Chapter Ten Alex #3
I lean back in my chair, feeling the weight of my Board’s expectations pressing down on me.
This isn’t something I’d normally talk about with anyone aside from Luca, but I don’t feel any of the apprehension and irritation I usually do when it comes to Noelle.
‘The Board wants me to trim the fat. Cut corners.’ My hand instinctively clenches into a fist beneath the table, my fingers desperate to wrap around the stress ball I keep at my HoxTech offices.
‘But I built this company based on the idea of quality. Not quantity. And definitely not profit.’
That’s how it started anyway. I was tired of buying products that fell apart or ultimately became obsolete after a few years.
I didn’t want my products to be added to the piles of mass-produced, useless garbage floating somewhere in the Pacific Ocean years down the line.
So, I put my computer science degree to use, and set out to make the HT Nexa, a sleek, lightweight yet high-performance and long-lasting laptop for professionals.
The kind of product that wouldn’t need replacing every three to five years.
The kind of product my customers could rely on.
Luca helped immensely with the initial networking to ensure we got the early investors needed to make the company a runaway success, and here we are, fifteen years later.
We’ve since branched out to other technological appliances – TVs, fridges, coffeemakers, vacuums and, most recently, phones – and I’ve tried to keep that same ethos running through the company.
Quality over quantity.
Quality over profit.
Unfortunately, the bigger you get, the more people you have to please, and each day it’s proving harder and harder to stick to the original plan.
‘But you do make a profit,’ Noelle says, her smile dipping and replaced with a frown. ‘Right?’
‘We do.’
‘So, what’s the problem?’ She comes over to my side of the table and leans against it, propping her elbows up so she can rest her chin in the palms of her hands. ‘As far as I can tell, you’re doing pretty well.’
I laugh quietly. ‘Pretty well is an understatement.’
‘So, again, what’s the problem? Why’s your Board on your back all the time?’
I blink at her and she gives me a sheepish grin.
‘The energy was pretty easy to read at the dinner,’ she says. ‘They don’t like you?’
‘That is an understatement, and an entirely separate issue.’
Noelle waits patiently for me to continue.
‘They want more,’ I say. ‘But we’re already pushing our team to the limit.
It’s a balancing act.’ I pause, not entirely sure this is interesting to her, but Noelle is looking at me with wide open eyes, like she’s genuinely interested in hearing what I have to say.
‘If someone’s doing good work, the key to making sure that continues is to give them the space to keep doing it.
Not pile more on top of them. That’s when the quality drops.
When corners get cut because they’re more focused on meeting deadlines than delivering good work. ’
‘But I don’t get it,’ Noelle says, brows furrowing. ‘If you suddenly start releasing products that drop in quality, wouldn’t that mean losing all your customers?’
‘You’d think so.’ We’ve both shifted in our seats, turning so we’re directly facing each other and our knees are brushing against one another.
‘But we’re so ahead of the market, we’ve probably amassed enough goodwill from our target audience that people would still continue to buy our products for a good while even if that quality slips. ’
Noelle’s eyes widen in understanding and she leans forward slightly, mulling over my words as she comes further into my personal space.
‘It’s all about brand loyalty, right? People already trust you to deliver quality, so they overlook the little hiccups?
But there’s a limit to how far you can push them. ’
I nod, impressed by how quickly she grasps the concept. ‘Exactly.’
She lets out a soft chuckle, her hand absentmindedly playing with the end of one of her long braids. ‘It’s the same for me. Imagine I started cutting corners and using subpar ingredients just to save some money – you’d notice right away, wouldn’t you?’
‘I think you’d be able to make a Michelin-star-level meal out of anything,’ I say, blurting the words out before I can even think about my answer.
Noelle’s mouth falls open slightly and she blinks at me. ‘I—’
‘But I get what you mean,’ I say quickly. ‘People trust the quality you deliver, and once you compromise that, it’s hard to win back their trust.’
She nods slowly. Her cheeks look warm, her expression thoughtful.
‘Cooking is my passion. It’s not just about making food.
I don’t just do it for a cheque. It’s about creating an experience, about sharing joy through something as simple as a meal.
Cutting corners would compromise that. Would compromise me. ’
I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it like that. Thought about it beyond eating as necessary for survival. But when she puts it like that? My thoughts drift to the bottom drawer of the desk in my home office, filled with the little Post-it notes she leaves me with every meal.
It’s about creating an experience, about sharing joy through something as simple as a meal.
‘Have you ever thought about taking this—’ I gesture awkwardly at her. ‘And scaling up?’
She frowns. ‘Ha, you mean like when you met me? I’ve already worked in a restaurant.’
‘No, I mean starting your own.’
She dips her head slightly. ‘It’s definitely crossed my mind. But no, I couldn’t. There are too many—’
‘There’s always a reason to say no to something. There were a million and one different things in my way when I was starting up HoxTech, but here we are now.’
Noelle snorts. ‘Not all of us were born with a golden spoon in our mouths, you know.’
It’s my turn to snort. ‘I certainly wasn’t.’
‘What? You’re not from like, some eternally rich family and you’re just the latest nepo baby to get lucky?’
‘No. God, no. Have you never read my bio?’
Noelle rolls her eyes, but her lips are twitching slightly. ‘Someone’s full of himself.’
‘It’s a perfectly reasonable question.’ And assumption. Almost every single person I’ve met has read up on me, and it never occurred to me that Noelle has never deigned to do the same.
‘No, your highness. I have not bothered to read your bio. Should I?’ She gives me a look that’s downright devilish. ‘What am I going to learn? Is there a whole section about bath bombs in there?’
‘Bath bombs…?’ Realisation dawns on me and Noelle holds her hands up in defence. Though she’s still grinning.
‘I did a tiny bit of snooping. Not intentional by the way – I was trying to find your room.’
‘And the bathroom was the first place you looked?’ I raise an unimpressed brow.
‘No. Your unused gym was. The bathroom was a close second.’ She wiggles her brows and nudges me with her elbow. ‘What’s the deal with that, by the way? Brand new gym, beautiful bathroom, all those hundreds of bath bombs?’
‘There aren’t hundreds,’ I grumble, feeling my cheeks warm. ‘And what do you mean, “what’s the deal”?’
She shrugs lightly. ‘I just mean, you’ve got all these things in your home and it seems like you put them there for a reason, but you don’t use them.’
I try to think back to the last time I used the home gym I’d been adamant about setting up.
Maybe three, four months ago? Five wouldn’t even be a stretch at this point.
Work has been a never-ending series of fires that I’m apparently the only person who can put out for as long as I can remember, and my daily workouts were one of the first things to go.
It’s part of the reason I hired Noelle in the first place.
When you’re looking for ways to make those twenty-four hours stretch a little longer, getting rid of time-consuming things like working out and spending hours in the kitchen every day felt like a no-brainer.
And the bathroom along with the most definitely not hundreds of bath bombs? It’s probably been over a year since I last stepped in there. The thought is enough to bring a frown to my face.
‘The gym I can get,’ Noelle says, continuing on, completely oblivious to my train of thought. ‘But the bathroom? It’s gorgeous and, well, not trying to be rude, but not very you.’
Despite everything, I can’t help but smirk at that. ‘Not very me?’
Noelle squirms slightly in her seat. ‘I just can’t imagine you filling up the tub and soaking in a bath filled with soap and bombs. It’s very… domestic.’
‘I can’t be domestic?’
She stares pointedly at my laptop and the plethora of spreadsheets currently taking up the screen. ‘I don’t know. Can you?’
‘Yes,’ I say stiffly, even though it’s been at least a year since I last, as Noelle put it, filled up the tub and soaked in it. The en-suite attached to my bedroom has a shower and that’s been more than enough for me recently. ‘I just don’t have the time.’
‘But if you did have the time…’ Noelle says, like she’s goading me on.
‘If I did,’ I concede slowly, ‘then yes, I’d use my gym and make full use of that bathtub upstairs.’
‘And the bath bombs…?’
My cheeks suddenly feel warm. ‘I like them.’
She laughs, leaning in a little closer, her voice teasing. ‘Oh, so you do have a soft side. Who would’ve thought? Alexander Hoxton, tech mogul, drowning in bath bombs and pretending to have no time for luxury.’
I roll my eyes, trying to suppress my own smile creeping up on me. ‘I’m not pretending. I don’t know. I like having those things available when I can take the time. It’s just—’ I pause, the words suddenly feeling heavier in my mouth than I’d intended. ‘I don’t get to take the time.’
Noelle tilts her head and her smile softens into something more understanding.
I think she’s about to say something, but then she shakes her head suddenly and pushes herself up from the table. I watch as she marches towards the cutlery drawer and pulls out a large wooden spoon. Then she turns on me and says, ‘You need a break.’