Chapter 4
1210words
Standing before the mirror was no longer the anxious junior designer Ellie. She wore a sharply tailored, minimalist fitted dress. On her feet were those Manolo Blahnik heels. Her hair—sculptural and impossibly perfect waves—fell around a face capable of toppling nations or corporations. She wasn't dressing for work. She was arming herself.
The moment she walked through the doors of Apex Marketing, the world stopped.
It began with a change in sound. The low hum of office conversations, the frantic tapping of keyboards, the whirring of the coffee machine—everything... stopped abruptly. In the vacuum of silence, the only sound was the crisp, rhythmic "click" of her high heels on the worn linoleum floor. It was an announcement, not of a person's arrival, but of an event occurring.
People turned their heads. Conversations froze mid-sentence. A junior analyst's stylus actually dropped to the floor. They stared, faces a mixture of disbelief and awe. They knew it was Ellie, but their brains couldn't connect the woman before them with that quiet, invisible girl who had once occupied that pitiful cubicle in the corner.
Then she saw Sarah. Her rival stood by the coffee machine, a half-full cup in her hand, mouth slightly open.
The expression on her face was a masterpiece of contradictory emotions: shock, then confusion, followed by a dark, fermenting jealousy as obvious as the cheap suit she wore. In that glorious second, Ellie saw pure, undisguised panic in Sarah's eyes. It was more satisfying than any apology.
Ellie ignored everyone. She walked forward with an unprecedented sense of purpose, gaze fixed straight ahead, toward her desk. But she didn't make it there.
"Ellie. My office. Now."
Davis stood at the door of his glass-walled office, eyes wide with the predatory gleam of a shark that had spotted a seal.
He wasn't asking. He was commanding, but without the usual condescension in his tone. It was urgent.
Ellie followed him inside. He didn't ask her to sit down. He gestured frantically toward the two men in expensive suits already seated at his conference table. "Gentlemen, this is Ellie, one of our most brilliant rising stars. She'll be sitting in on our meeting about the Sterling client." He turned to her, voice low and urgent. "They're our biggest potential clients this year. Just sit here. Look smart. Support the proposal."
A vase, Ellie realized. He had seen her, and his reptilian primitive brainstem instinct was to use her as decoration to impress powerful men. The old Ellie would have felt humiliated, then resentful. But the new Ellie felt a surge of cold, pure power. He was acknowledging her value. He just miscalculated what that value actually was.
The meeting began. Sarah, both flustered and furious at being upstaged, was called in to present the concept. She started her presentation—Ellie's presentation—with a desperate, fragile intensity. She threw technical terms at the clients, speaking a bit too loudly, gesturing a bit too dramatically.
It was all in vain. The two clients, silver-haired executives named Thompson and Hayes, weren't even looking at her. Their attention was fixed on Ellie.
Ellie didn't say a word. She just sat there, posture perfect, hands calmly folded on the table. When Sarah made a point, Hayes would nod politely, but his eyes would immediately dart back to Ellie, as if seeking her silent approval.
When Thompson asked questions, he addressed the entire room, but his gaze was fixed on Ellie.
Sarah began to fall apart. "And, as you can see from the P-4 demographic analysis, the synergistic effect of brand messaging..." she trailed off as she noticed that neither client was looking at her presentation screen.
They were both looking at Ellie, who simply tilted her head slightly, her wise eyes filled with a serene, contemplative expression.
Jealousy and panic made Sarah reckless. "Ellie, you were involved in the initial concept development. Perhaps you could add something about the core emotional drivers?" It was a trap. A pathetic attempt to expose her as an empty vessel, a junior staff member out of her depth.
Ellie didn't look at Sarah. She turned her gaze toward the senior client, Thompson. A slow, composed smile bloomed on her perfect lips. "Sarah is the expert when it comes to data," she said, her voice deep and melodious. "My focus is on influence. How a brand makes you feel." She didn't elaborate further. She didn't need to.
Though simple, this statement landed with the force of a declaration. Thompson leaned forward, completely captivated. "Absolutely right," he said softly. "Influence. That's exactly what we've been missing."
The rest of the meeting was merely a formality. Sarah had essentially become invisible. When Davis concluded the meeting, Thompson stood up and extended his hand, not toward Davis, but directly to Ellie.
"It's a bold vision," he said, holding her hand a second longer than necessary. "We're in. But with one condition." He finally looked at Davis. "She has to be our primary contact. All major communications must go through her."
The silence in the room seemed electrified. Sarah's face was a mask of white-hot fury.
And Davis, ever the pragmatist, was grinning from ear to ear, as if this had all been his plan. "Of course! Ellie will be in charge of leading this project."
Later that afternoon, she returned to her cubicle, still riding the waves of victory. The entire office was treating her differently. People either avoided her gaze or offered timid but respectful smiles.
Then an email popped up in her inbox. The subject line read: "Freelance Project Inquiry—Urgent."
The email was from a boutique tech startup she vaguely recognized. They had seen her portfolio online—an old, outdated collection she hadn't touched in months—and wanted her to design a new user interface for their application.
Her former self would have been ecstatic. She would have quoted a humble, apologetic price, perhaps $1,500, and been grateful for the opportunity.
But she wasn't her former self anymore. She remembered the cold logic of the system. Investment. Return. What was her time worth, her newly enhanced perspective?
She typed her reply.
[Dear Mark, thank you for your interest. For a project of this scale, my current consulting fee is $20,000.]
Her fingers hovered over the "send" button. It was an absurd figure. Four times her monthly salary. It was arrogant. It was insane.
It was perfect.
She hit send, a pure thrill of audacity coursing through her. She expected to be ignored, or to receive an angry reply.
Less than sixty seconds later, her inbox pinged again.
Hi, Ellie,
This price is completely within our budget. Very pleased to be working with you! Our finance department can wire the full amount today to secure your time. Please send over your account information.
Ellie stared at the screen. Her breath caught in her throat.
An hour later, another email arrived. It was a notification from her bank.
Subject: Incoming Wire Transfer Notification. Amount: $20,000.00.
Ellie looked at the figures on the screen. Then she opened the browser tab that she had once checked with shame and fear. Her bank balance.
Yesterday, after her lightning makeover, the balance was $28.14.
And now, it showed $20,028.14.
