Chapter 5
Clearfield Events got back to me quickly with an interview.
They handled commercial events too. It was a small company, and the owner, Paula Reed, interviewed me herself.
She didn't ask whether I could handle pressure. She handed me a basic site plan.
“A new neighborhood shopping center wants a weekend market. Tell me how you'd approach it.”
I asked what kind of people lived nearby.
She looked up. “You don't want to start with the budget?”
“I'll ask about that too. But someone selling pour-over coffee and someone shopping for socks for her grandkids aren't looking for the same things.”
She handed me a pencil and told me to keep going.
I talked for half an hour. Toward the end, I forgot to be nervous. I even erased the featured stall on her plan and moved it somewhere else.
Only when I finished drawing did I remember this was an interview.
I hurriedly swept the eraser crumbs into my palm.
Paula looked at me and laughed.
“You'll change my drawing without blinking. Why do you go quiet when we talk about pay?”
I thought about it and gave her a number well above my old salary.
She didn't agree immediately. We went through the responsibilities, team size, and project bonuses one item at a time.
She looked at only two practice projects on the flash drive I'd brought.
I hadn't brought any of my former company's project files. She didn't ask for them.
What she liked was that I thought about how deliveries would get in and people would move through before deciding where to hang the lights.
“Next week we're pitching to Springwell. It's an open call for proposals. Several companies are competing.”
“Finish this exercise first. If it's a good fit, you can lead the event operations.”
I took the site plan home. On the way, my bike chain fell off.
I'd bought the bicycle in college. Like the flash drive, it excelled at outliving its expected service life.
The man at the neighborhood bike shop crouched down and checked the chain.
“How long since you last oiled this?”
I said I couldn't remember.
He looked up at the paper in my hand. “Are you in a hurry?”
Out of habit, I said, “No rush. Take your time.”
Then I looked at the time again.
He pushed a little stool toward me.
“You can say so if you are. The bike ahead of yours needs a tire, and I'm waiting on the part. I can do yours first.”
I sat down, embarrassed.
After a moment, I admitted quietly that I had a proposal due the next morning.
“Oh.” He turned the light toward my chain.
He didn't teach me how to plan my life. He didn't praise my ability to endure hardship.
In six minutes, he had my old bike moving again.
When I paid by card, I saw his name on the receipt: Owen Shaw.
He wrapped the detached chain guard in some old packing paper and told me it just needed a replacement screw.
I rode home with the plan covered in pencil lines, feeling for the first time that putting my own needs first might not be such a terrible thing.
Three days later, Clearfield sent an offer.
I read the salary four times before I moved on.
Project lead: Nina Wells.
The attachment spelled out what I'd be responsible for and what I could decide.
I didn't sign right away. I added a condition: changes to on-site staffing and critical arrangements would require my confirmation.
Paula called and asked me to come in the next day so we could discuss that point.
She agreed that I'd retain authority over on-site decisions. She also required me to explain every added expense.
We talked until noon. Then I signed.
Before we drove down to pitch Springwell, Paula handed me my new shiny company badge.
"Sit beside me when we go in," she said, her tone all business. "You're taking the lead on this presentation."
Graham was already inside the sprawling glass conference room when we arrived, chatting up the Springwell executives with his usual effortless charm.
When the heavy doors clicked shut behind us, he glanced over.
The moment he saw me, muscle memory took over.
He instinctively shifted his chair back, leaving a familiar gap by the water pitcher for me to step through and fill his glass.
I didn't walk over.
Instead, I strode right past him.
I pulled out the leather chair at the center of the table—the one positioned directly across from him, reserved for the lead presenter of the competing agency.
I set my new badge down on the mahogany table, right where he could read it, and finally met his eyes.
His smile vanished entirely.
"Good morning, everyone," I said, looking at the client, but keeping Graham in my periphery. "Let's talk about how we're going to execute this project."
