“We’re completely screwed, aren’t we?” I groan to Kyla, not for the first time this morning.

We’re sitting at our poker conference table, surrounded by a thousand crumpled sheets of paper, discarded ideas and half-written plans. We’re trying to come up with a good plan for GoldLake’s project, and so far everything we’ve thought up has been ... well, stupid. Or cheesy. Or both. Definitely nothing that would be up to GoldLake’s standards.

“Okay, maybe we need to approach this from a different angle,” Kyla says, grabbing a fresh sheet of paper. God love her, she never loses her enthusiasm. “What’s the best thing about this initiative? What’s different about it?”

“Well,” I muse, chewing on the end of my purple pen. “It’s a great opportunity for women who might not otherwise have these kind of chances.”

“Okay.” Kyla writes that down. “So how do we show that?”

“If I knew that, we wouldn’t be sitting here in the graveyard of bad ideas,” I say, gesturing at all the balled up sheets of paper on the floor around us. “I just don’t want it to be insulting, you know? I mean, these women have probably already been through a lot, and it would suck to make light of that, you know? But at the same time, you don’t want these ads getting too heavy. It’s supposed to be a positive initiative. Hopeful.”

Kyla is nodding. “I wish we could ask these women what they’d actually want to say.”

“Totally.” I tap my pen against my teeth as I think. Then I sit up straight. That’s exactly it — what would they want to say? What would they want people to know? About them, about their lives, about what this program means to them?

I slap my palm down on the green felt. “That’s it! Kyla, you’re a genius.”

“Why am I a genius, again? I mean, not that I’m disagreeing or anything.”

“Because that’s exactly what we need to do — let these women tell their own stories. We shouldn’t be putting words in their mouths about how great the program is. We need them to tell us for themselves. Their testimonials will sell this thing better than anything else. Plus that way, there’s less chance that anyone will accuse GoldLake of just trying to make themselves look good. Instead of GoldLake — or us — telling everyone how awesome they are and how much they’re helping people, we’ll find people willing to say that stuff on their behalf.”

Kyla looks thoughtful. “You know, that’s really not a bad idea.” She grins. “I’m so glad I’m a genius and thought of it.”

I laugh as I grab the pad of paper and start sketching out ideas. “We could do videos — nothing fancy either, just these women talking about their experiences, interspersed with pictures of their lives, of them at work, that kind of thing. Nothing too exploitive, you know, no poverty porn. Kind of like Humans of New York, but, you know, with GoldLake.”

“Humans of GoldLake?”

“Something like that. At least people might start to buy that they even have a human side.”

“I love it. There’s only one problem that I see.”

I stop my sketching and look up. “What?”

“They haven’t actually started hiring anyone yet. Right? Isn’t that what you told me?”

I shake my head. “Wes mentioned at lunch yesterday that they’re looking to have the first few people hired quickly, so probably in a couple of weeks, or even sooner. I also sent him a resume of this woman I met — if they hire her, she’d be absolutely perfect for this. Her story is so heartbreaking, but it’s really inspiring how she keeps pushing forward.”

I’m starting to get really excited now, picturing the video we could make with Maria’s story. Of course, there’s still the small matter of GoldLake actually hiring her for a spot in the program, but I’m sure Wes or his HR department will be as enamored with her as I am. I had scanned her resume before I sent it to Wes, and it looked, at least to me, like she had great qualifications.

“Okay. I think if we can make it work, it sounds great. And even if it doesn’t work for this initial recruitment phase, we can always use the idea down the road, once the project has time to get rolling. It can be part of the sustainment campaign.”

“Right, exactly. Good point. I’ll talk to Wes as soon as I can.”

Wes. I swallow. I had hoped to be able to make it through this campaign while dealing with him as little as possible, and now I’m already going to have to follow up with him and we aren’t even on day two.

Thank God I made him sign that contract. At least now I can be sure there won’t be any funny business. Our napkin contract is iron-clad, right?

Kyla and I do a little more brainstorming and then wrap up our session. When I pull my chair back up to my desk, I scrunch up my courage and send off an email to Wes, asking him if he’d be okay with filming some of his new hires and if he can put me in touch with HR.

He responds almost immediately, suggesting I come by the office to discuss it in person.

I stare at my computer screen for a minute. I’d expected him to answer the question over email — maybe at the worst, suggest a phone conversation, if he felt it was too long of an explanation to type out over email. Hell, I’d have been happy if he’d just forwarded my email to HR and let them follow up with me.

I chew on my fingernail as I try to decide how to respond to his message. Why exactly does he want to see me in person? Is he violating the terms of our agreement already?

I decide that I’ll keep my response light.

“Surely a man like you is too busy to take a meeting over such a small request. Unless there’s something major you need to communicate to me, I’m more than happy to simply deal directly with someone in your HR department. Who would be the best person to contact?”

There, I think, as I send it off. Even Wes would be proud of that level of tactfulness.

Instead I get another email less than a minute later.

“Tomorrow, at 1pm. My office. I’ll be expecting you.”

I resist the urge to tear out every last one of my hairs. Why does that man have to be so damn infuriating?

Still, I spend the rest of my day thinking about our meeting. I know I shouldn’t look forward to it — I mean, I don’t look forward to it — but ...

Damn. This feels like high school all over again. I can’t let Wes get under my skin.

But why does he have to be so good at it?