I can’t help but be up-front. There’s no point trying to take advantage of her apparent lack of social media savvy and get fired two days later when someone points it out. “Youhaveseen the recent coverage about me, right? I just want to make sure I’m open and honest about that. I understand if I’m not the right fit for you at this time.”
“I don’t believe in cancel culture.” The message comes back loud and clear. “You weren’t the one who harassed those poor girls. How were you to know what that terrible man was doing behind closed doors?”
“You’re sure about this?”
There’s a hollow laugh on the other end of the line. “Honey, if I was canceled for all the bad men I’ve affiliated with in my lifetime, I wouldn’t be allowed into the local convenience store.”
“Why me, though?” I ask. “Surely you can go with someone less… controversial.”
Her voice is strong, unwavering. “I’m hardly one to shy away from controversy. Especially when I believe it’s not well-earned.”
And suddenly, business is better than ever.
Events. New product launches. Business openings.
This client has no reservations about letting me do my best for her and her business.
I really fucking like her. She’s quirky, her eccentricity extending to her iconic look. Who doesn’t want to rep a client who rarely goes out, but when she does, sports giant hats and trench coats a la Carmen San Diego.
Who will keep quiet but then suddenly go on feminist diatribes speaking out against shit men who everyone else is afraid to call out.
She’s feisty and fierce, but she’s not a mouthpiece for anyone but her own values. And she’s extremely selective about what she says and when.
She’s the kind of client I’ve always wanted. But they’renotoriously hard to find, and I’d settled for people going about more conventional businesses. Smaller accounts that, in bulk, add up to something meaningful.
And she already seems to trust me, listening and asking thoughtful questions in our initial strategy meetings. I have a feeling this is the start of a beautiful business relationship.
One thing is certain—revenue is about to increase exponentially, my retainer in line with the top of the market at her insistence. “Why would I pay for mediocre when I’m hiring the best of the best?” she’d asked me when I’d tried to offer her a discount given “everything going on”.
And my stress is bound to decrease—no doubt about it—having one large client who trusts me is way less stressful than having two handfuls of clients. Because each has their own idiosyncrasies, their own things they’re precious about, their fires that need to be put out that don’t happen in a neat little row.
Clients that—as they’ve shown—would all too easily toss me in the trash in a heartbeat and move onto the next person at the mere hint of a scandal. Who don’t give a shit about me or the intensive effort I put in. Fly-by-nighters. Fair-weather friends.
“There,” says Soren, smiling at me over dinner as I tell him how things have turned around. My appetite has returned, my body zipping with electricity and motivation. “I told you we’d get through this, didn’t I? And it sounds like you’ve already come out so much better on the other side.” He squeezes my hand. “Sometimes things have to be taken away first.”
I’m so grateful for him.
For how much he believes in me.
But it still feels like reliance. Just in another form.
I smile back at him anyway.
And I'm not sure anymore if that's gratitude or habit.
Or something else entirely.
CHAPTER 41
IVY
It just comes up.
I’m not trying to tell him anything. But once again—as tends to happen around Soren—things I’ve not shared with many people spring to the surface. Then they burst free, gasping for air, as if they’ve been waiting behind a trapdoor for this moment.
We’re sitting together, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him against me, his hand resting lightly at my waist, moving absentmindedly like it’s something he does without thinking now.
And I’m talking. Just filling the quiet. “There was this moment,” I say, not even sure why I picked this one, “when I finally got my real birth certificate.” My voice feels distant to me, like I’m listening instead of choosing the words. “And then I found her. My birth mother.”