On Monday, I didn’t see him until the afternoon critique meeting. I followed the herd of designers into the darkened conference room and climbed the aisle of stairs between the tiered tables, filing into a row halfway up. Logan was in the back with his MacBook hooked up to the projector.
Our eyes met for a moment and that was all. His expression didn’t change, and I did my best to follow suit. I tried to remember how I’d felt two weeks ago, waiting for him in this room. Indifferent. Annoyed. I had no hope of returning to that mindset.
My feelings for him were strong and disorienting. I kept my eyes fixed on the projection of his desktop and listened to his deep voice behind me. Hearing and not seeing him put non-work related thoughts in my head.
The first slide pulled up – a textured background and angled font with a forced perspective. It was interesting. My eye followed the path down through the brochure just as she’d intended. Critique was anonymous, but we knew each other’s work. Kathleen. Her stuff was always strong, and occasionally it was great. She’d been one of the senior designers Logan had beaten out for the promotion.
Kathleen was in her late thirties. She worked hard when she was “on the clock,” but when that 5:00 p.m. displayed in the top right corner of her computer screen, it was officially her time. Didn’t matter if the client was waiting on a rush proof. She didn’t have the drive to go above and beyond.
Logan did. He was like me, anxious to succeed. Competition was encouraged in the workplace because he wanted to be the manager of the best department in the company.
Was he aware how good he was, outside of the office, in my eyes? It reminded me of the moment I’d complimented his artwork hanging over the couch, the car ad he’d done a while ago. How his expression had softened and he’d come undone. What would be his reaction if I someday told him I was falling for him?
“This is strong work,” Logan said. “I’d like to see the same flow mirrored on the back.”
Some people didn’t attempt to be subtle. Heads turned back to look at Logan, and then on to Kathleen, like they expected her to faint from shock.
A new image filled the screen. An ad for an upcoming wedding expo with the magenta text shaped in the silhouette of a bride, placed on a pale pink background. It was hard to read.
“I appreciate the idea, but this isn’t working. It needs an eye-catching photo as the focus to draw us in and make us commit to reading all that text.”
I had to remind myself to breathe. This was the exact type of ad Logan would eviscerate. Should have eviscerated. It wasn’t good, and not good meant awful to him. Yet, he restrained himself. People’s thoughts were loud on their faces. “Who is this person who looks like Logan, but obviously isn’t?” The next slide was full of drop shadows, and I gripped the edge of the desk tightly. Maybe he’d been saving up his energy to lay into Jamie.
“This is dated and cluttered. Remove the shadows and let the elements breathe. Try an understated take on this.”
He moved on, continuing his critique, and it barely registered when my GoodFoods rebrand package was up for review. I jotted down a note about making it more approachable with less of a hipster feel. The screen went black and there was a soft thump as his laptop shut.
“Any questions?” he asked.
We sat with our butts glued to the seats, stunned.
“If anyone wants to discuss feedback with me, my door is open.?
?
My gaze followed him when he collected his things and moved down the aisle, ending the meeting.
The room erupted in discussion thirty seconds later.
“Did he make an adjustment in his meds?” Gary asked no one in particular.
“This is a joke,” Becca said. “We’re going to get back to our desks and find out we’ve all been let go.”
Maybe I’d have to tell him to dial it back a little, to ease his way into the constructive critiques. No, wait a minute. This was their problem, not his. His attempt had been perfect.
“Who worked with you on the GoodFoods account?” Kathleen asked me when I came to my feet and pushed in my chair.
“I’m actually handling it on my own right now.”
Her jaw set. “Oh, I didn’t hear you’d gotten promoted,” she said, rather loudly. She knew that I hadn’t, and did her best to make sure everyone else knew.
“Not yet.” My phone chimed with a text message. From him.
I breezed down the hall back toward my cube, barely able to contain my grin.
chapter
EIGHTEEN