Page 22 of So Not My Type

Sophie’s eyes sparkled under the fluorescent lights as she spoke, and it was clear she loved her job. Ella couldn’t imagine feeling this way about marketing, but she could relate the dreaminess Sophie projected to how she felt when she painted.

“So, before we hand this off to the team, it’s our job to make sure it captures the right story,” Sophie continued. “Not just ‘sell doughnuts to millennials.’ But ‘make doughnuts sexy and fun.’ Make people want to eat at Devil’s Doughnuts and leave with merch because the place is super cool.”

A slow grin crept over Ella. “So, the essence of the ad.”

“Exactly.” Sophie twisted her wrist and checked her watch. “Better get back at it. We have a ton to do before two thirty.” Sophie’s chair squeaked against the floor, and she stood. “Hey, what do you think about running this meeting on your own?”

Ella’s heartbeat kicked up. Sophie trusted her to run a meeting, solo? Already? “On my own?” She hated that her voice cracked and hinted at anything less than un-faltered self-assurance.

“Yep.” Sophie tossed the empty cup into the garbage and leaned toward Ella. “Don’t worry. I got you. If you stumble at all, I’ll step in.”

Warmth filled Ella’s chest and she bit back the urge to hug Sophie.

The next few hours were packed with creating what seemed a thousand project plans. Each major deliverable, Sophie had explained, needed their own project. Web landing page, one project. Instagram post, one project. Facebook ad, one project. But that was for one single message. They were juggling multiple ads, multiple messages, and more than just two social platforms. One team member was gathering a shortlist of influencers for TikTok. One was looking at paid search and SEO options. Another was determining banner ads. The firehouse of information was fast and furious, and Ella’s head spun.

“I’ve gotta eat something.” Sophie scooted back from the desk, locked eyes with a woman in the corner, and pointed to the breakroom. She walked away without another word, without an invitation, and Ella shook it off. She and Sophie weren’t friends. But they’d been working together for two weeks now, and not once had Sophie invited Ella to anything more than grab a coffee.

Ella had typed out a rough agenda for this afternoon when her stomach growled. She continued typing until her stomachroared. She grabbed her lunch bag under the desk and unzipped. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

The ice pack surrounding sashimi and sushi rolls must’ve had a hole, and water had seeped over the fish.Soggy, room-temperature raw fish could create some sort of mortifying explosiveness.No thank you.

Keeping fingers crossed the breakroom had snacks shoved in drawers, she walked past clusters of tables, monitors, and conversation, and turned the corner to the open space. Like when a drunk stumbled into a speaker at a party, the laughter from Sophie zipped to a stop when she caught Ella’s gaze. Cool.Just her presence alone proved she was a fun sucker. Wouldn’t be the first time she’d been accused of dulling the life of the party. Her gut turned over, recalling a cafeteria situation at her new school in the sixth grade, when she held the tray with shaky hands and froze because she had no one to sit with.

She jutted her chin once in acknowledgement to a woman giving her a sympathy wave, and marched over to the sparkling water. The bubbles burned her throat, but she finished the drink. She tossed the cup, raced back to the desk to snag her wallet, and bolted to the elevator.

“Ella!”

Not now.She didn’t want to talk to her dad, but here he was, speed-walking toward her with his open suit jacket flapping against him.

Breathless, he caught up to her. “Where are you headed?”

She pounded on the elevator button and checked her watch. 1:10. Wherever she was going, she had a maximum of forty-five minutes. She needed to get back and collect herself before the 2:30 meeting. “I’ve got to grab some lunch.”

“Excellent.” His palms smacked together and echoed in the hall. “I was just stepping out myself. Let’s grab some grub together.”

“No one says the wordgrubanymore.” She glanced behind her shoulder to see if anyone was watching. All she needed was for more people to see her talking with her dad, mumbling about nepotism and unfair advantage. “I don’t think I have time. I really need to get something quick.”

Her father shook his head and stepped into the elevator with her. “Stop. Thomas is already waiting.”

“Dad, I?—”

“Come on, it’s your favorite.” He nudged his elbow into her shoulder.

Her ears perked up. “Cuban sandwiches?”

“Sure is.”

The line wrapped around the corner. The hearty scent of fried onions and pork cut through the gray, foggy air. Locals surrounded her, everyone knowing about the neighborhood’s worst-kept secret, a small, red bungalow in Fremont with minimal signage, a few picnic tables, and the best Cuban sandwiches in existence. Her mouth watered, waiting for the salted goodness. She flicked her wrist to check her watch. Traffic was slow, even in an off-tourist season, and it had taken almost twenty minutes to arrive. “I think we need to go back.”

Her dad crossed his arms in front of his broad chest. “Are you worried you’ll get in trouble? You know I am the boss, right?”

Everyoneknew he was the boss. She loved her dad, but he wasn’t exactly quiet about his position. “I just want to make a good impression. No special favors.”

He raised his eyebrow and closed his lips into a thin line, no doubt swallowing the comment burning on his tongue. With his limited filter, that had to have been hard. She knew damn well getting this job was a major special favor—it normally took years in the business to work up to this position. She wasn’t proudof her behavior the night her dad reluctantly agreed to hire her. In fact, it was the lowest point she’d ever been. But years of suffocating took its toll and had forced her to do something drastic.

And, well, it worked.

She clicked her heels against the pavement and shuffled forward. Finally, less than two people in front of them.

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