Chapter 10
Chapter 10
The rest of my week was spent either with customers or working on projects for my customers, with Antoinette shadowing my every move. She was a fast learner and kept quiet during meetings, allowing me to get on with my job. If I had to have someone with me, I couldn’t have hoped for anyone better.
“I loved the way you handled that complaint back there,” Antoinette said as we were walking through the city on our way back from a meeting. “You were ‘firm but fair,’ as my aunt would say.”
I smiled at her, knowing full well she was referring to Laura Carmichael, my boss’s boss—so far up the AGD food chain from me, it gave me a nosebleed. “Well, your aunt knows what she’s talking about.”
“Oh, she sure does. She’s amazing. She’s my role model, well, one of them, that is.” She looked at me through her lashes.
“It’s great to have role models. Something to aspire to,” I replied.
“Don’t you want to know who the other one is?”
“Sure.” I knew she was going to tell me regardless.
“You, silly!” she said with a slap to my arm.
“Oh! That’s so sweet of you, thank you,” I said with genuine surprise. Although I had spent a lot of time training Antoinette, it didn’t occur to me for a moment she would see me as a role model. I was just doing the job Cassie had asked me to do.
“Of course. I want to be just like you. You’re so in control and poised and nothing seems to rattle you.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say nothing rattles—”
“And everyone on the team respects you,” she continued, cutting me off, “especially Cassie. And the guys listen to what you have to say in meetings. You’re such a role model, I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”
“I’ve enjoyed having you work with me this week, Antoinette.” The unadulterated praise was making me a little uncomfortable. “Hey, do you feel like grabbing a take-out coffee?” As it happened, we were only a block or so away from the Cozy Cottage and I could do with a caffeine fix. “I know a great place just a block that way.” I pointed up the street.
“Sure! I’d love that. Yes!” She punched the air in a cutesy way, much like many of the female tennis pros did when they won a game.
I shot her a sideways look. I’d give her one thing, she was enthusiastic.
We took the short stroll, Antoinette continuing to stroke my ego, telling me how much she admired the way I’d handled certain issues with one customer, the way in which I had pitched a solution upgrade to another customer. It felt nice but a little too much, like I was the best thing since ice cream.
We arrived at the Cozy Cottage and walked past the café patrons, enjoying their coffee in the warm afternoon sun, and through the open front door. I spotted Bailey at the counter, handing some change over to a customer. When she saw me, her face lit up into her habitual smile.
“Marissa! What a lovely surprise.”
I greeted Bailey and introduced her to Antoinette. In her figure-hugging clothing with heavy makeup and her long platinum blond hair extensions, she looked a little cheap next to Bailey’s classic Italian beauty.
Bailey was her usual affable self, welcoming Antoinette to the café.
“I’ve never been here,” Antoinette said, looking around the café. “It’s so . . . cozy!”
Bailey and I both laughed. “It’s named correctly, then,” Bailey replied.
“Oh, this place is called ‘Cozy’?” Antoinette asked.
“It’s the Cozy Cottage Café. It’s the best café in Auckland,” I replied.
We placed our take-out orders and Antoinette insisted on paying. “It’s the least I can do for you, role model ,” she said, her eyes shining. Her phone rang, diverting her attention. “Oh, do you mind? I have to take this.”
I nodded at her. “Sure.” To be fair, I was happy for the break in her veneration. I was beginning to feel like I was some sort of important spiritual leader or something, not just an account manager doing her job.
“She’s perky,” Bailey said with a wry grin.
I rolled my eyes. “It’s like having a team of cheer-leaders trail behind me, cheering my every move.” I glanced at Antoinette, leaning up against the end of the counter.
“And she’s popular,” Bailey added, nodding at a table of two businessmen who were unabashedly watching Antoinette’s every move.
I let out a sigh. “I tried to talk to her about dressing more appropriately.”
Bailey smiled at me. “We all have our own style, and she seems nice.”
That was my friend, Bailey, always so positive and open-minded. She and Paige were cut from the same sweet and kind piece of cloth. No wonder they were perfect business partners, running the Cozy Cottage.
“I almost forgot. A guy came in looking for you earlier. Said his name was Brian, I think?” Bailey said.
“Brian? I don’t know a Brian.”
“I may have got the name wrong. Ryan?”
“Was he stooped over, a bit gray, and otherwise downtrodden looking?”
“Actually, he was, now that you mention it.”
“That’s my brother.”
“Oh.” Bailey pulled a face.
“Bad breakup.”
“Ah.”
“He’s taking it hard.”
“I get that. Poor guy. He seemed nice.”
I looked at her sideways and thought I detected a hint of a flush on her pretty face. “Euw! He’s my brother!”
The color in Bailey’s cheeks deepened a touch. “I didn’t mean anything by that. He was sweet, that’s all.”
“And broken. Totally broken.” I shook my head for emphasis.
She scrunched up her face. “Poor guy.”
“He’s not a guy . He’s my brother.”
She laughed. “You know what I mean. Anyway, were you meant to meet him here? Only, I didn’t think you all allowed men at the Cozy Cottage?”
“Well, as a rule, we don’t. And no, I wasn’t.”
When we first started coming to the Cozy Cottage Café, Cassie, Paige, and I had decided immediately it was going to be our special place, no men allowed. It was kind of like a sanctuary for us, away from work, families, dating, and all that drama. We had agreed it was too special to share, and we would only ever bring a guy here when we were certain he was The One.
“But, as I said before, Ryan is my brother. He doesn’t count. Plus, he came to find me, technically I didn’t bring him here.” I wondered why Ryan hadn’t just called me. I pulled my phone out of my purse and checked my messages. Nothing from him. I’d call him later.
“Here you go,” Sophie said with a smile, handing me two cups of take-out coffee. “Sugar and sweetener is here,” she added, gesturing to some bowls on the counter. “Help yourself.”
“Thanks, Sophie,” I replied. Sophie was one of those sweet, friendly baristas you often don’t encounter downtown. Here they were usually major hipsters, with their retro clothing, elaborate facial hair—for the men, obviously—and cooler than cool attitudes. Sophie was the perfect addition to the Paige-Bailey partnership: low on pretention and high on great food, good service, and a warm and welcoming attitude.
Antoinette appeared at my side. “Oh, I totally forgot to pay. I’m sorry. Next one’s on me.”
“Sure.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Antoinette began, stirring three packets of sugar (three!) into her coffee, “how would you feel about me helping you do the big pitch to Pukeko Chocolates next week? I think it would be super useful for me and great experience.”
“Oh.” There was too much at stake to allow a new recruit any input on this one. I turned and waved goodbye to Bailey as Antoinette replaced the cap on her coffee cup. We turned to leave. I chose my words carefully. “Look, Antoinette, I think you’re doing so well, and I’m really impressed with your work ethic and commitment to your new job.”
“I can feel a ‘but’ coming,” she said as we walked past the outdoor tables.
“You’re right, there is a ‘but.’ I would like to handle this one myself.” I thought about something that would appease her, a smaller account where there was less at stake. “How about you come to my meeting with another customer this afternoon? They are looking for a new data solution, and I think you could add some value there.”
She shrugged, clearly disappointed. “Sure, that would be great. Look, I don’t want to step on your toes or anything. I just want to get as much experience as I can before I get my own customer portfolio.”
I smiled at her. “I get that. Let’s get back to the office and plan out how we’ll run this meeting this afternoon, okay?”
“Sure. One thing. Is it okay if I head home for an early lunch? I’ll be back at my desk within the hour, I promise.”
“You don’t need to ask me , I’m not your boss.”
“You kind of are, or at least, that’s how I see you.”
Wow, this girl was good.
“It’s not a problem with me. I’ll see you back in the office.”
I walked the rest of the way, enjoying my solitude—well, as much solitude as you can get in downtown Auckland on a weekday—and ran through the presentation I was planning to give to Pukeko Chocolates in my mind. I made a few mental notes as I went. Of course, my mind kept darting back to Nash, but I reined it back in, reminding myself I had a job to do and a huge deal to land.
By the time I was back in the office, a good twenty minutes’ walk from the Cozy Cottage, I was almost positive Pukeko would be signing on the dotted line before the month was out. I just needed to get them over that line. I thought of their logo with the long-limbed native bird. I wanted this deal more than anything.
I went straight to my desk and downloaded all the ideas I’d had on my walk, adjusting my presentation, and firing technical questions off to Bryce to ensure my ideas would work.
When I finally came up for air, I got up to stretch my legs and grab a glass of water from the water cooler. I noticed a woman I’d never seen before, sitting at Antoinette’s desk, peering at her computer.
“Ah, excuse me?” I said, approaching Antoinette’s desk. “I’m not sure you should be looking at that.”
The woman swiveled around in the chair and smiled at me. “Hi, Marissa.”
My jaw dropped open. It was Antoinette, only this person didn’t look anything like her. She was wearing an outfit that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Amish community—if they had platinum blond women with hair extensions there, that was. She was wearing a cover-all, olive sack-like dress, flat shoes, minimal makeup, and her hair was tied up in a severe bun. All that was missing from the ensemble was a bonnet, a pitchfork, and a horse and carriage.
“Antoinette. You look . . . different,” I managed.
She smoothed her already incredibly neat hair, patting her platinum bun. “I’m taking your advice. You said, ‘dress as unsexy as you can,’ and I figured this”—she glanced down at her baggy dress—“was pretty unsexy.”
I was still slack-jawed, trying to get my head around the transformation. “I’m not sure I used those exact words.”
“Oh, you definitely did.” She nodded at me, raising her eyebrows.
“Well, I know I didn’t say dress like a nineteenth-century missionary!” Not that I had anything against nineteenth-century missionaries, of course. I’m sure they did some wonderful work, only, you didn’t come across them in corporate New Zealand all that often these days.
“Oh, Marissa, you are silly.” She shook her head. “I’m just trying to emulate you, my role model.”
I looked down at my own outfit. Although I wasn’t anywhere near the “put it all on display” ballpark Antoinette usually hung around in, I was equally far from looking like she did right now. I was a pencil skirt, heels, and blouse kind of girl at work, a cute jacket in winter. “Okay,” I replied, uncertainly. “Thanks . . . I guess.”
I almost regretted talking to her about her appearance, although to be fair, she had asked me about it.
Hadn’t she?
She flashed her smile. Without that shovel-full of makeup, she actually looked really pretty.
“So, we’re going to the client soon?” I nodded in response. She pulled out a notepad and pen. “Tell me all about it.”
We went to the empty conference room, people shooting us quizzical looks as we walked across the sales team floor together. I took her through what we were trying to do with the customer this afternoon, suggesting she talk about our customer service offering while I tacked the solution details.
“I would be honored,” she replied.
“Great.” I formed my face into what I hoped was a smile as I wondered about Antoinette’s sanity. She was clearly a woman of extremes, throwing herself with happy abandon at an idea. We’d gone from Pamela Anderson to Mother Theresa with enough speed to give a girl whiplash, and I was still trying to wrap my head around it.
Later that afternoon, and with a nervous knot in my belly, Amish Antoinette and I went to see Storage Plus, the customer we had been preparing for. I would love to have said her appearance didn’t turn heads and raise a few eyebrows, but that would be a barefaced lie. Storage Plus hadn’t seen Pam Anderson Antoinette, so I wondered if they simply assumed she was from some unusual religious sect. Whatever they thought, they simply went with it and seemed more than happy with our presentation. Antoinette nailed her section—which I heaved a huge sigh of relief over, I can tell you—and we left with a verbal agreement to proceed, subject to contract conditions.
All in all, despite Antoinette’s strange transformation, the afternoon had worked out very nicely indeed. Things felt like they were on the up-and-up for me: Nash, work, everything.
It was almost too good to be true.