Page 71 of So Not My Type

“Can you come to G-2?” Her words were frantic, nearly incoherent. She almost tripped over her feet as she walked backwards toward the room. Every cell in her body fired and needled at her skin.

“Something came in, I think… maybe we can pull this off. We’ll needeveryone, though.”

Stupid projector lagging with the plug-in. What was this? 2004?Come on!She shoved it again and it roared to life. People shuffled in the room with a spectrum of curious, annoyed, and defeated looks. Her hands shook. Her limbs shook. Her breath shook.Please, please, let this work.

“Hey, all. Cutting to the chase here. We got a couple new images. Ella created them, and even though she’s not a creative, I think they might work. Different direction than before, and you guys are the experts, but the imagery connects with the approved copy.” She flipped to the first one and watched the raised eyebrow and murmured reactions.

“Second one.” She clicked to the next. Other animated voices joined in as she allowed the team a moment to review.

“Third.” The team’s expressions didn’t adjust much, until it seemed the image clicked for the entire room. Gazes flung her way, and she wanted to fan the burn from her ear.

“Huh. Sophie, who knew you doubled as a model?” Malcolm scratched at his beard. “These are all great. Team, thoughts?”

The room burst into conversation, teammates marveling at Sophie’s angel picture, others talking about the colors and images, how they could be adjusted, or where the copy could lie. A few more moments passed before Sophie spoke. “All right. Thoughts here? I’d normally like to give you some time to think about it, but we have…” She glanced at her watch. “Two and a half hours. That’s it.”

“That’s not enough time. George isn’t around, the creative director is remote, there is?—”

“Combine the images with copy and send it?—”

“There’s no chance we’ll get this complete?—”

The voices clamored for airspace, with some team members begging, some naysaying, some animated, and Sophie’s insides trembling.

“We can do this. I’m sending the raw files now. Let’s divide into teams of two, rapid-fire-style. Everyone, do a quick magic edit and modify directly in the platform. Take the existing headline and add it to all three images. I know we can do this.” The team stared at her.

“Now! Go. Please, we have to try.”

A lead grabbed their laptop and started. “Gum wall has to go. Swap background from image one with image three.”

And soon, a waterfall of direction occurred as the team sprung alive.

“Add shadow lines, not too much, to image two.”

“Make hair white instead of red, change wings from black to red.”

“Add tattoos to image one, black only.”

“Reduce the copy font size by two and increase the highlights.”

Sophie opened her notes app to help guide the team when Malcolm leaned over. “Quick chat in the hallway.”

The words were definitely not a question. Sophie followed him out, scratching at her neck to go back inside. She didn’t want to miss a word, a thought, anything, and cause even a second more of a delay. “What’s up?”

“Ella created these images?”

“Yes, she emailed them just a few minutes ago.”

Malcolm nodded. “They’re good. I’ll be interested to see what the team chooses.” He stuffed his hands in his pocket. “I’ve gotta ask, though. She clearly used your image. I don’t know if they’re going to choose that one or not, but I need to know how you’ll feel if they do. Your face will be plastered all over social, web, the parade…”

Sophie hadn’t taken the time to really consider the ramifications if they used her actual image for the ad.

“We’ll need legal to draft something for you to sign, if they choose your face. I’m in full support of whatever you want. The image is great. But if you’re not okay with it, say the word. I won’t even tell the team that you’re uncomfortable. I’ll say I’m uncomfortable, or HR blocked it, or something. I’d feel terrible if you compromised yourself and regretted it later.”

Sophie’s heart swelled and tears prickled her eyes. Again. Crying her first week on the job, then not for six years, and now she was an emotional wreck.

Malcolm had always protected her, had her back. Hiring her on at eighteen, showing her the ropes, training her, guiding her. She loved her dad so much, but damn if Malcolm wasn’t a solid work dad. She did something she’d never done before—she hugged him. Then promptly released.

“Damn. Consent much?” He laughed, then squeezed her back.

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