How did so many years of preparation and worry and love mean so little? She was making her own choices and going down a disastrous road. These new friends of hers smoked pot and skipped school. Did she actually believe I’d allow her to travel cross-country in a broken-down RV with delinquent strangers? This was the group she chose to hang out with?
Not on my watch. I’d die before I let her go.
My fingers trembled around the stem of the glass. Instead of being contrite and crying as she begged for forgiveness, she’d blamed me. Where had the hate come from? We hadn’t even had a blowout fight in the past year. I deliberately backed off to allow her space to grow and find her own way. Tried to give her privacy instead of being one of those pushy, nosy moms.
Look what that had done. She’d gotten worse with the freedom and now I had to get a handle on it.
I rubbed my temples, head throbbing, and downed the glass of wine. I had to deal with this presentation tomorrow and then I’d handle Allegra. Once I snagged the account, I’d take some time off and concentrate on what she needed and how I could fix this. Maybe get her a therapist. I’d mentioned one to her before, but she’d scowled at my suggestion and refused. This time, I’d insist. Did she need antianxiety drugs? Was peer pressure getting to her?
The questions whirled through my overtaxed brain.
Just one more lousy day until it was time to dazzle and close a big win for my team.
I could do it.
I headed up to bed.
* * *
* * *
The next morning, my team gathered in the war room to go over last-minute details before the presentation. I’d dressed in my favorite lucky suit—a smart, sleek black pin-striped Michael Kors number that both was stylish and projected confidence. Kate looked polished in slate gray, the feminine ruffles on her blouse a delicate touch by Vera Wang. And Layla sported a Donna Karan pantsuit in rich cream, her dark skin a gorgeous sheen against the pearl. Adam exuded enthusiastic energy and was dressed in a classic Calvin Klein with a narrow cut in a muted navy with a red tie.
I sipped some water, forgoing my usual coffee, and tried to get into the zone. I was much more nervous than normal—my heart beating at a more rapid pace than I was used to—and I needed to reflect a calm, competent demeanor. I shouldn’t be worried. My pitch was razor sharp.
Kate sipped her espresso, her blue gaze shredding through the proposal to double-check for accuracy. “We have lunch reservations at Anthony’s right after the meeting,” she said in her low voice.
“Good.” I dragged in a deep breath and swore that after I nailed this, I’d begin taking regular yoga classes. I hoped I didn’t start to sweat and thanked God for jackets. “We got this. We’ve practiced nonstop, our video campaign is brilliant, and we have a chance to go viral on IG.”
“As long as Alan isn’t a conservative,” Layla pointed out. “He has the capacity to kill it.”
“He’d get outvoted,” I said firmly. “Lexi would rather go with a daring campaign than boring. Plus, humor sells.”
“True,” Kate said, nodding.
Finally, my assistant called to let me know the clients were here.
Showtime.
I slipped into charm mode and soon had settled everyone in the conference room. Lexi’s Lemonade was the brainchild of Lexi Hutchinson, who’d become obsessed with the juice-drink culture when her own kids became addicted to sugary sports drinks. I liked her immediately because she wasn’t pretentious and she wanted to find the right niche to sell to and get the brand national attention. Right now, she was in local supermarkets from a grassroots endeavor that had exploded.
Alan, dressed in a conservative black suit, was bald, proper, the numbers guy. Johanna was the head of marketing, a fierce redhead who’d challenged me to think big or forget the whole thing. I wanted to impress her the most.
Once coffee had been poured, pastries grabbed, and the anticipatory hush settled, I launched into my intro, moving confidently into the multiple reasons F&F Advertising was the perfect fit, and what we could do for Lexi’s Lemonade.
Kate and Layla stepped in at crucial points to discuss the budget figures and research demographics, which Alan seemed to appreciate; then Adam transitioned smoothly into our social media campaign. I’d gone with live video rather than graphics to achieve the full effect and had dropped a substantial amount in a gamble that I’d get the account if I spared no expense.
As Adam finished up, I began to notice my nerves tighten and stretch under my skin and my lungs constrict around my breath. I took a sip of water and kept my smile firmly in place. My palms grew damp around the bottle, and I silently prayed Adam would hurry. Once I began speaking, I knew I’d be fine. I was having the strangest performance anxiety, which I’d never experienced before. And unfortunately, the more I tried to relax, the harder it became to breathe.
Thankfully, I heard my cue and stepped front and center. The television behind me geared up with the video.
“Thanks to Kate and Layla for their presentations. And Adam, for his fresh outlook on social media. Personally, I took his advice and gave my own IG account a nice face-lift and I’m proud to report Kylie is now a follower. My teenage daughter was quite impressed.”
They laughed on cue.
I tried to swallow, but there was a giant lump in my throat that wouldn’t budge. I tucked my hands behind my back so no one could notice the shaking.
“The most important thing the public is looking for in a good commercial is the hook. Attention is almost impossible to keep, so we combined the hook with humor and enough mystery to keep them to the very end. It’s also extremely watchable over and over again, which allows Lexi’s Lemonade to always be in the forefront of children’s minds. I’m proud to show you this original production that will make both kids and mothers laugh.”
My vision blurred, then steadied. I could feel a trickle of sweat slide down from my armpits. I gritted my teeth and fought my body with everything I had, desperate to close the deal, lock myself in the bathroom, and then lose my shit.
“Instead of graphics, we produced our own commercial to give you an idea of what it will look like on the screen. And without further ado, I’ll let the work speak for itself. We call this commercial ‘Wishes Do Come True.’ Enjoy.”
Kate pressed the remote and the video began playing.
I knew every second of every frame, every movement and detail. With the lights dimmed, I blinked and tried desperately to focus on the screen, tamping down on the tendrils of panic beginning to hit at the realization that something very bad was happening to me.
In my mind, the commercial unfolded. The little girl running through an intricate maze of vivid colors. Stumbling across a genie lamp and giving it a few rubs. The genie exploding from the bottle, half human, half dog, drawn painstakingly by one of the most talented graphic artists in the industry, who happened to be a friend of mine. “What are your three wishes?” the odd monster boomed to the little girl.