Imperfectly Perfect (4 page)

Note to self: drinking on a Thursday night is
never
a good idea.

I pounded my nightstand, trying to silence my alarm clock. Its shrill beeping echoed through my brain, adversely affecting my headache. Finally I made contact and blindly hit every button, until finally it fell silent. I pushed my face deeper into my pillow and groaned. My head pounded with the residual effects of the Blue Moon and my stomach was churning from the mixture of shots. I was most definitely hungover. And to make matters worse, it just so happened to be one of the most important days of my career.

I moved slowly and carefully towards the bathroom, knowing it would be a recipe for disaster if I moved at anything other than a snail's pace. I passed Tyler in the hallway, and as each of us was unable to speak, we communicated via grunts.

I cranked the shower on and the pipes groaned their protest. I sympathized. Any other day I would have admitted defeat, called in sick, and spent the day sleeping in my comfy bed. But this day wasn't like any other. This day was the day of my big break. It just happened to be the day I had the opportunity to move from being a peon to being an Executive Creative Director at the agency.

I had slaved for years and paid my dues, spent time fetching coffee and making copies. I was a mover and a shaker and my hard work paid off when they started letting me design other people's visions. Someone would tell me what he or she wanted done and I would do it, and do it good. Now finally, after eight years of working my ass off I had the chance to move into the position I had been dreaming of since starting at the agency.

Earlier in the year, I had been assigned to the Interactive Design Team. In laymen's terms, the team was in charge of creating applications and websites for consumer use. Under Armour had been a staple in my closet since college. It was my lounging around gear of choice, and when I wasn't dressing to the nines I was kicking around in some delicious UA. I could hardly contain my excitement when the news broke that we had entered a contract with them and had been busting tail and working long hours ever since.

Thing is, my boss left the agency immediately after we won the UA contract, and the big wigs freaked out. I saw this as an opportunity to get my foot in the door, so I approached my superiors with a great idea on how to implement a social networking design to increase web traffic.

So you can understand my pain when I tell you that today just happened to be the day that I was scheduled to present my pitch.

I wanted to be pissed at the guys,
especially
since they had been the ones to convince me to go out the night before my big break. I had been tentative about it, knowing how important this day was. I told myself a few drinks wouldn't hurt, and I would just take it easy. I should have known that I wouldn't be able to do that. I didn't know how to do anything by halves, and that included drinking. As you can see, I apply the motto 'go big or go home' to all aspects of my life.

It took me longer than usual to get ready. I blamed it on the bags under my eyes and the truckload of make-up I had to painstakingly apply. I walked out into the kitchen to find all of the guys were already up, dressed, and eating their breakfast. They looked so alert sitting around our dining room table, and I hated them for it.

"You look like shit," Rob mumbled as I kick started the Keurig.

"Good morning to you too," I quipped.

The Keurig sputtered and I anxiously tapped my foot. To say I was kicking myself in the ass was an understatement. I knew I should have just stayed home and practiced my presentation. I would have been feeling a whole lot better, not to mention how much better prepared I would have been.

"How come no one else is hungover?" I frowned while grabbing my cup of coffee.

"Because unlike you," Tyler started, "we know how to control ourselves."

"Well," I sighed, "I'm going to blame all three of you if I don't get this promotion."

Shane picked his head up from the paper. It seemed as though he was finally aware of our conversation and threw the paper down.

"We didn't force those lemon drops down your throat there Killah," he said, quickly standing up. He grabbed an apple from the counter and took a bite "You don't get the promotion you'll have nobody to blame but yourself."

I hated to admit it, but he was right. I always had been notorious for making bad decisions. My father had tried to make me feel better by saying I just really liked to live in the now, but ultimately I knew I sucked at decision making; always had, and probably always would.

Shane and Rob grabbed their briefcases and murmured their 'good luck's' while I sat down. They were leaving earlier than usual since they both had busy days in court to look forward to. I supposed it could be worse. I could be them and have to struggle through the day listening to people argue, bitch, and point fingers.

Tyler and I chatted casually until I had to leave. He'd been having a hard time recovering from his breakup, and at this point I had become the only one he felt like he could still talk to about it. While Shane was normally the 'go to' in these types of situations, he had recently flipped out on Tyler about it. He had told him 'enough was enough', it had been three torturous months and he couldn't listen to him whine any more. So every time Tyler and I were alone, he jumped at the chance to wallow in self-pity. I felt bad for him-really I did-but it was beginning to wear me down too.

"Sorry, Ty," I said, grabbing my presentation portfolio. "I gotta go. You know how long it takes to get to SoHo."

I shoved my heels into my Coach bag and slipped on my favorite running sneakers.

"Ah, no worries Em," he smiled, placing his bowl in the sink. "Thanks for listening to me, again."

I should have said something along the lines of, 'sure, anytime', but at this point I was just sick of hearing about it. Cheyenne was a bitch and if you ask me he should consider himself lucky that he got out before it was too late. Not wanting to make false promises or lie, I just smiled and walked out the door.

Normally I like to take the stairs down the six flights of our apartment building. It helped me start my day off on the right foot. Years ago Shane had convinced me that taking the stairs in buildings was always more exciting. He yammered on about how you never see a really cool fight sequence in an elevator, and that awesome things only happen in a stairwell. He was right and it became a daily habit for me ever since. However for obvious reasons, on this day I chose the elevator.

Once outside, the crisp fall air hit my face and I immediately felt better. In that moment I was positive that I could pull out of my hangover in time to give a kickass presentation. I just hoped that the walk to the fifty-ninth Street Subway Station would give me a little more pep.

Hurrying down the concrete steps to the platform, I dipped my Metro Card and eased through the turnstile. The station was overly crowded, filled with the familiar sound of metal scrapping metal as the six screeched to a halt. I pushed my way through the tourists in order to board. You can imagine my disappointment when I realized that the train was just as crammed as the platform. It looked like I would ride to work standing up today.

I rode in solitude-my motion sickness doing nothing to help my already hungover stomach-for precisely thirteen minutes; including nine stops trying to maintain my balance, until I finally reached Bleecker St. The fresh air was a savior again, and I reveled in my last few minutes alone while walking the streets of SoHo.

Now, I was never one for architecture and boring things like that but you don't have to be an enthusiast to appreciate SoHo. It's a historic district, peppered with gorgeous brownstones and cast iron buildings; the abandoned factories and warehouses turned into trendy lofts and office spaces. But my favorite thing about SoHo, and the reason why I always carried my stilettos and wore sneakers, is the fabulous cobblestone streets. There's something about those old cracked stones that make me feel like I'm someplace else; another time perhaps. They had been painstakingly laid during a simpler time and there was just something romantic about them. Either way, I always feel that I'm far away from New York and the stresses of life when I walk those streets.

I checked my phone and decided I had enough time to stop at Starbucks to refill my coffee cup. I knew it was going to be a long and stressful morning, and I would need plenty of caffeine to keep me energized.

I popped into the café that was conveniently located right next to my office. A certified caffeine addict, I was a regular customer and I loved that I could walk in and get my order without ever having to speak.

I smiled and approached the counter, thankful to see Jenny was working. She knows how I hate to interact early in the morning.

"Morning Emma," she said cheerfully. "The usual?"

I nodded in response, quickly handing over my cash.

Minutes later, I was walking out of Starbucks and turning the corner into my office building. I thanked myself for the coffee stop, as my overly obnoxious secretary instantly flanked me, Ginger.

Don't get me wrong, I loved Ginger. Truly I did. She was the only female I had ever hung out with since I graduated college. But she was a morning person and even on my best days I couldn't stand it. I needed to be left alone until
at least
ten before it was safe to approach me.

"Where the hell have you been?" she asks, snatching my portfolio from my hands.

"I'm not late," I assured her.

"No," she moaned while we walked down the crisp clean hallways of the office. "But the reps from Under Armour are already here, and Craig and Jimmy have been breathing fire down my neck all morning looking for you."

Shit. Of course, today of all days would be the one time that the clients decided to show up early instead of running the usual thirty minutes behind schedule. Ginger followed me into my office. I slid behind my desk and kicked off my sneakers, quickly grabbing my stilettos and shoving my feet into them. I propped my elbows on to the desk, throwing my forehead into my hands.

Now I have never been one to normally freak out; actually I usually had an abundance of confidence when it came to all aspects of my life. Tyler always said that one day my cockiness would catch up with me-whatever that meant-but today, for obvious reasons, I was not feeling up to par.

"What the
hell
is wrong with you?" Ginger had obviously realized that I was feeling a little bit out of character, slammed the door to my office shut.

"The frigging guys took me out last night," I mumbled.

Ginger gasped. "A little premature for a celebration don't you think?"

"Ah, you know how they can be," I offered as I stood.

Considering she was the only girl I had ever hung out with in my ten years of NYC living, Ginger sure did know 'how they could be'. Having had one night stands with both Shane and Tyler, she had first hand experience.

Clearly sensing my double entendre, Ginger blushed.

"Well, at least you look great!" she offered.

My overconfidence took hold of me again, because I knew she was right. I looked downright sexily professional, wearing a high-waist, gray pencil skirt and simplistic white, French-cuffed button down. Paired with my classic black pumps and pearls, I looked the part and I was prepared to ace this presentation no matter how shitty I felt.

I grabbed my presentation and laptop and headed into the conference room. It may seem weird, but I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that the UA reps were all male. Women tend to complicate things, and I knew my pitch would go over bigger with men. Besides I could shamelessly flirt my way through anything. I knew I would be in my element and I was going to own it.

And own it I did.

It took all of
fifteen minutes
to convince Under Armour that they needed my campaign and-of course-my exclusive representation

I watched intently as they signed a year long contract. I could hardly contain my excitement while we shook hands. I promised to be in touch with them soon as we exchanged pleasantries and escorted them out of the building. Once they had left, Craig and Jimmy asked me to step back into the conference room.

"Pretty impressive work Emma," Jimmy offered.

Craig nodded in agreement. He was the strong silent type, hardly ever speaking. In fact I don't think I even know what his voice sounds like. People claimed it was because he was the brain of the company, while Jimmy was the pretty face.

"We haven't had time to contact HR," he continued, "but we hope you have applied for the Executive Creative Director position that Martin left."

My heart thumped in my chest. I hoped that this was the moment I had been waiting for. "I put my application in the day he left."

Jimmy and Craig shared a look.

"We were hoping you'd say that," Jimmy began.

"We would like to offer the position to you," Craig added.

Even though I was sitting, I nearly fell over. I was not sure if it was due to the shock that Craig had actually spoken or if it was the realization that my dream job was finally mine.

I struggled to find the right words to use in the situation.

"I'm honored," was all that I could muster. "I won't let you down."

I smiled and exited the glass room, finding my way back to my office. Ginger followed me in.

"So?" she questioned, closing the door to my office behind her.

"Looks like you and I are moving upstairs!" I screamed.

We both took a minute to soak in our victory, with a little bit of girlish screaming mixed in. I quickly told Ginger about the eagerness of the reps and what a short sell I really needed. She assured me that she was sure that had to be some sort of record. She had been with the Agency for a long time, and she had never heard of
anybody
pulling something like that off; not even my bosses!