- Margot -
t was the biggest day of my post-college career to date, and despite tossing and turning all night, I was confident that my adrenaline (coupled with a double espresso) would get me through.
I wore my power blue jacket, the same one I wore for my interview, and a skirt and heels that made me look as tall as I wanted to feel.
“Are you ready for this?” Landon asked, draining his Starbucks before rising from the chair behind his desk.
My clammy palms tightened their grip on our presentation binders. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“Take some deep breaths,” he said, walking around his desk. “And remember that all the executives we’re about to meet have mothers who used to change their diapers and wipe their snotty noses.”
“That’s your secret, is it?”
“My secret is to speak uncomfortably slowly,” he said, straightening his tie as he stepped up to me. “Less is more when it comes to chatting up clients.”
“Good to know.”
“I also like to keep in mind that there’s not a single person in that room who wants me to fail. They all want me to deliver a great pitch, they want to love it, and they want to leave with the deal done.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“Besides, we know this thing inside out.”
I nodded. I certainly did. This campaign was all I’d thought about for weeks, which made the pressure of the day seem surreal.
“How do I look?” he asked, stretching his hands out and fixing his eyes on me.
“Very capable,” I said, admiring him. “And even a little handsome.” It was a massive understatement. His dark gray suit made his eyes pop, and his hair was a tad too long, so every now and then a piece would fall over his forehead and he’d flick it back like he was at the beach. That being said, I was confident it wasn’t working against him.
“Thanks,” he said. “That’s helped more than all my cheesy reminders combined.”
My eyes smiled. “I’m glad.”
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” he said, tilting my chin up with his fingers. “In fact, I’d say you look like a woman who’s about to land her first ad campaign.”
“That’s sweet of you to say,” I said. “I hope you’re right.”
“After you,” he said, extending a palm towards the door. “Conference room C.”
I spun on my heels and led the way.
“I always crush it in conference room C,” he whispered as he followed me down the hall. “In case you were wondering why I booked that one.”
“Good to know,” I said over my shoulder.
When we reached our destination, I pushed the door open and held it for him, hoping he’d go in first. Instead, he held the door, and I was forced to enter before him. There were six people in the room, all of whom were twice my age and looked like they were wearing clothes that cost twice what I’d be earning this year.
Landon shook everyone’s hands, though it seemed he’d only met two of the people before, and I followed suit before taking one of the empty chairs at the oval-shaped table.
He started by making an introduction and dishing out a few pleasantries about how exciting it was to work with such a reputable, well-liked company. He even cited a few other clients he’d worked with, casually spilling some numbers that lent credibility to his track record before turning his focus to their particular project.
I was on the edge of my seat, making a conscious effort not to bounce my foot like I (and the coffee beans running through my veins) so wanted to. But I dared not interfere with the way he commanded the room. He didn’t even flinch when people made notes while he was talking, which would’ve filled me with dread.
I even made a few notes myself as I studied how he paced the pitch and how he presented our market research. In fact, I was so absorbed, I almost didn’t hear my name.
“Margot’s actually the one who came up with the concept for the commercial, so I’m going to have her go ahead and explain our vision to you in detail,” he said. “I think you’ll find that her understanding of consumer psychology has inspired an exciting idea that will fortify the entire campaign.”
I stared at him.
A few of the Fujama people eyed me before turning back to the front of the room.
I felt a wave of sick rise up my throat as Landon headed my way, and by the time he sat down beside me and slid the PowerPoint clicker across the table, my stomach felt like it was full of bubbling battery acid.
I blinked at him.
He cocked his head towards the front of the room, gesturing for me to get my ass up there.
I wrapped my clammy hand around the clicker and stood up, still undecided as to whether I was going to use it or walk out of the room with it. As I stepped past Landon, I prayed that he would grab my arm and pull me back, that he would change his mind. But he didn’t.
I went from frightened to angry before I’d even turned to face the client, which I somehow managed to do before clearing my throat, desperate to buy myself some time. When I glanced at Landon again, he lifted his pointer finger to his cheek and smiled, reminding me to do the same.
And right when I was about to faint, I thought of Izzy and remembered a conversation we’d had recently about doing things before you’re ready. She told me all you had to do was pretend you were someone else, someone who was ready. And just be them. Just act.
She assured me that “be yourself” was shitty advice, insisting it was much better to “be whoever can get the job done.”
I rolled my shoulders back, lifted my chin, and took a deep breath. Then I smiled and started talking.
I don’t know what I said. I know I smiled like an idiot, forgot to turn the slides over, and gripped the clicker in my hand so hard I must’ve thought it could open a trap door beneath me. But at least I remained on my feet.
And after an eternity of staring directly at people’s hairlines, I stopped talking abruptly, as if I’d been reading from a book and discovered the next page was missing.
“Would you mind mentioning the idea you had for the airline magazine briefly?” Landon asked. “Before we wrap up?”
“Of course,” I said, delighted to have been pulled back from the cliff’s edge…even if it was by the same man I intended to choke the life out of the minute meeting was adjourned.
As soon as I finished, Landon thanked me and stood up, gesturing for me to sit down again.
I hurried to the closest chair like it was the last lifeboat on the Titanic before wrapping my fingers around the edge of the seat and focusing on my breathing until the nausea subsided.
I didn’t hear a word he said for the next five minutes, nor could I remember a single person’s name as I shook their hands again on my way out. It was all a blur.
The only thing I recall is practicing Izzy’s self-defense moves in my head so I’d be ready to kick Landon’s sneaky, backstabbing ass the second I got him alone.