Page 2 of So Not My Type

“Hmmm.” She crossed her legs, her fishnet stockings scratching her thighs. “The day I keel over dead from the most drawn-out conversation of my life?”

“Nooo.” He pushed up his sleeves, the black ink tattoo of his wife’s birthdate on dark skin peeking out of the fabric.“Today’s your official six-month anniversary since your promotion. I just had a morning meeting cancel. Want to have your review now or wait until our scheduled time on Friday?”

All lightness vanished. Sophie sucked in her bottom lip, her tongue circling the metal lip ring. Her arm lifted to rub her head, but she forced it back into her lap.Let’s get this over with.“Um, now’s totally fine.”

“Great.” Malcolm cleared his smile. “You’ve been killing it. Really. Every campaign you’ve executed on time, if not early. I get continuous feedback from the creative partners that you are diligent, organized, and prepared. Not that I expected anything less. But… I did an audit on your platform entries, task completions, and logins. What do you think I found on your computer?”

She chipped at her black fingernail polish with a thumbnail and tiny flecks fluttered into her lap. Nerves shouldn’t be consuming her as much as they were. She was pretty damn amazing at her job—here before everyone, stayed late every night, was Superwoman-lightning-speed responsive. Being scrappy, she had an edge, a street smart that most of her co-workers lacked. She knew the real world, had picked it up by riding along with her dad on his classic Harley and working odd jobs since she could remember.

But, the vast majority of her co-workers had college degrees, and over half had either MBAs or MFAs. She had the finesthigh school diploma from a South Seattle public school with overcapacity classrooms and burned-out teachers.

So, what did Malcolm find on her computer? A laundry list of terms she scribbled down during meetings to google later when she didn’t know what the hell they were talking about. YouTube instructional videos. A hundred bookmarked online courses that she desperately wanted to take but had no time. She forced a grin. “Um, funny cat videos? Which I will not be ashamed of. It breaks up the day.”

Malcolm cracked a grin, then flatlined. “Trust me, I didn’t have IT dig into your internet searches. I was scared it would sayhow to poison your annoying manager and get away with it, and honestly, I don’t have the energy to fire you and look for a replacement.” He sipped from his bedazzledBest Dad Evermug. “No, I saw your access times. Sophie.”

His voice took a decidedly dad-tone turn, and her cheeks flushed warm.

“You’re burning on both ends, averaging close to sixty hours a week. There was only one day in the last six months where you didn’t log on for a little bit.”

He paused like she was supposed to say something, but what could she say? These were facts. The dark circles under her eyes weren’t to rock a Seattle-emo look. She was damn tired.

“I feel awful.” His leather chair squeaked under him as he rocked. “When I was on paternity leave, I just assumed you’d take some vacation time.”

Vacation? The word sounded both terrible and incredible. She needed some downtime, for sure. Her parents, her best friend, even her apartment neighbor had called out that she looked fried. But if she took time off, and they managed without her… then what did that say about her skills? “It’s all good. I want to nail this job.” She softened her face and prayed it didn’t convey her real thoughts.

“You’re gonna burn out. This is not sustainable.”

Her neck tightened.

“At the same time, your campaign execution is flawless.” He tapped off his buzzing smartwatch. “Less than a year of being a PM and you’re operating at a senior level. I gotta say, you must’ve had one hell of a manager leading you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Malcolm. I owe everything to you. Shall I call you the king, too?”

He sucked in his lips. “I’m not taking that bait.” He rolled the chair up to the desk and propped his elbows on the cherrywood. “I have a proposition for you.”

She tugged on the collar of her cropped leather jacket, the tiny lapel spikes digging into her fingertips. “I don’t babysit.”

“Thank God, ’cause Gracie is too young for an eyebrow piercing and too small for a leather coat.” He twisted his wedding band. “George finally landed the huge account for the Latoure cruise line.”

No way.Latoure wasthe new luxury cruise ship out of Seattle. A floating city, oasis,heaven on water,at least according to theTimes. She remembered reading an article—and by article, probably a TikTok or Reel—about this new ship set to bring in tens of millions of tourist dollars while melting the guests’ worries as they sailed the Pacific to Alaska. Cruising used to be a dream for her until life got in the way. But the moment she saw the promotional materials the team gathered for George’s pitch, it catapulted back to the top of her vacation mood board.

“It’ll take a fully dedicated team to execute. We’re even bringing on some consultants to help. Anyway, Latoure is sending five employees of our choosing on an Alaskan cruise to inspire us to create the best ads.”

Sophie tilted her chin. “So, what’s the proposition?”

“George wants a rep from each team to go. One designer, copy, lead, manager, and…one project manager.”

He landed the last two words with a heavy tongue, and her spine straightened in response. She was only six months into the role and had the lowest seniority of all the PMs. No way would they let her go on this trip. She snapped her fishnet stockings at the knee. “What are you saying?”

He breathed out, hard, through his nose. “You need a break. You might be new to this particular position, but you’ve outlived half the company by now.”

He wasn’t wrong. Shelf life at an agency usually topped three years.

“And you’ve earned this,” he continued. “But so did your teammates. However, I have full discretion, and I want to offer the ticket to you.”

She did not hear him right. She couldn’t have. All the moisture in her mouth zapped away, and she eyed his water bottle. She’d only been on a plane once in her life when the company sent her to Vegas for a conference. A cruise? On the actual ocean? “Malcolm—are you saying I get to go on a cruise?”

“Before you get too excited, there’s a couple of stipulations.” He took another sip from the mug. “One, a new assignment came in for you today, with an expedited timeline. A series of social, web, and digital ads for Devil’s Doughnuts.”

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