Page 13 of Out of the Blue

Back in my cubicle, I take care of all the details for Mr. Tenley and shoot off a confirming email. It’s already nine o’clock. So much for a quick assignment. I’m powering down my computer when a raised voice sails from one of the offices.

It’s Rita’s boss, Mr. Griffith, one of the head honchos here at Apex. Someone I’ve only met once during the few months I’ve been working here. Deciding it’s better for me to leave than be caught up in whatever drama’s going on—I have enough of my own, thank you very much—I pull out my purse and rise to my feet.

Mr. Griffith’s door swings open, banging against the opposite wall. I wince at the anger radiating from across the way. The man himself stalks out into the main office and swivels his head as if looking for someone.

Fuck. Why did I leave my invisibility cloak at home today?

“You.” His voice booms.

Never one to cower, I lift my chin. “Yes, Mr. Griffith?” He probably needs a town car to drive him home. I step toward my phone. “Can I order something for you?”

“You don’t happen to know anything about social media, do you?”

I swallow. Hell yes, like a shit ton. I did all of Big Rolls’s social media for his used car dealership. And grew his following on Facebook and Instagram over one hundred percent during the year I worked for the asshole. Hope he’s back in obscurity now.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Guess he needs to make a post or something. “What can I help you with?” I hope this is quick so I can get back to the open bar.

He waves his hand, motioning me over. I drop my purse onto my seat and cross the office to stand in front of the grey-haired, bearded giant. Well, he’s at least six-foot four.

“What’s your name?”

“Cordelia Hernandez, sir.”

“What sort of experience do you have with social media?”

“I used to be in charge of all the social media at my last job.” No need to tell him where or for whom. This fact alone should give him enough confidence I can post something for him, or respond to a PM.

“Who was that for?”

He asked.I sigh. “Garcia Used Car Dealership.”

“Ever do anything with musicians?”

“No, but the concept’s the same.” Whatever. Let’s get this over with. “How can I help you?”

He places his index finger on his lips. “What’s your job here, Cordelia?” His voice has taken on an inquiring tone.

Not sure what he’s getting at, I reply, “Travel and Logistics Clerk.” Basically, an entry-level gopher, I’m a catch-all for whatever someone needs to coordinate, like the hotel block for Mr. Tenley tonight.

“Nothing with marketing?”

I shake my head.

“Show me some of your work.” He turns and strides into his office proper.

What the heck is going on? Because I’m the only person here, I don’t have an excuse not to follow him inside. At his direction, I sit at his oversized desk and pull up Big Rolls’ Facebook page, then scroll down to the posts I did. Of course, I note his more recent stuff isn’t getting as much interaction as when I was in charge. I sit up a bit taller.

Mr. Griffith leans closer to the screen and scrolls down, humming in what I believe is agreement. “Good questions, great engagement.”

“Thanks.” He asks to see my work on Instagram, which garners the same sort of reaction. What’s he getting at?

He leans on his desk and folds his arms across his broad chest. “Listen, I’ll give it to you straight. The person we had lined up to do the marketing for the new opening band we’re repping, at least for a short while, just quit. All of our other marketing personnel are caught up with other, and to be honest, more profitable projects. The truth remains, though, we’re contractually obligated to assign a marketing person to handle this band starting tomorrow.”

My hair wraps around my pinky. What is he saying? Incredulously, I ask, “Do you want me to do marketing for the new band?”

“Looks like it.”

Excitement buzzes throughout my limbs. Does this position come with a raise? “What all would be entailed with this?”

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