Page 9 of Love's a Glitch
Ugh, I could already see the bad review in my mind, marring my name, signed by the snooty man who wanted “less fluff.”I’d give this web designer zero stars if I could. She used bold yet classic colors, unique fonts, and created an enlightened scrolling interaction. Unfortunately, that wasn’t boring enough for me. I want people to fall asleep if they dare to wander ontomywebsite.
I much preferred the first guy I was working with—Harry or maybe Henry—anyway, judging from the same last name, Charles was his father or uncle. Suffice it to say, nepotism was alive and well over at Coastal Luxury Realty.
I’d spent a month working on the website so far, and while the other guy seemed to trust my judgment and had only responded with “I like the header” or “how many properties can we display at once,” Charles was determined to micromanage the shit out of me.
“It’s like hiring Michelangelo and then telling him how to do his thing.” As soon as it came from my mouth, I crinkled my nose, rethinking my example. The famous artist had balked over being commissioned for the Sistine Chapel, insisting he was a sculptor, not a painter. It’d strained his relationship with the church, along with his eyesight, which was something I understood all too well after staring at my computer screen for hours on end—blue blocker glasses for the win! Still, the chapel came out amazing, and I doubted it was because the pope stood there nitpicking every brushstroke before Michelangelo could turn it into a muscular dude with his dick out.
“I’m no Michelangelo,” I continued my outer monologue in the vain attempt to get Dottie to feel bad about enough about being an accessory to my crime to come cuddle. “But I’m good at what I do, so maybe it’s closer to hiring a born-and-raised New York taxi driver and being the out-of-towner who tells him which roads to take.”
Finally, Dottie glanced at me, as if she realized I wasn’t going to stop rambling until I got an audience. With aharrumph, she flopped on the floor and began grooming herself.
Procrastination called to me, and I placed my hand on the top of my laptop, debating whether or not to shut it and ignore the new message in my inbox. Being fired would free up my days, but there’d likely be a fight over the invoice—clients paid half up front, and half upon completion—and my boss would unfailingly pass on any deduction of pay to me.
Dear Eloise,
I didn’t expect such frank candor from someone with a portfolio filled with too many garish and bold styles blended together. I searched through the sites when I discovered we’d be working together, and to be honest, I was thrown by how often things move around before I could even get a good look at them. I, too, dislike wastes of time, and also realize you’ve been working on this project for weeks. To prove to you that I very much know what I want, I’ll compile a list of websites that convey the sort of professionalism I’m searching for and have it to you by tomorrow morning. I trust that you’ll be better able to come up with a design that suits my pickiness from there.
Best,
Charles L. Davis
My jaw hungopen for so long that my throat dried out, and my face burned with the fire of a thousand summer suns. “‘Too many garish and bold styles.’ And he just had to toss out the word ‘professionalism,’ as though I don’t have that. What an asshole.”
Despite telling myself I didn’t care what the guy thought of my work, a pang still vibrated through me. Not only because of his insults, but also that I couldn’t argue when it came to professionalism. Sending that kind of response was anything but, which was why I hadn’tmeantto send it. Hell, I even used my full name in an attempt to come across as more professional.
Well, not my fullfullname. After a lifetime of blank stares and people mangling the pronunciation and spelling of my surname as their tongues tripped over the extra syllables, I went by Eloise Kostas at work and kept any side projects I took on under the Ellie MK Designs email address.
From now on, all snarky, ranting responses would be compiled in another document entirely. Not that that made it professional, but if I didn’t get it out somewhere, it could lead to me saying things I shouldn’t to the client.
Maybe if I just explain that my cat sent it.
Yeah, because that makes me sound super professional.
Since there wasn’t much else that could be done, I typed out a response about how much I appreciated him taking the time to do that so I could more accurately build a website we were both proud of. Then I closed my laptop before I could do any more damage.
Given that Coastal Luxury Realty was one of the biggest clients Zero Gravity Designs had worked for, and that my boss picked me to make them happy, the pressure had already been set to high.
Now it’d been cranked to the next level.
A glance at the clock had me shoving aside my work drama and rushing toward the bathroom for a quick shower. Tonight, I had a dinner date with an engineer.
5
Luke
Irubbed at my gritty eyes. They were dryer than after hiking the White Sands in New Mexico, but at least there I’d had a beautiful scene to shoot during the golden hour, that last hour before the sunset and photos turned from great to capturing magic.
Not that the view from the office my grandfather Charles and my dad Chuck had once occupied wasn’t impressive.
In fact, I could see out past La Jolla Cove, the reflection of the sun against the ocean turning the water into liquid gold. Automatically, I reached for my camera, only to find a tie in its place.
Oh, well. Without my camera, I could imagine a sailboat bobbing out there with a pretty brunette aboard. We could chat and laugh and enjoy the sunset together. If I closed my eyes, I could almost smell the salty-fresh air and feel the light bobbing of the waves.
“Charles?”
I turned to face Heather, the assistant I’d inherited. She’d worked for the company since I was in junior high, which was also around the time I’d asked to go by my middle name to separate myself. After all, Charles was my grandfather, and my father went by Chuck, a name that’d never felt like it fit. I requested I go by Lucas or Luke—my mom had looked so horrified by the shortened version, presumably because it wasn’t nearly refined enough for her liking. I’d considered the name change a gateway decision, one also aimed to clue them in to the fact that I didn’t want to work in the family business like they’d planned. Not that they’d taken the hint, because they were stubborn like that.
Now that I was back home, most everyone around the office referred to me by Charles—or worse, Junior—proving that no matter how many years or miles I placed between myself and home, the Davis name and my position as oldest in the family would always overshadow it. “Go ahead and go on home,” I said. “I’m wrapping up the day myself.”
