Page 63 of Tainted Love

“Down”

Sascha - Age 24, 1994

Two Months Later…

Can we get on with it already? I chew nervously on the end of my pen, tapping my manicured nails against my pristine desk, which I’ve organized and reorganized four times in the past hour. Obsessive, much? I think as I stare at the flashing cursor on the computer screen. It hasn’t moved in twenty minutes.

Suddenly, Ahnika’s snooty voice breaks through my thoughts. Usually, her voice aggravates me, but today, it’s welcoming since it will come with the news I’ve been waiting for.

“Dave wants to see you,” she says, giving me a condescending look before sashaying away with a click-clack of her heels on the tile floor. I roll my eyes. I can’t help it and don’t care if she sees it. Ahnika may be the perfect administrative assistant with her designer pencil skirts, low-cut blouses, and unfailing smiles saved especially for our boss, but she is unapologetically adversarial to every other woman here.

I shake my head and reflect on her outdated views on women in the workplace. I thought I’d be rid of people like this once I graduated high school. It’s the 90s, and we’ve come further than this, ladies. Or maybe we haven’t?

My hands sweat as I rub them on my no-nonsense dress pants. Even though I knew this meeting was coming, I haven’t been able to keep my nerves at bay. This could either be my chance to pitch my ideas for the new advertising campaign or a crushing rejection. It’s the culmination of weeks of work, and I’ve given it everything I have, including long nights in the office, missed meals, enough coffee to launch myself into space, and very little sex with my new boyfriend.

Taking a deep breath, I push away from my desk, stand, and walk confidently down the hallway toward the small conference room where Dave is seated. He’s the head of our department and has the final say on our campaign direction. He’s a decent boss and has always seemed to be fair when evaluating our work, but that doesn’t mean he will choose me for this project.

As I pass by Ahnika’s desk, I offer her an overly friendly smile and wave that only irritates her more, evidenced by her scowl. I hear her scoff, and it gives me some small satisfaction.

Knocking gently on the glass door, Dave motions for me to enter. I stride into the conference room with my nerves pushed down and a confident smile. Dave stands up to greet me with a warm smile as he points to the chair across from him.

“How are you feeling today, Sascha?” he asks.

“I’m well,” I reply, continuing to mask my nervousness.

“Let’s get down to it,” Dave says, unbuttoning his jacket before sitting back down and placing his steepled hands on the table. He takes a breath and then begins. “We all agreed that your pitch for the campaign was fantastic. You have a natural talent for sports accounts.” Cue the internal applause.

“Thank you,” I say, relieved that my hard work has been recognized. I’ve spent countless hours researching soccer for this project. It has pushed me far outside my comfort zone, but I’ve enjoyed the challenge.

“But we’ve decided to shift your focus to another area,” Dave continues. Cue the internal “Fuck!”

My heart sinks. I know what that means. I won’t be leading the campaign. Disappointment floods through me as I release a shaky breath. Before I have a chance to ask any questions, Dave presses on.

“We understand you have some hockey knowledge,” he says with a smile.

I freeze in confusion. Hockey? Did he just say hockey? Who told him I knew anything about hockey?

I shift in my chair, trying to maintain a professional tone as I respond. “I know a little about hockey, but not nearly as much as I now do about soccer,” I say, my irritation bubbling beneath the surface.

His eyes light up with recognition. “Ah, yes, I’ve heard you’re acquainted with Corey Delacour and Michael Tazman.”

I grit my teeth, and my heart gallops in my chest at the mention of his name. Of course, this is where he’s going with this. “Yes, I know them from high school. Corey is engaged to my best friend.”

He leans forward eagerly. “That’s excellent news. We’ve been trying to break into the professional hockey industry for years.”

My frustration only grows as my brows pinch in confusion. “And how does that involve me?”

“Well,” he says with a sly smile, “we were hoping you could use your connections to get us a foot in the door with their teams.” He pauses before adding, “Especially Tazman’s team. Since he’s based in the United States, we’d like you to focus on them first.”

I feel a sinking feeling in my stomach, wondering how four years of college and hard work have led me to this moment—being asked to use my “friendship” with a hockey player to advance the company’s agenda. “You want me to leverage my relationship with Michael Tazman to try and sell our agency to his team?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he says as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. The man has no clue what he’s asking of me. If only he truly understood the weight of his request.

“So you want me to call Michael Tazman and try to set up a meeting?” I ask, trying to hide my annoyance. “We’re not friends.”

“I think he would disagree,” he replies dismissively. “We’ve already been in contact with the team. They specifically requested to speak with you. It seems Michael Tazman thinks highly of your abilities.”

I’m sure my jaw is on the floor, but he continues talking without missing a beat. That fucking guy.