He holds up one hand. “Ms. Sullivan?”
“Yes?”
“You’re babbling. Just don’t make this a habit, okay?”
I licked my lips. “Yes, sir.”
“And call me Declan.”
He stands, rounds his desk, and half-sits, half-leans against it right in front of me, arms crossed against his chest.
“We’re still a growing company,” he starts. “So your role as a marketing assistant is a vital one. You’ll be assisting your teammates, myself, and the other founders quite frequently, so we need to be able to count on you.”
I nod. “Understood.”
Declan relaxes and rests his palms on the edge of the desk. “We’re going to start you out mostly on research. Our clients want us to make their brands household names, and that means identifying early adopters or untapped niches. We believe that word of mouth is still the most valuable form of advertising there is, so our job is to get those brand loyalists on board early.”
It’s a solid plan. A company can spend vast sums on advertising, but nothing is more powerful than a legion of dedicated advocates.
“Some of the research you will be doing will be on the client-side, helping to fine-tune their campaigns. The rest will be for us, where you’ll assist the sales teams in bringing in new clients of our own.”
“Got it.”
“Once you’ve settled in, we can branch out beyond research and bring you into presentations, structuring data collection, reports, and more.”
“I’ve done—” I start.
“We know,” Declan interrupts. “Everybody fresh from college comes in having done work in their classes or internships. But this is how we do things. This is the real world now, and we’ve learned that dumping too much on you at once will cause stress and impact your work. We’ll work you up to where you need to be.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now, if you follow me, I’ll show you your desk.”
I stand and follow Declan out of his office to the open workspace, where there are a number of people working.
“We share this space with the creative teams,” Declan explains. “Sales is one floor down, where they can make outbound calls without disturbing other people. Client rooms and large conference rooms are on the first floor, and a handful of smaller rooms are on the second.”
“Okay.”
He stops at a desk. “Here you are.”
I glance at the surface, noting how empty it is.
“Head down to IT. They’re on the second floor. Get a laptop issued as well as a company email address. Then report back to me. I’ve got assignments ready to send to you, and we’re on a deadline, so I expect you to get right to work once you have what you need.”
I nod. “Of course.”
“Good.” With that, he turns and heads back into his office.
I sigh, set my now lukewarm coffee on the desk, and stuff my purse into a drawer.
It could have gone worse, I try to reason, but it could have also gone better.
I feel the eyes of my new coworkers on me as I head toward the elevator. The open floor plan means they all saw me slink into the office twenty minutes late.
Way to make a great first impression, Harper, I scold myself.
I’ll just have to work harder to prove that I’m a capable coworker and not some flake who will leave them hanging when it’s time to put my nose to the grindstone.
I walk past the sales floor, noting that the number of people on the phone indeed made it louder than upstairs, and find the IT office towards the back of the building. I knock twice, then step in.
“Can I help you?”
I smile at the woman working on a laptop off to one side. “Harper Sullivan,” I say. “I started today, and Declan said to come down for an email address and laptop.”
She grins, stands, and walks over, holding out her hand. “Samantha Jones,” she says as I shake her hand. “Head of IT and IT support. It’s a small office.”
I laugh. “Nice to meet you, Samantha.”
“Call me Sam. Everybody else does.”
“Sam, then.”
“So, what does Declan have you doing?” she asks as she wanders over to inspect a shelf of laptops.
“Marketing assistant.”
“Marketing assistant,” she echoes, musing. “Presentations, graph rendering.” She pauses. “You’re not doing any sort of graphics work, are you?”
“Um, not that I know of.”
She nods. “I’m going to give you one without Photoshop on it.”
“Fine by me.”
“Have a seat. I’ll need to get it registered in the system as assigned to you, as well as get your email setup.”
“Okay.”
I walk over to her desk and take a seat in one of the two chairs for guests. Sam spends a couple more minutes rummaging through the laptop selection before walking over with one. She sets it on the desk but doesn’t sit.
“We’ve got branded laptop bags, or you can use your own.”
“I’ll take a branded one.”
“Gotcha.”
Sam grabs a laptop bag from a nearby cabinet before sitting down at her desk. She turns on the laptop and waits for it to go through its boot-up cycle, then turns to her own computer. “You said your name is Harper Sullivan?”
“Yes.”
“So, your email address will be H dot Sullivan at.”
I nod. “Pretty standard.”
She starts typing. “So where ya from?”
I smile, grateful for a normal first-day interaction. “Here, actually. I moved away for college but wanted to be close to home, so I came back.”
She smiles. “Good for you. Plenty of people can’t seem to get out fast enough.”
I shrug. “It’s not that bad. I think people get wanderlust.”
Sam laughs. “Probably.” She turns the monitor and passes over the keyboard. “Create your password, standard guidelines, blah-blah, caps, numbers, special characters.”
I chuckle. “So, the norm.”
She nods. “You have no idea how often I have to explain those requirements.”
“I believe it,” I reply as I type in a password.
“So your parents still live here?” she asks as she types a few more things. She then turns to the laptop and starts a new process on it.
“My dad and stepmom.”
“Divorced?”
My breath catches, and I look at the floor. “My mom passed when I was a kid.”
Sam looks up at me. “I’m sorry.”
I force a smile. “It was a long time ago.”
“Do you at least get along with your stepmom?”
I shrug. “Dad married her while I was in college, and…”
“Uh-oh.”
I shake my head. “No, she’s just really focused on my stepsister right now. She’s in her last year of high school, so it’s time for the college search, scholarships, and all that stuff.”
Sam nods. “That makes sense.”
I shift uncomfortably. The topic is one thing, but I’m sweltering in the jacket. My blouse is already drenched in sweat, and I’ve still got the rest of the day to get through.