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maggie

“ Y ou’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I grumble as my stomach drops like I’m heading down a rollercoaster with no track leading back up the other side. Just straight down into the pit of despair beneath the ride, littered with broken sunglasses, chewed gum, baseball caps, and trash.

Sitting in this very uncomfortable chair, I keep replaying the words my boss, Mike, called me into his office to say.

No, I’m not fired. Though, that would almost be a better scenario at this point rather than the bullshit that just came out of his mouth .

I ask him to repeat it again, to make sure I heard him correctly, because this must be a joke.

A sick, twisted joke, I hope I’m cackling about with Olivia in an hour.

But by the look on his face, I don’t think that’s what’s going on here.

He lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping forward. “I wish I were kidding. It’s cancelled.”

“I’m sorry…cancelled? The Harbor Glow campaign I’ve worked on for months, the one set to release to-mor-row, is cancelled?”

“The client decided they want to go a different direction,” he says with a slow nod. “I know it sucks, but sadly this is the nature of our business. It just happens sometimes.”

“But what about all the work we’ve put in? I killed myself for months over this. Shit, I spent an entire weekend making all their damn revisions. They’ve been on board with this idea for months ! What changed?”

He shakes his head, a worrying crease forming between his brow, seeming as confused by all of this as I am.

“They said they think their clientele won’t go for it.

They target the boomer generation, and they think these graphics are too ‘edgy’.

” He scoffs, looking at the months of work scattered across his desk.

Tears build in my eyes, but I manage to force them back.

Strong women cry over mimosas, not in shitty chairs.

I have poured my heart and soul into this campaign.

As a graphic designer for Lakeshore Creative here in Milwaukee, this was my first project as the art director.

We’ve had so much business recently, they’ve been training me to move into an art director role to help spread the work around.

I’ve been here for ten years and have earned every bit of this promotion.

Not to mention, I really connected with the vice-president of marketing at Harbor Glow cosmetics.

Shelly and I went to lunch and had drinks together.

She’s an absolute riot, and we instantly clicked.

If she wasn’t a client, we’d probably be friends.

I blankly stare at the candy dish on the desk as my brain tries to catch up.

She’s axing the whole thing without even mentioning it to me.

I get that art is subjective, but how can you put this much time and effort and a shit-ton of money into a campaign and then scrap it?

“I don’t get it. Shelly was so on board with this. Can we talk to them? Can I talk to her? Can we see if we can tweak what we have to make it more friendly for their consumers?”

Dropping his pen down on the desk, he leans back in his chair. “No. They were very firm they don’t want to go this direction. I know it sucks, Maggie. I’ve been through this before. I’ve had entire campaigns scrapped last minute too. I’m really sorry.”

I nervously bite the inside of my cheek, the defeat of this still not quite sinking in, my body numb as I try to process everything. “So, where do we go from here?”

“I told them we’d take the weekend to think about some other concepts and get back to them. But Maggie,” he pauses, looking at me with sorrowful eyes hinting that more bad news is coming. “They want Bill to take over the campaign.”

Well, I’m not numb any more. Heat surges through my veins like a wildfire as I fight to control the flare of my nostrils.

You are a professional Maggie. But what the actual fuck?

“Bill?! Bill Stansson? They want a 63-year-old man to create a campaign for a new line of all natural, anti-aging products?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he sighs, rubbing his forehead, “You know how this industry works. Sometimes clients only look at years of experience in the business.”

“Yeah, I know. Doesn’t make the pill any easier to swallow.” This particular pill feels like the jagged nacho I swallowed without chewing enough that ripped my esophagus to shreds and left me hoarse for a week.

“Hey…at least we have the Bayview Bourbon Gala tonight. You put in a lot of hard work on that campaign as well, and it all turned out amazing. Plus, there will be plenty of bourbon to go around to help get through this Harbor Glow debacle.”

“I don’t know if they’ll have enough bourbon for that,” I grumble, getting to my feet and forcing a stiff smile over my shoulder.

Beelining to the restroom, I fight to compose myself before returning to my desk.

Tears are building behind the floodgate as I force deep breaths to keep the fractured dam walls from cracking wide open.

Inhale. You are Maggie Fucking James. Exhale.

Inhale. You are a badass bitch. Exhale. I stare at myself in the mirror, willing the burn in my eyes away.

You are not going to let this client or Mike or Bill or anyone else make you feel less than the powerful woman you are.

I’ve been shoving my emotions away for all thirty-four years of my life.

Growing up with two parents as lawyers, there was never time for feelings, desires, or wants.

It was all about being driven and successful.

They didn’t think art would be a good career, so we compromised with graphic design.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents, but deep down, I know there is the slightest seed of disappointment on their end because I didn’t go to law school.

That weight resides in my chest every day, making me feel like a disappointment.

But I love being creative. That’s why this project was such a big deal.

Being able to work with a client directly, see what their needs are, researching their core demographic, and creating an innovative campaign was so fulfilling.

What we realized through our research was they’d previously been targeting consumers who were, well…

old. And not only old but dying off. I cringe in the mirror, a little spark coming back into my body.

It sounds morbid, but it’s the truth. Women in their nineties aren’t buying eye cream.

But we did see a market trend for women in their thirties and forties who are trying to prevent aging.

So, we geared the ads more toward them. Shelly thought it was a brilliant idea to target younger consumers.

It expanded their client base and introduced their brand to a new generation.

I had a whole social media campaign ready to go with graphics geared toward soccer moms, career women, and even Swifties.

Short clips with catchy graphics and trending sounds.

And now Bill Stansson is taking over. It will, no doubt, be some boring-ass ad we’ve all seen a hundred times that won’t stand out to one damn person.

And, once again, I’m going to be stuck doing the graphic design he decides is best. I can’t stand him and his archaic ways and his damn seventies chest bush flowing out of the polo shirt he’s no doubt had for twenty years .

I have got to get out of this job.

“Mags, are you okay?” Olivia, my best friend and co-worker, asks as I trudge back to my desk.

“They pulled the entire Harbor Glow campaign. It’s completely cancelled.”

Her eyes widen with shock and horror as she struggles to find words. “Are you serious? What the hell? That campaign was amazing…and so unique!”

“Apparently Bill is taking over.”

“Chest Bush? What in the actual hell?”

Slumping across the table between us, I press my forehead into the unforgiving plastic.

“Just kill me. Please. Put me out of my misery. This is going to be another campaign of Bill asking me to put in stock photos of peonies and make it all be pastels because ‘he knows the female demographic’ with all his experience.” I thread my fingers through my hair, tugging in an attempt to ground my anger.

“Liv, if he knows the female demographic, our entire planet is screwed.”

“Mags,” she doesn’t continue until I look at her. “You really should start your own business. You could totally do this on your own. There are so many clients out there that don’t want Bill’s old-ass ideas and are looking for something fresh.”

I sit up, excitement finally beating back some of my pity party.

She’s right. I would love to start my own company.

And why shouldn’t I? Sinking into my seat, I stare at the water-stained ceiling.

Oh, only about a billion reasons . Finding clients.

No longer having company-provided health insurance or being able to make a profit.

Need I go on? My sweet, naive friend is currently dating Hayes Larson, the newest star of the Milwaukee Steel Riders NHL team, and this guy seems to be so far gone for Olivia he would buy her Lake Michigan if he could.

My stomach churns and my heart sinks. The idea of money and unlimited funding may be a bit skewed in her mind at the moment.

“Thank you for your vote of confidence, but, unlike you, I am not dating a millionaire hockey player who will give me startup money for my dream of opening my own creative agency.”

“Hayes does not give me money.”

“Trust me. You guys are endgame. And he’s loaded. I bet he buys you a yacht within six months.” I jolt up, excitement in my eyes. “If he does, can I live on it? Maybe then I can save my rent money to start my own company.”

Olivia laughs. “Sure, Mags. You can stay on the S.S. Olivia as a stowaway for as long as you want.”

My nose wrinkles. “On second thought, I know you and Hayes will just use it as your personal sex boat, so maybe I don’t want to stay on your fictional yacht.”

“Maggie! We are at work.” Olivia darts her eyes around, making sure no one heard me as her cheeks turn a bright shade of pink. “But, I mean…you’re not wrong.”

I laugh. “I love you, Liv. I’m so happy for you. Hayes is amazing! I’m excited to get to hang out with you guys and get to know him more tonight. I still can’t believe we lucked out and there’s no game scheduled. Do you know what players are coming?”

Olivia scrunches her brows. “No, Maggie, I don’t know which players, or more specifically which of the single players are coming.

But please behave around Hayes’ teammates.

I haven’t gotten to hang out with them yet, so don’t be hanging all over them like a spider monkey asking them to go out with you. ”

“Olivia Marie Brooks. I would never .” I slam my hand against my chest in mock outrage. “You must be mistaking me for someone else. I am always well-behaved; the epitome of grace, elegance, and chastity. I’m basically one of those debutants from Bridgerton.”

Olivia almost spits out her coffee with a laugh. “Yeah right. Maybe the sex part of Bridgerton, but I’m not sure the word dignified applies.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I say as we continue laughing. “You’re still picking me up tonight, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up around six so we can get there, unload all the gift bags, and make sure the event company has everything set up correctly without feeling rushed. Hayes is coming later with his teammates.”

“Sounds good. I’ve had enough of this shitty day, so I’m gonna run home and start getting ready,” I say, packing my laptop into my work bag.

“Yeah, I’m headed out in a few too, just finishing up a couple more things,” she says, then pauses as she looks back to me, her brows slightly pulled together and I can feel the pity oozing from her face.

“Mags, I’m so sorry. That campaign was awesome.

We’ll drink tonight to celebrate how amazing your work was, with an extra to make up for how shitty this is. ”

I smile and nod as I head out of the office.

I wish I had the optimism in myself that Olivia has in me.

I’ve always wanted to run my own business, but I’m not sure if I have what it takes.

If I can hack it. What if I fail? What if I do have to live as a stowaway on a boat?

How do I find the courage to take a leap not knowing if I’ll die when I finally jump off the cliff?

For now, it’s time to get dolled up and ready for this shindig. And hopefully drink my weight in bourbon and meet some hot Milwaukee Steel Riders.