Page 15 of So Not My Type

Maybe after they landed the campaign, and after the cruise, she’d start dating. Her last serious relationship was in her teens. Herteens. Very few, one-to-two-month scattered relationships followed—which amounted into nothing more than the standardhandful of dates, every-other-day texting, and both realizing it would never go further. And even that was at least two years ago. A onetime hookup last year with a woman she met around the block during happy hour was the last physical contact she’d had that was more than a hug.

The crisp air pulled through Sophie’s nose and filled her lungs, and she exhaled slowly. She had already exceeded her first five-year plan, and was full swing into her second. If she kept going, kept this pace, kept showing up and killing it every day, she could move to senior PM and then manager within three years. Then senior manager, director, then vice president—her North Star. They’d feature her in “40 Under 40” articles, people would ask how she became so successful so young, how she rose through the ranks without a degree, how she managed to become vice president byhustle alone. TheTimesmight pick up the article,Forbeswould get in on the action, maybe KING 5 would request an exclusive. She could go on a speaking tour, or write a book on how to break into the corporate world with nothing but grit and resilience.

She deserved this. And it wasn’t fair that Ella got the chance of a lifetime that Sophie busted her ass for. It wasn’t fair that some kids wore designer clothes and vacationed in Hawaii, where the most she ever did was pop a tent at Deception Pass. She felt like she was losing the control, the power she gained, and wasted the shit sandwich she ate that first year in laughing at dumb old white man jokes, and running to get dry cleaning even though that was never on the job description.

“You ready?” Maya asked, cutting through her thoughts. “Might be time to head back.”

Sophie shook out a breath, not nearly as relaxed as she hoped. “I think I need another minute.”

6:30 a.m. was for punks. But yet, here Sophie was, seeking out caffeine to drag her through week two with Ella.Ugh.Yes, she was being ridiculous. But she couldn’t help it. Her deep dislike for rich people had imbedded into her at a young age. It was irrational—of courseit was irrational—but she swore rich people didn’t feel. Theycouldn’tfeel, at least not to the depths that working-class or food-insecure people felt. If they were sad, they could just go buy something. A handbag, a Lambo, a designer-bred dog, to pull them out of their funk.

Rich people didn’t need to prove their worth. Simply by status, they had the luxury to demand respect wherever they went. They could just getthings. They never needed to work for things.

Butbeautifulrich people?Pfffft.People like Ella, with her apple cheekbones and thick, straight hair, and full, round hips that swayed when she walked. Not that Sophie was looking. She just noticed it once, maybe twice. This odd, probably indecent fascination in watching Ella move was simply Sophie’s hormones acting haywire that fresh feminine energy had invaded her space.

Sophie loved women, of course, but shereallyloved women. Wanted to lift, validate, and support women, always. Matriarchy was next to godliness. But did Ella deserve her admiration? The way she made Sophie squirm, and not in the good way, indicated Sophie shouldn’t be admiring her looks at all.

The special smells of body odor, perfume, and someone eating an egg sandwich engulfed the metro to downtown. Sophie breathed through her mouth as she scrolled through her podcast backlog and started an episode on brand messaging. Closing her eyes, she pushed away thoughts of Ella, and tried to absorb the content.

It was useless. All the way to her stop, Sophie’s mind flashed images of Ella, with her irritating heart-shaped face, and thosedeep, warm brown eyes that reminded Sophie of fall, with leaves changing colors, burning wood scent, the feel of pulling on your favorite hoodie when the air turned crisp.

Gripping a coffee cup in hand, Sophie strolled the sidewalk. Traffic, honks, and the zip of cyclists passing on the bike lane surrounded her. She flicked at the mist on her face. The brassy scent of moist pavement and brick reached her nose, and she leaned into the smell. She loved spring, the mist turning warmer than the winter mist, the sweetness of the cherry blossoms, the promise of needed sunshine.

She had so much work to do and tonight looked to be another late night. A pile of meetings, emails, and reviews sat heavy on her chest. She ran her palm against the prickles in her hair and inhaled. She could do this. Shewoulddo this. That cruise was hers, and nothing would stop her. She’d sleep at the office if needed to execute this campaign.

Growing up, she never went anywhere that wasn’t within driving distance. Sure, she’d seen the ocean. Ocean Shores was only a few hours away. Oregon a few more hours. But this cruise meant she’dbewith the ocean. Whale watching, saltwater, and coffee on the balcony.

Sophie stepped into the nearly vacant building. Five days until another Ella-free weekend. She rolled her shoulders like a fighter stepping into the ring and mentally prepared for her first meeting. Soon, a grin reached her lips. Ella may have been handed this job on a platter, but she’d never have Sophie’s edge.

Being scrappy her entire life, she picked up on things that others may miss. Details mattered. The VP liked her coffee with sugar-free vanilla, and her love language was fancy, fine-point gel pens. The creative director had two kids, nine and eleven, who were obsessed with the Hunger Games. The senior director of accounting was an avid Seahawks fan, and never got over Russell Wilson leaving the team for the Broncos. Even withElla unfairly getting this job, it would take years to learn these things. Sophie would inherently be better. She exhaled. Maybe she should cut Ella some slack.

Cut Ella and her perfect mouth some slack.

Dammit. Not again.

The elevator dinged and Sophie crossed onto the floor. Joan Jett blasted through her headphones, and she tried to pull the energy into her soul. She rounded the corner and saw Ella at the desk, with King George hovering over her. It was barely after 7:00 a.m., but they looked like they’d been here all day.

She lowered her headphones and inched forward but halted at their expressions. George’s normal pompous-y, arrogant-y, salesman-y face carried a look that could only be described as fatherly—a frown, knotted eyebrows, a gentle hand on a shoulder. One that she’d seen many times over the years from her own dad accompanied with some variation of “I’m worried about you.”

“Shh.” Ella snapped the word quick and harsh, like a whip.

George stopped mid-sentence and morphed his face into a toothy grin. “Sophie Black. Just checking in to see if my daughter shared any embarrassing family stories.”

Ella’s nostrils flared, and she pulled her lips into a straight line.

Sophie unraveled her backpack from her shoulders as she approached. “Nope, not yet. Looking forward to them, though.”

George stepped back and waved Sophie to her desk. “Sophie, did I ever tell you how I got my start? Delivering newspapers…”

Rain or shine. Snow or hail. Then worked his way up to answering phones in the classified section. Then moved to cutting and taping the ads, old-school-style, to see how they’d fit on the 12 x 22 page, to working in a small agency.

She waited for him to finish telling the story she heard at least once a year during the annual summer picnic. But at theend, she grinned—she always did. She could respect someone who started at the bottom and worked their way up.

“Point is,” George said, “I see the good work you’re doing, and it reminds me of me.”

A bit of Sophie swelled with pride. She glanced at Ella to see if she caught what he said about her. Goober or not, getting a compliment from the boss always felt good. And it felt doubly good that Ella heard it.

Ella cleared her throat. “Thanks for stopping by. I, uh, think we’re good now.”

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