“Yes,” I say and shuffle the papers in front of me. The color schemes aren’t bad, but they aren’t excellent,and we’re paid for excellence. “One pitch based on their specifications. But the second pitch? That’s for us. I want it to be modern, innovative, and elegant. It should reflect the Winter spirit—not the actual color scheme of its New York location.”
“I’m all for it,” Jenna says. “The only way to convince them that their way is wrong is to show them the opposite and have these side by side.”
Toby laughs and takes off his designer glasses. He cleans them against the sleeve of his cashmere sweater. “Sometimes, I think you’re crazy, Sophia. Correction—I think you’re crazy most of the time.”
“Thank you,” I say and grin at him.
“That’s why I like working with you. We’ve never, not once, taken the easy road.”
“No,” I say. “But clients don’t hire Exciteur for easy. You both know Isaac Winter is an important friend of the CEO.”
Both Jenna and Toby nod. Exciteur is strongly performance-based and performance-review driven, and that’s reflected in promotions… not to mention bonuses. “So, we pull out all the stops,” I say. “They’re hiring us to do the thinking for them. So, let’s think big and blow them away at the pitch.”
“I can get to work on the modern pitch right away,” Jenna says and starts to scoop up the papers. Her love of yellow is reflected in a thin belt today, wrapped around a black dress. “I’ll separate what we already have into folders and get the graphic department on board. I’ll commission second options for all of this.”
“Perfect. Toby? Can you continue working on the traditional pitch?”
“Right,” he says and looks between us. “Because I’m such a boring traditionalist and a beacon of conventionality?”
Jenna and I laugh. “Yes,” she says and leans her shoulder against his. “We didn’t want to tell you, but that’s the exact reason.”
He shakes his head in mock sadness. “If only I’d known,” he says. “It would have made my high school years so much easier.”
The work day runs away from us after that, like it so often does. The opportunity to be creative and business-driven is one I love, and as I work on the Winter project, I can see the lobby in my mind’s eye. I picture the spa, and The Ivy, and Isaac’s deep voice telling me about every aspect.
After work, I have a headache from the hours spent in front of a screen. I pop an Advil and grab the tennis bag I keep in my office. It always has a fresh change of clothes and the keys to my locker at the Grandview club. My membership lasts until the end of the year, and I’m determined to make the most of it, uncomfortably familiar faces or not. It’s a wonder I’ve managed to avoid Percy for so long.
Which isn’t, strictly speaking, true. It’s just very good planning on my part. I know how that man operates, and I know his schedule. I spent years living my life by it.
Marisol is an excellent tennis trainer. She cuts me no slack, standing on the other side of the net and hitting shots my way. “Forehand!” she screams. “Keep your side angled toward the net! Connect with the ball earlier! Don’t forget the speed!”
We drill, and we drill, and we drill, and at the end, we play a set like we always do.
And it ends the way it always does.
I collapse on the bench and reach for my water bottle. “I almost had you on the last one,” I say.
Marisol grins at me. She’s forty-seven to my thirty-three, but she’s also a former Olympian, and her skills are unmatched. “Sure,” she says. “Let’s say you were close.”
I roll my eyes, and we both chuckle. Mine’s significantly more tired than hers, age difference or no.
“Same time on Thursday?” she asks.
I nod. After the divorce, this sport had become my lifeline. I need the distraction and the constant, steady improvement of skill. Something to throw myself into that’s mine and mine alone.
“Hypothetically,” I say, “would it be okay if I brought someone?”
“Sure,” she says. “Your sister coming to town?”
“No. God, Rose would hate this. No, I’m playing in the doubles tournament in a few weeks.”
Her eyebrows rise. “You are? I’ll be judging it.”
“Really? That’s great!”
“Doesn’t mean I’ll judge every point in your favor, Bishop.”
“Oh, I’m not hoping for an overt display of favoritism,” I say. “Just a small discrete one.”