scotch. He and the others are laughing at something, which I miss, because I’m too busy wondering how the hell Sophie weaseled her way into this event and, even more so, how she’s standing here in this particular circle.
To make matters even more peachy, Brandon is bragging on her to the group. It’s not over the top, just noting a few of her accolades as an intern, but it’s enough to make me have to actively keep myself from tapping my heel in annoyance.
I’m debating ways I could make it look like an accident and shove her into the pool, when Brandon puts his hand at the small of my back and smiles down at me, flashing his dazzling smile that somehow looks even more charming in the low lighting and pulling me back to the moment.
“And this one,” he says, shaking his head. “Not only did she secure the Bare•ly account as an intern, but she is also the lead on our top-performing campaign.” He pauses, arching a brow at Mrs. Lambert, the CEO of the Atlanta agency. “And she hasn’t even graduated yet.”
Mrs. Lambert whistles through her teeth as the rest of the group smiles and nods their approval. “That’s pretty impressive, Ms. Daniels. You ever get tired of working for this chump, you make sure you find me in Atlanta, okay?”
“Does Atlanta have a beach?”
The group chuckles at that, but Mrs. Lambert tips her glass toward me. “No beach, but if you ever thought about coming to work for me, I’d build one for you right in the middle of the city, if that’s what you wanted.”
“I’m flattered, Mrs. Lambert,” I say, laying a palm over my chest. “But my home is Okay, Cool.” I look up at Brandon then. “As long as this one will keep me around, anyway.”