Page 55 of A World Without You
I smile politely and then briefly catch eyes with Colin. The moment is fleeting, less than a blink and no more than half a heartbeat, but his expression softens. I don’t even care that it’s most likely at my expense because no one here can get my name right. Or perhaps he’s just remembering that I used to walk into a room, and everyone knew who I was. He’s probably relishing my downfall.
I don’t blame him if that’s the case.
The meeting drags on for two and a half hours. I take long, meticulous notes, not missing a number, deadline, or name. I want to pass over my notes to Colin at the end of this and have him pat me on the back and ask me to sit in for Kennedy at all times. There’s nothing truly profound or exciting—just the same regurgitated marketing plans. For being a fifty-year-old department store, you’d think they’d know better.
“We have to incentivize shopping here year-round, not just Christmas and for the Birthday Sale,” the VP of marketing, Phil Goldin, says. “Why don’t we widen the map and mail out more catalogs—make them flashy and stand out in their stack of junk mail.” He lets out a rough laugh and Colin shakes his head.
“Mail-outs don’t work anymore, we know that,” Colin says.
“I don’t know, there’s still something magical about going through a catalog and circling everything you want,” a project manager named Debra says.
“My grandkids still love it,” Phil adds, and Colin shakes his head again. I can tell he’s growing frustrated with their desire to keep in place outdated marketing tactics.
“We aren’t selling to your grandkids; we’re targeting their parents, and what are their parents doing?” Colin asks.
“Buying stuff from social media ads,” I mutter more to myself as I hit enter for the next bullet point.
All pairs of eyes slowly turn to me. My neck heats before I find the courage to look up from my laptop. Colin is staring at me, his expression giving nothing away. I forgot how intimidating he can be when he doesn’t love you.
“What was that?” Phil asks.
I choke on a swallow as I try to get out my frazzled answer. “Sorry, I just know that online is where your marketing budget will have the biggest return.”
“I don’t like being tied down by another business’s terms and agreements,” Phil mutters, shaking his head.
I press my lips together, shutting up. I shouldn’t have spoken up in the first place. I’m a temp who gets trained on alphabetizing. Once upon a time, my opinion mattered, and I know what world it still matters in. For a moment, I long to sleep and dream of that life. I put my head back down, expecting not to be spoken to again, until Colin says, “No, please, Olivia, keep going.”
I shoot him a questioning look, unsure if he wants me to humiliate myself or if he wants me to make my point. I take a deep breath and continue, “Well, people don’t want to go to the store if they don’t have to anymore, right? But also, some people can’t go to the store because it’s far, and they hate the traffic on I-5.” The room chuckles lightly.
“Or, they have to consider if the mountain pass is open or safe to drive. Maybe they live in a small town, but they still want a nice pair of jeans from Wellingtons. And I guarantee you, these people have social media. So if the ads are targeted correctly, all it takes is a couple of clicks, and you have another customer and another sale. I have dresses from some store called Luminary with the tags still on them because the ads clearly had me as a target, and trust me, we didn’t have many formal events in the little town I was living in.”
“But you had the internet!” Joe exclaims, fiddling with his Santa Claus tie.
I smile and nod at him as a breath of silence fills the air. I worry I sound like an idiot. It’s not a profound notion, but Wellingtons is about two decades outdated. They’re one of the few department stores that has survived without expanding, and they applaud themselves on their old-school, grassroots foundation, but even still, they need to adapt.
Phil rubs his eyebrow. “I don’t want to do influencers.”
I can’t help it. I let out a small laugh, and so does Colin. “You don’t have to do influencers, I’m just talking about targeted online ads through social media channels. I promise you the return is higher than any other outlet.”
“What if we run ads through the Seattle Times or during the five o’clock news?” he asks.
Colin leans forward and laces his hands together on the conference table. “Mr. Goldin, respectfully, our main age group we’re targeting is millennials, who are not watching the nightly news on television. They’re watching it on social media.”
I puff my chest out a bit, realizing he’s on my side.
Mr. Goldin thinks for a moment, massaging his jaw. “I don’t love this mindless clicking stuff.”
“It’s only mindless until something grabs their attention,” Colin adds. “You’d have to be creative with the campaign and make sure it grabs the attention of customers—not to mention be sure it evolves with the trends—but it’s your best bet to get the most bang for your buck.”
Mr. Goldin leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his belly. “All right. Let’s get some more ideas on the board. I want a cost analysis for each idea and keyword targeting, projected ACOS, and then I’d like to do a few trials so we can get impressions by Christmas.”
I type up his requests while the other attendees in the meeting start brainstorming. Mr. Goldin turns to Colin and asks, “Is she yours?”
He pauses before he answers, and my gut’s turmoil feels weighted with hope. Because in another world, I’m still his in every single way. After a moment, Colin says, “No, she’s just a temp.”
Mr. Goldin flashes a small smile at me and nods in acknowledgment. “Ten a.m. tomorrow,” he says, standing from the conference room. There’s a bit more schmoozing at the conference table before Colin exits.
I follow, tucking the laptop into my chest and trying to keep my head high. Colin doesn’t turn around while he marches back to his office. It isn’t until I can read the nameplate next to the door that he speaks to me.
