Pemberley and Pastelitos
Chapter 1- The Pitch Massacre
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single stakeholder with a seven-figure budget must be in want of a closer.
Of course it was, Lizette “Lizzie” Benítez thought as she paced the sleek, cold reception area on the twelfth floor of Pemberley Pharmaceuticals, waiting to give the presentation that could change her life.
You are going to be their closer, chica. Breathe.
Lizzie was good — top one percent in supply-chain brujería, the kind that turned chaos into cash. But translating hard numbers into C-suite poetry? That was the part that turned her palms into little fountains.
Especially when the client was Pemberley Pharmaceuticals. One signature on that contract meant two years’ salary in her bank account. A real lechón for Nochebuena instead of the budget turkey Abuela pretended not to hate. A new AC unit that didn’t sound like an asthmatic dragon at 3 a.m.
Maybe even enough left over to finally fix the pool that had been a swamp since Hurricane Irma.
She needed this.
She knew her analysis was bulletproof. She’d lived in their data for weeks — every late-night cafecito, every pastelito-fueled spreadsheet. The fixes she’d designed would save them millions. She just had to make them see it.
Lizzie smoothed the lapel of her favorite pink blazer — vintage buttons, power color, the one that made her feel like a Cuban Barbie who could ruin your margins and your life.
Wide-leg navy trousers gave her an extra three inches of height she desperately needed at five-three.
Wild curls wrestled into a loose chignon that said “competent but not trying too hard.” She’d changed outfits six times this morning.
This one said I’m worth every penny without screaming it.
She believed in the language of clothes the way other people believed in horoscopes. She watched people closely and turned the scrutiny to herself most severely.
The receptionist gave her a polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Somewhere behind the frosted glass, Charles Bing — golden-retriever COO and her only ally in this building — was probably doing jazz hands to keep the mood light.
Then she heard voices on the other side of the wall.
“Oh, hey boss, you joining us for this thing?” She recognized this as Charles.
“Figured if you guys are going to waste my money, I might as well hear the pitch.” The second voice was low, bored, and sharp enough to cut glass.
“You’re the one who said we needed to streamline.”
“Yeah, well, that was before the last three consultants tried to sell me ‘streamline’ in Comic Sans. Word is this one’s some boutique outfit sending a chubby amateur who’s barely old enough to drink. What fresh hell is this one going to bring that I haven’t already deleted from my spam folder?”
Lizzie’s heartbeat went from cafecito buzz to full reggaeton drop.
Her Apple Watch flashed red: 112 bpm.
Amateur?
Chubby?
She was curvy by Kendall standards, stacked by Hialeah standards, and right now she was furious by any standard. Chubby stung, but Amateur really hurt. She’d been called lots of things, but never that. Even when she was new, her competency was never questioned.
“Hey, Lizzie!” Charles called, poking his head out, oblivious to Lizzie’s rising heart rate. “Ready for you!”
She plastered on the sweetest smile in her arsenal, grabbed her bag, and walked in like she owned the building.
Game on.
Once there, Charles went through the perfunctory introductions of the people at the table—all of whom she’d met before—except the man in the charcoal-tailored suit seated at the head, staring at his phone, until Charles got to him.
“And this is Mr. William Pemberley, our CEO.”
Will Pemberley looked up from his phone, and the temperature in the room dropped five degrees. Lizzie could see now that his top button was undone, like a dare. His hair was black and in an unkempt, wavy style that felt like it cost $400 to make it look like he didn’t care how he looked.
Lizzie was fairly certain this was the person she’d heard with Charles earlier, and his voice when he said, “Thanks for coming in today,” confirmed it. He scanned her as he rose to his feet and extended his hand, exposing a tattoo on his wrist. Coordinates? Lizzie made a note to look them up later.
Lizzie hoped her face, while pleasant, relayed that she knew what he thought and was looking forward to surprising him. The handshake lasted half a second too long, and she could feel him testing her grip strength. My abuelo used to do the same thing, she thought. You don’t intimidate me.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Lizzie lied, then took her spot at the front of the room, her presentation already cued up on the screen.
“Thank you all for taking the time to meet with me today. As you know, I’ve been analyzing and exploring your current workflows and supply chain for a little while now, and I’m excited to show you my solutions.
But first, let me review the agenda, my goals, and the findings. ”
Lizzie suddenly felt the urge to throw out the whole presentation.
The first two slides outlined the strength of her company.
Then there were a couple of slides about the value of partnering with her company.
She even had an entire slide just defining the term ‘partnership’.
Why had she created a presentation like this?
Why hadn’t it sounded as thin and superficial when she had practiced with her boss?
She watched as Mr. Pemberley zoned out more and more, paying less and less attention.
She was considering jumping ahead to the slides that presented her solution by the sixth slide. Most of the people had glazed-over looks, and Mr. Pemberley was full-on scrolling on his phone. Only Charles still seemed to be listening.
She was wrapping up the talking point when Mr. Pemberley slammed his phone down. “That’s it.” The people at the table sat up straight and turned to him. “That’s your third time using ‘synergy.’ I’m out.”
Lizzie froze—slide 12 still glowing behind her like a crime scene. Charles spoke out in her defense. “Will, maybe we want to give her a chance to finish?”
“Charles, I appreciate the time taken, but this…” He gestured toward Lizzie and her presentation. “There’s nothing there to tempt me.”
Lizzie felt her chances of closing this sale—all the hours she’d put into this, the jobs at her company, an account of this size would bring—slipping away with Mr. Pemberley as he started for the door.
Charles looked at her apologetically and said, “I’m sorry, Lizzie…” Before he could say more, Lizzie grabbed her bag and followed the CEO out of the room.
“If you don’t make the changes I suggest, you’re going to lose millions” Lizzie had basically yelled the words at Mr. Pemberley’s back as he was walking away and already a few feet ahead.
Will turned around to face her, one eyebrow arched. “What?”
Lizzie assumed his question was rhetorical, so she decided to explain instead of repeating herself.
“You have repetitive tasks, redundancies in ordering, and your warehousing system is leaving you a huge obstacle to improving your cash cycle. I’d start with that.
In 90 days, I can implement the changes needed to save millions in a year.
Or you can keep paying a warehouse manager to play Tetris with pallets. ”
Only when Lizzie stopped to take a breath did she notice that the other people from the conference room had come out into the hall and were standing around, unsure whether to interfere; watching Mr. Pemberley, waiting for instructions.
Mr. Pemberley had a quizzical look on his face—his interest piqued, but his pride stopped him from asking to hear more. Charles took the silence to mean that Mr. Pemberley was displeased and said, “Come on, Lizzie. I’ll walk you out.”
Lizzie felt dejected. She’d failed. She’d have to go back and tell her boss and her Abuela, but worse was the fact that she felt she’d failed herself. “It’s your money, Mr. Pemberley,” Lizzie said as she turned to leave with Charles. “You can waste it as you see fit.”
Charles was all apologies as he walked her out, explaining that the CEO wasn’t the best with new people and thanking her for all the effort and time she took in putting this together.
Lizzie barely heard him.
She was already drafting the Slack to her boss:
Subject: Pemberley =DOA
He killed it at slide 12.
But I just quoted him millions in savings in the hallway.
Ball’s in his court.
Pray for me.
Lizzie groaned; Chances are, Abuela’s already making a celebratory Arroz Imperial.