The rest of my first day was a blur of information overload. Jason walked me through the Archer account history, showing me past campaigns and research on competitors.
"Don't psych yourself out," he said, noticing my frantic expression. "Blackwood wouldn't have put you on this if he didn't think you could handle it."
"Or he's making me fail," I muttered.
Jason seemed to be taken aback. "Why would he do that?"
I shrugged, unsure myself. "Test me? For fun? Rich people have too much time on their hands."
"Blackwood doesn't play games," Jason replied gravely. "Whatever his motives, they are calculated. He always has an agenda."
My head was mush by six o'clock. Most of the creative staff had gone home when Jason knocked on my desk.
"Time to shut up shop," he replied. "You look ready to crash face-first into your keyboard."
I rubbed my tired eyes. "Is this always this serious?"
"Only when the big boss makes you a favorite," he jeered. Then seriously: "Wanna go get some chow? There's a decent joint a block over. We can discuss first impressions on Archer."
The invitation took me by surprise. "Oh, I don't want to interrupt your evening."
"I was going to get dinner anyway," he said with a friendly smile. "May as well be busy."
There was something about his friendly demeanor that made it hard to say no. Besides, I actually did need help with this project.
"Sure," I said. "Let me just finish up."
The restaurant was a tiny Italian place with checkered tablecloths and bottles of wine lining the walls. Not fancy, but charming.
"I'm here at least twice a week," Jason confessed as we scooted into a corner booth. "Their carbonara is life-changing."
The laid-back vibe put me at ease, and soon we were tossing ideas for the Archer campaign back and forth over a margherita pizza.
"So why graphic design?" Jason asked taking another bite.
I smiled, recalling. "My father owned a little bakery when I was growing up. I'd make his signs and menus. There was just something about drawing pictures that say something that resonated with me."
"The bakery's no longer there?"
My smile faltered. "No. A developer bought the whole block for a high-end high-rise. Forced all the small businesses out." The memory still stung. "Dad never recovered from losing it. He got sick after that, and mom couldn't handle it, so she left."
Jason's eyes softened. "I'm sorry. That must have been hard."
"Old news," I said, not wanting him to sympathize with me. "What about you? Always wanted to work in advertising?"
He chuckled. "Actually, I did want to be a comic book illustrator. But my parents wanted some decent job for their single son."
We swapped stories of college and awful first jobs. It was pleasant to laugh and forget troubles awaiting me the following day.
Jason was halfway through describing a disastrous photoshoot when his gaze landed on something behind me. His smile faded.
"What's wrong?" I asked, turning to look.
Alexander Blackwood leaned against the door of the restaurant, scanning the space. Even dressed down, he looked intimidating in his expertly tailored suit. A hovering maître d' held on to his elbow.
"What's he doing here?" I breathed, resenting how tiny I felt in my seat.
"No idea. This isn't exactly his usual five-star scene."
It was too late to have kept it a secret. Blackwood's eyes locked onto our table, and with a hasty word to the maître d', he strode straight toward us.
My heart pounded as he approached. Up close, he looked tired, with thin shadows under his eyes that hadn't been present this morning.
"Kim. Ms. Gray." His voice contained no shock at being found with us.
"Mr. Blackwood," Jason said, standing. "What can we do for you?"
Blackwood ignored the question. "Working dinner?"
"Just throwing around some initial thoughts on Archer," I said quickly, gesturing towards the notebooks spread out between our plates.
His eyes traveled around the table, landing on the half-empty wine glasses. Something in his expression hardened.
"I see." His tone was icy. "Kim, the Hong Kong investors forced their call to 8 AM tomorrow. I need you prepared."
Jason looked at his phone, his face scowling. "I didn't get any notification…"
"I'm giving you notice now," Blackwood cut in. "Ms. Gray, outside for a minute?"
It was a command. I shot a hopeless look at Jason as I stood up from the booth.
"I'll cover the check," Jason said, his face concerned.
Blackwood was already heading for the door, so obviously assuming I'd be behind him I wasn't surprised when he turned around to scowl at me outside.
"Sir, is something the matter?" I asked when he paused and regarded me.
"You're running a big campaign for my company," he said brusquely. "I want to know your focus is on that, not office fluff."
It took me a second to catch on to what he was implying.
"Think I'm. going out with Jason?" I couldn't keep incredulity from creeping into my tone. "It was a business dinner. First day on the job."
"Because there's wine?" His eyes were ice cold, expressionless.
My cheeks flushed, with anger or shame, I couldn't tell.
"One glass with dinner isn't really partying like a rock star," I said, attempting to keep my tone respectful. "And really, sir, I don't understand how it's relevant to my work."
"Everything my employees do reflects on my company." He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "And when I send someone to head a high-stakes project, I expect them to be beyond reproach."
"Above reproach?" I echoed, my anger spilling over despite my best efforts. "We were talking business at the pizza shop. I wasn't aware you needed permission to do that."
His jaw muscle flickered. For one moment, I thought he might fire me off the top of his head.
Rather, his expression altered, almost without you realizing it. "You read me incorrectly, Ms. Gray. Kim is highly capable but has a history of becoming. involved with women who work here. Usually with tragic repercussions for their careers."
That stopped me in my tracks. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about his interest possibly being other than professional. And given your standing on this project, that is problematic."
Before I could respond, the door to the restaurant opened. Jason came out, holding my bag and jacket.
"Is everything okay?" he asked, glancing between us.
"Fine," Blackwood answered smoothly. "I was just leaving." He nodded brusquely at me.
"Ms. Gray."
We stood there silently as he walked to the curb, where a black car was waiting. A driver opened the door, and Blackwood slid in without looking back.
"What was that about?" Jason asked as the car pulled away.
I took a chance and took my jacket back from him, thinking quickly. "He wanted to. talk about the project timeline."
It wasn't entirely a lie, but I couldn't bring myself to share Blackwood's threat on Jason. It was too bizarre, too personal.
Jason didn't believe in me. "Outside some off-the-wall restaurant he just happened to have wandered into?"
I shrugged, feeling suddenly fatigued. "Rich people are weird. I should get home, big day tomorrow."
"I'll walk you to the subway," he offered.
"It's okay. I'm just a few blocks from here."
He frowned. "You walk home? At night?"
"My apartment's close by. And I've been carrying pepper spray since I was sixteen." I smiled falsely. "But thanks."
We exchanged goodnight stiffly, both of us surprised by Blackwood's unexpected arrival.
As I walked back home, I couldn't help but replay our conversation on the street. Was he truly concerned about workplace relationships affecting the project? Or was it something more?
I thought about the way his eyes had darkened when he saw us together, the way his voice had turned frosty. Closest it felt like he was.
No. Ridiculous. Alexander Blackwood wasn't jealous. Men like him didn't notice plain, broke graphic designers. He was my boss, nothing more.
But still, I couldn't shake the vision of his blue eyes, that he'd gotten closer as he spoke. As if staking a claim on me or something.
My cell phone buzzed as I got a text message.
*Unknown Number: Car will pick you up at 7:30 tomorrow. We need to discuss your thoughts before the team meeting. - AB*
I stood there, paralyzed in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at my phone. How did he get my personal number? And why did he even want to meet alone?
A second text came through.
*Unknown Number: This is not an option, Ms. Gray.*
I added the contact as "Boss from Hell" and typed back hastily.
*I'll be there at 7:30.*
Whatever Alexander Blackwood's agenda was, I was clearly a pawn. But pawns were disposable, and I couldn't afford to lose
this job.
Having ascended the stairs to my flat, I had less than twelve hours to come up with a game-changing concept for the Archer campaign.
So much for rest.