Chapter 7 #2
I can tell from his expression that Val isn’t at all reassured. Even so, he places the documents on the table in front of him as I link my laptop to the projector.
I would appreciate getting your perspective on these revenue numbers, Val says once he’s completed his presentation.
There’s a brief silence before Ronald shares his thoughts.
Simply put, competing with Winthrops is extremely difficult to do, he says.
Their store was established in 1888 and I cannot stress enough how much this country values tradition.
Hell, the royal family still gets millions and millions of pounds of our tax money every year.
The challenge to outcompete Winthrops is on the same level as any attempt to dress the royal guards in a proper suit: impossible.
Val’s jaw tightens again. I am very aware of the issue, thank you, Ronald, he says with a polite nod.
Ronald shrugs. I want us to focus on solutions here, not on problems. How can we stand out?
Where is Winthrops dropping the ball? Should we be appealing to tourists or rather locals as our key demographic?
There’s another silence before the balding man to my left speaks up.
Well, next Friday we’re hosting an event to celebrate the official unveiling of the Valentine’s department with our one hundred highest-spending customers.
The prospect of a grand opening like that tends to encourage people to spend more.
Our Christmas party was a great success.
We served products that were available in the store and sales were the highest they’d ever been.
The guests bought cases of champagne and kilos of Christmas cookies.
We’re hoping for a similar response leading into Valentine’s Day.
Val nods in approval. That sounds like a great initiative, Henry, but why are we waiting until next week to open up the Valentine’s department? People are well into their Valentine gift shopping by now.
The balding man’s cheeks flush red as he replies.
Some merchandise is already out on the sales floor, but we ran into a small issue preparing for the opening.
The party was originally intended to take place a week ago, but a misprint on the invitation forced us to shift it to next week.
Ninety-eight people had already confirmed their attendance, so sending out a correction seemed ill-advised.
We’re still expecting it to be as successful as the Christmas event.
Alright—but then how would you explain our poor financial performance? Val wonders aloud.
Well, staging festivities at this level and scale is a costly endeavour, of course, Henry replies. But we should consider it an investment in our brand awareness. These types of events will put Wouters on the map.
It doesn’t exactly help our case that Winthrops continues to launch absolutely brilliant marketing campaigns, Ronald adds. To be honest, Val, I wish I could wave a magic wand and send our numbers through the roof. But alas.
Val opens his mouth to speak, but he’s interrupted by a knock. The receptionist pops her head around the door to announce that the Dutch marketing consultant has arrived.
I notice a muscle twitch on Val’s face. He hates it when people show up late.
You can let her in, he finally says.
While I quickly scroll through the PowerPoint presentation, I hear a set of stiletto heels click into the conference room. Lifting my gaze, I feel the blood drain from my face. My hands are trembling and I can’t seem to swallow away the huge lump in my throat.
Right there in the doorway is Dante’s rainbow dodo.
She’s wearing a tight red dress and her full lips have been painted in a matching hue, her white blonde hair twisted up into an elegant bun.
She lets her clear blue eyes glide over her captive audience, narrowing when they land on me.
Val glances from me to the woman and back.
A deep furrow appears on his brow and he carefully touches my shoulder. Startled, I look over at him.
Are you okay, Hannah? he asks. You look really pale all of a sudden.
My mouth is dry as sand and I struggle to swallow before finally managing a nod.
His furrow deepens—as if that was even possible. He obviously doesn’t believe me.
Well then, what on earth is in the Dutch tap water these days? I hear Ronald mutter to the man next to him.
Yet another prime specimen.
The poly-colour parakeet has regained her composure with a beaming smile.
Good afternoon, everyone, she finally says.
Apologies for my late arrival. My flight was delayed by an unattended luggage item left near the gate.
It caused quite the stir. She slicks back some invisible strands of hair, sets down her briefcase, and pulls out a few documents that she spreads out on the table in front of her. My name is Robin Verstraeten and—”
A deeply unappealing snort escapes through my nose and I try with all my might not to burst out laughing. I still can’t believe her name is Robin. Her parents would have been hard-pressed to pick anything more on-the-nose.
She gives me a raised-brow stare. Did I say something funny? she asks, obviously annoyed.
No, no. Please, continue, I say in a strained voice as I flap my hand.
I’m desperately trying to hold back laughter as I feel my eyes fill with tears.
The whole situation is both frustrating and deeply hilarious.
The prospect of spending the next two weeks working alongside Dante’s fine feathered friend is painful, but at the same time, I can barely contain this fit of laughter.
Maybe you should excuse yourself for a moment, Hannah, Val mumbles beside me.
When I look up at him, I can tell he’s not amused in the slightest. He’s let his hand slip away from my shoulder and it’s now dangling loosely by his side.
Oh, not necessary, I reply, taking a deep breath. I’m okay now. I blink, hoping my mascara is still where it should be, then straighten my blazer and fix my face.
Great, as soon as Hannah is capable of acting like a professional again, we can continue, he says. He’s still looking at me like I’ve lost all my marbles.
I do my best to look apologetic.
Go ahead, Robin, Val says with a nod.
Thank you, Val. She shoots him a seductive look as she sensually slips her tongue along her lips.
Of course. That’s why you’re here, he replies, returning to his seat next to me.
His tense posture suggests he didn’t appreciate what just happened. I’m not sure what exactly rubbed him the wrong way. Was it my laughing fit? Or was Robin getting a little too friendly there?
Great, she continues, pulling a big, folded-up piece of paper from her briefcase.
I put together a mood board to give you a sense of my vision for the store.
Folding it open, she attaches it to the wall behind her with some sticky tack.
This mood board is centred around the grand opening of the Valentine’s Day department.
It’s my understanding that it should be our main marketing focus at the moment.
We’ll zoom out to the larger plan at a later time.
She steps back from her masterpiece and I again find myself fighting the urge to howl with laughter.
Looking over, I see Val is staring at the mood board in shock. He hasn’t blinked in about five seconds.
Sex. Robin wants to sell sex. She’s put together an enormous collage of scantily clad ladies wearing high heels and sexy lingerie. One of them has a bottle of champagne touched to her shiny red lips as a man in an unbuttoned shirt kisses her neck.
The silence is deafening. I can almost literally hear the cogs grinding inside Val’s head.
He clears his throat, then begins to speak.
Robin, you’re aware that we’ve positioned Wouters as one of the most prestigious department stores?
Not some cheap sex shop that a drunk university student might accidentally walk into at the end of a wild night to then wake up the next morning without his wallet?
Robin blinks a few times as her cheeks blush a deep red. Of course, she scoffs. Will you please give me a chance to shed some light on the mood board? She gives him an inquisitive look.
Val waves his hand in a knock yourself out kind of gesture as he slumps into his chair.
Thanks, she replies in relief. She briefly bites her lower lip, then takes a deep breath before launching into her pitch.
Fifty Shades of Grey, Gabriel’s Inferno, the Crossfire series.
. . All wildly popular series and they all have one thing in common: sex.
Women are no longer interested in a fluffy teddy bear or a pile of calories for Valentine’s Day.
Robin has both hands planted firmly on the table as she sends a penetrating gaze around the room. Her leaned-in stance is also treating everyone to an unobstructed view of her cleavage. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Ronald shift in his seat to cross his legs.
Women want to be adored, Robin continues.
They want to be sexy and seductive. Of course, I’m not suggesting sex toys or anything overly explicit.
I want to keep things classy. I’m talking silk lingerie, high-end massage oil, the most expensive champagne .
. . I want to sell the idea that it’s okay to desire sexiness, to want to be the main character in your own romantic story.
I blink a few times. Now that she’s wrapped up her pitch, Robin gazes around with a satisfied look on her face.
She’s lucky this is an all-male Board of Directors.
Every single one of them is staring at her, mouth agape.
All except for Val. There’s a skeptical look in his eyes.
Ronald’s face suggests she’s got him completely wrapped around her finger.
Am I the only one who thinks this plan is absolute bullshit?
When a tiny scoff escapes from my throat, Robin’s icy eyes find mine immediately.
Yes, Hannah? What is it this time?