Chapter 3
Damian
This is some of the most comprehensive research I’ve seen. The list of outdoor supply companies ranges from publicly traded corporations to small mom-and-pop shops. Brielle has included everything they sell, additional services, brand awareness information, ownership and succession plans.
She wasn’t aware that Cardinal West Outdoors was the client we were pitching, so she included them in her research as well. Leon and Pam Vitale listed as the owners. Everything is organized into categories and color-coded.
I’m honestly impressed.
It isn’t for another two days after Brielle submitted what she turned up that one of my researchers, Devin, presents his findings. To say I’ve found it lacking is an understatement. There is half as much information in his report and a distinct lack of organization.
I track him down, sitting on the counter in the fully stocked lunchroom, as he chats with a few of the guys in the contracts department.
“Devin. A word.” I don’t intend for it to come out as menacing as it does, but I’m not sorry about it.
My team knows better than to turn in subpar work.
My standards are high, my expectations exacting.
It’s why they’ve dubbed me “Satan,” after all.
They may think I don’t know that little tidbit, but I do.
I don’t work to squash that moniker. If it keeps the employees from slacking off, all the better.
Although it doesn’t seem to be making an impact on Devin if his workmanship is any indication.
Devin slides off the counter, sharing a concerned look with his colleagues before he follows me back to my office.
I shut the door and round my desk as he takes a seat.
“The research you’ve submitted is atrociously subpar.
I haven’t decided if it’s pure laziness or incompetence, but I’m not okay with either one.
This—” I toss Brielle’s folder on the corner of my desk in front of him.
“—is what research is supposed to look like. Comprehensive, detailed, organized. If our brand-new accountant can manage to complete the task, I expect you to be able to. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.” He glances up at me with round, fearful eyes. They fall to the folder, and his lip tugs up in a sneer. It only lasts a second before he schools his features and lowers his head.
“Take this back with you. Study it. And next time I give you a deep-dive assignment, I expect it to look like that. Go back to work,” I tell him, dismissing him.
The only reason he isn’t fired is because I still need some researchers on my team.
It crosses my mind to move Brielle into that department to replace Devin, but that isn’t what she was hired for, and she’s only been here for a few days.
Too many moving pieces doesn’t make for a productive and efficient work environment, so for now, Devin stays. But I’m not happy about it.
After my disaster of a call on Monday, I somehow convinced Leon Vitale to give CreativEdge another chance to pitch our services.
I’ve read through the accountant’s research again to prepare myself for the call. Thank God she went out of her way to put this together, otherwise, I would be royally screwed. But before our scheduled call, I have to sit through our standing bi-monthly board meeting.
I’m never a fan of these sessions, but today’s meeting is dragging on worse than usual when all I want is to get back to work.
Bill Novak, one of the board members, is talking about absolutely nothing, but using all the corporate jargon that he thinks I want to hear.
As if I can’t see right through his low-self-esteem ramblings.
“Collaboration is really the key thing here, creating synergies across the departments to expound on the knowledge sharing and leveraging the—”
“I think that wraps up today’s meeting,” I say, interrupting him mid-sentence. “Does anyone have anything else?”
My assistant, Louisa, send me a warning glare out of the corner of her eye.
Play nice, she’s saying, without using any words.
Whereas most of my employees avoid eye contact and cower at the sight of me when I show up in their office, Louisa doesn’t flinch.
She’s been my assistant for the past three years, and since the very beginning, she’s been mildly unimpressed by me.
It’s a nice change of pace from the norm, so I don’t complain.
Plus, she keeps my schedule organized and fields the calls that don’t need to make their way to me.
She frees up valuable time that is better spent doing other things. Like working.
“Last thing,” Rachel Perriman says, holding her manicured finger up. “We need to make sure we get everyone to do the annual ethics and sexual harassment training.”
“I thought we agreed that would be due in May?” My irritation is starting to wear through any pleasantries I could have possibly possessed. “It’s mid-February,” I add.
“Yes, well, time goes by fast. I just wanted to mention it again.”
Yes, Rachel, you just wanted to make sure everyone knew you were here and contributed to the conversation. Now, can I get back to doing the thing that actually makes us money?
“Thank you, Rachel. It’s been noted,” I say, already moving to stand. “Meeting adjourned.”
I don’t waste any time leaving the boardroom, while some of the others stay and chat.
As I make my escape, I catch long dark hair trailing behind before Brielle ducks into the accounting office.
A current of electricity tingles under my skin, but I force it out of my mind as I make my way back to my office.
The rest of the day flies by as I put out fire after fire. Despite the growing nature of the company, clients all have a direct line for when they need it. And many of them are not shy about using it.
I get Haverhill Cosmetics off the phone, satisfied that CreativEdge can resolve their reputation issue with the right branding and messaging, just before my follow-up call with Leon.
“Mr. Vitale, how are you?” I ask, staring into the camera attached to my monitor.
His heavily lined face fills the screen like he is sitting mere inches away from his computer.
Leon Vitale isn’t old by any means, but the outdoor company he runs isn’t just for show.
He’s an avid outdoorsman himself, and the years spent in the sun are clearly visible.
His graying beard takes up the lower half of his face, unlike the light stubble I keep, but his wide smile takes any intimidation factor he could have had and throws it out the window.
“Call me Leon, kiddo. I’ve told you that. And I’m good, really good.” He smiles.
Kiddo? I wasn’t even called that when I was a child. I certainly don’t love the sound of it in my thirties.
“I’m glad to hear it, Leon,” I say, emphasizing his name. “Let’s get down to business, shall we? I’d love to have this contract ironed out and signed for you as soon as possible so we can get started on the first campaign.”
He makes a face, and I already know I’m not going to like what he says next.
“Well, I’ve got some bad news there. My wife was supposed to join us today, but she’s been held up out of town.
I didn’t want to cancel on you at the last minute.
I’m happy to hear your pitch, but final decision won’t be made today. ”
I work to keep the flash of frustration out of my eyes.
I don’t like wasting my time when all of the stakeholders aren’t present, but we’re here now, so I might as well forge on.
“Understood.” I smile. “First, I’d like to apologize again for having some bad information earlier.
That isn’t like CreativEdge, and it isn’t like me.
But rest assured, it’s been rectified,” I state.
Leon furrows his brow. I’m not sure what to make of that, but I power on.
I explain to him the structure and scale of our business, emphasizing how we have a small-firm feel and client-first focus while growing at a rapid rate, on pace to be the largest private advertising firm in the Northeast region within the next few years.
“We are well equipped to handle any and all campaigns, working in partnership with your business representatives, PR firms, and legal teams to ensure everything we develop is in alignment with your specific business needs and brand. We have a team of analysts on staff that work diligently tracking the performance and trends of your ads so we can make any necessary adjustments in near real time.”
Leon is quiet through my pitch, not giving enough away for me to work with.
I know my pitch is good. CreativEdge isn’t the fastest-growing advertising firm by chance of fate.
We have what it takes to be successful, and there is no other firm that will prioritize the client’s needs more than us.
Especially not Walter Burke and his underhanded approach and shady business practices.
“Is there something that’s concerning to you?
” I ask outright. I’m not one to pussyfoot around.
If he didn’t love what we have to offer, I want to know why.
This account has the potential to explode in the outdoors and recreational sports market, and I want to lock this down now while they are still growing.
“No, no,” he repeats, in his usual fashion. His smile slips into a frown. “Pammie asked me to hold off from making any major decisions without her, like I said. She’s out of town until tonight.”
“I get that.” I smile tightly, still wondering why we scheduled this call if all the stakeholders aren’t available.
“Happy wife, happy life, as the saying goes, right.” I hate myself at times like these, but part of owning a successful business is knowing how to play the game.
And Leon Vitale is absolutely a cliché-and-dad-jokes kind of guy.
He probably says “it’s a good day to be a duck” every time it rains.
“Yeah, you get it. Your wife probably likes to do business with people she knows, too. Am I right?”
“Oh, I’m not married,” I say, probably too quickly.
“Your girlfriend, then. You know how important it is to keep her happy, otherwise…” He trails off with a laugh.
I want to tell him I don’t have a girlfriend either, but at this point, it feels like I’m being contrary for no reason.
It isn’t like it matters. I’m just making conversation and building rapport.
So instead, I find myself saying, “Absolutely.” And then for good measure, I add, “I think we both know who really runs this show.”
Leon laughs heartily. “Hey, we’ve got dinner planned for tomorrow night. Why don’t you and your lady join us, and we can get everything hashed out then? Pammie would love to meet you both. As I said, she likes when we do business with people that we know.”
I try to keep the flash of panic off my face. “Oh, no. I don’t want to interrupt your dinner plans with your wife with work talk.”
“Nonsense. When you co-own and run a business together, life and work all blend together anyway. Dinner is at Amillio’s at 6:00 p.m. I’ll add you two to the reservation. Keeps me out of being the middleman,” he laughs again.
“Right.” It’s all I can think to say. My mind is spinning with how to get out of this.
“Great. We’ll see you both there and get this wrapped up. It’ll be a Valentine’s Day treat,” he says.
We say our pleasantries and leave the call as a pit sinks into my stomach. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day?
I have never taken a date out on Valentine’s Day. Ever. It gives the woman the impression that things are serious between us. In other words, the wrong impression.
I doomscroll through my contact list, looking for someone who might understand the arrangement and be willing to play along. Every name I pass makes the growing uneasiness worsen.
When I finally pick my head up from my phone, I realize it’s dark outside.
The office is quiet as I open my door for the first time in hours to find the place deserted.
The pit in my stomach has grown into a full-blown sinkhole.
Not one viable option came to me in my entire list, especially not for a last-minute Valentine’s Day dinner request. I stroll toward the office kitchen, preparing to make a protein smoothie that I’m hoping will help fill the emptiness inside me, at least temporarily.
Maybe I’ll think better with a full stomach and some nutrients.
I’m almost ready to do the unthinkable… call my mother and ask for her help…
when I see one of the office lights still on.
A wave of irritation pulses through me. Shutting off the lights at the end of the day isn’t a monumental ask.
It’s personal accountability in the most basic of sustainability efforts.
I’m sure each one of them manages to shut their lights off in their own homes.
I turn into the office, reaching for the light switch, when I see that someone else is still here.
Brielle is sitting behind her desk, a pair of wireless earbuds in.
Her chestnut hair is in loose waves draped over her shoulder.
Her blue eyes shine in the light of the computer monitor as she feverishly types away.
An idea hits me square in the chest.
My gut is telling me it isn’t a good idea, but right now, it’s the only one I’ve got.