Chapter 34
Jessica
The last day of January ended rainy, wet, and gray, as if Mother Nature were in a state of severe depression, in need of several hundred milligrams of Prozac. The temperature was in the low thirties, and snow threatened to fall from the ashen skies.
Jessica was at work, going over receivables. She wrinkled her brow, her mouth turning dry. As busy as she was, the business just wasn’t bringing in enough money, and though she’d almost paid off her C&C bill, there was still around five-thousand dollars due and she was wondering how and where she was going to get it. Dip into the last of her savings?
She’d received a certified letter demanding the final payment, and her heart started to race as she read it. Her heart wasn’t stopping and starting, but it was definitely beating faster than normal. This frightened her.
Paul called, interrupting her in the middle of the letter.
“Can’t wait to see you,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about you so much.”
“How about tonight?” she asked without hesitation. “Want to meet up?”
“You bet! There’s a—”
Helen shot into the room. “Jessica. Buchanan’s on line two. It’s Ray Johnson, the executive VP!”
Jessica’s eyes went wide, and her nerves sizzled. “Paul, I-I have to run,” she said, interrupting him. “Important call about the Buchanan deal. Talk to you later.”
She hung up and quickly picked up the other line.
***
Ending the call twenty minutes later, Jessica looked out the window and stared at the Parthenon looming before her, hoping that the sight of it would steady her nerves—the graceful lines and curves, the timelessness of its beauty. She took a few slow breaths in and out as she gazed outside, then brought her attention back into the room. This was it. The verdict was in.
Maintaining her composure as best she could, she calmly asked Helen to announce that an important meeting would be held in the boardroom in half an hour. The verdict was in.
It started to rain outside as the staff filed into the mahogany-paneled conference room. Ten employees in all. Looks of trepidation and even a frenzied sense of mild terror stood out on their pale, drawn faces. They were all dedicated to the company, which Jessica appreciated immensely. She knew that Advika Patel—a fantastic designer—had been offered work at a larger firm but had turned it down, choosing to stay with Chandler Interiors. Others had similar stories. Their loyalty meant so much to her.
Jessica entered the conference room, standing tall and confident. This kind of news needed to be shared with everyone at the same time, and not by email either.
“Okay, okay,” Jessica said as they took their seats. She stood at the head of the table and gazed out at each of them. This was what leadership was all about. She was the queen of this organization, and she needed to rule with logic and precision. All eyes were fixed on her, the air thick with fear and uncertainty.
“I want to thank those of you who worked so hard on this project,” she began, her heart thudding. “I just got off the phone with Ray Johnson, executive VP for Buchanan.” She lowered her head. “The news is in at last.” She paused, collecting her thoughts. “I know it’s been hard. And you can’t always win every single deal we’re involved in. Life doesn’t work that way. Business doesn’t work that way, either.”
“Tell us, dammit!” Marc Bernstein shouted. He stared at her with dread in his eyes. “If we lost this thing, we need to know!”
“At any rate,” Jessica said, ignoring his comment and glancing around the room. “At any rate, this time . . . Oh, how shall I put it?” She could only hold them off for so long. “Well . . . the truth is, ladies and gentlemen, we did it! We pulled this sucker off!” she announced, finally allowing her joy to spread across her face. “Chandler Interiors won the effing Buchanan Project! We’re at the top of the heap! We’re in, guys. We. Are. In. We won the bid!”
“Really?”
“Seriously?”
“Oh my God!”
“We did it?”
A loud and triumphant whoop erupted. Cheers. Applause. High fives.
Michael Wiseman and Janet Lytle mimed clinking glasses, and Helen grasped the hands of Alicia, who’d started working with Jessica just last year. Jordan Ramsey was pinching the bridge of his nose as if he were trying to stop himself from crying. Interior designers getting all emotional from their hard work and drive. It was a beautiful sight.
Jessica continued. “Okay, then. Okay. Settle down, folks. Settle down. The papers are being sent over right this minute and our lawyers will be seeing the rest of the deal through. We’re going to be as busy as beavers for a very long time.”
More applause.
“And now I want to give something back.”
“You go, Jessica!” someone shouted.
“For those of you who can make it, I want to invite you all to a celebration.” Since Buchanan was issuing her a hefty down payment, she had the resources to throw a party. “I plan on making reservations at the Prime House downtown for next Friday. We’ll get a private room, and we’ll gather at a table and feast. We’ll start at five-thirty. Bring your wife, your husband, your special friend, or just come alone. It doesn’t matter. Just be there.”
Another round of applause, back-slapping, high fives, and fist bumps. Jessica’s body crackled with a heady sense of victory. She’d pulled it off. The bills would be paid, and the future looked rosy.
“Again,” Jessica said, calming the group down once more, “I truly want to thank you all for your hard work and dedication. This project and others will carry us easily for the next two years, people. The good times are back!”
Business was looking good, her love life was looking good, and Jessica smiled broadly. Could it get any better than this?