Chapter Four
Dragging my big white suitcase behind me, I wandered through the airport, toward the exit. The blazing sun piercing through the floor-to-ceiling windows made my headache tighten. The woman on the plane hadn’t stopped talking for three hours, and I was exhausted.
But I didn’t have time to be exhausted. I had a meeting in half an hour and a rodeo in two hours. Thanks to my company’s poor time management planning skills, I needed to hurry.
Mr. Sterling’s itinerary had said I was going to be picked up and driven to my first meeting. It did not specify who or what was going to be picking me up, but the muddy black truck waiting right outside was not what I was expecting.
The automatic doors opened, and the heat of the Arizona sun hit me like a train. I took a breath, making sure I wasn’t having a hot flash, and it was in fact just that hot. My blue button-up shirt was already sticking to my blazer. I regretted every article of clothing I had chosen this morning.
“Legra?” A deep voice said as soon as I had come to my senses.
I raised my eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”
Thompson Avery was leaning against the truck, wearing a white shirt and overalls. His hat used to be some sort of red, but now, caked in mud, it was brown and barely hanging on to his small head. “Legra?” He said again, offering no more.
Was that supposed to be my name? I mentally slapped myself into focus and straightened my posture. “Good afternoon! You must be Mr. Avery. I’m Allegra Ford, Miss Ford. I’m excited to get to know you, your company, and achieve the goals we’re going to come up with.”
My opening pitch usually received a range of responses, from annoyance to gratitude, so I thought I was prepared for anything. Until Thompson looked me up and down and opened the truck door. “Better get in,” he mumbled. “The board’s waiting to get this meeting over with.”
“Great!” I smiled, keeping my overenthusiastic marketing hostess persona dialed to one hundred.
He grabbed my suitcase and hurled it into the bed of the truck, not noticing my horror. I used the handlebars to hoist myself up to the passenger seat. Thompson started the truck and shifted into gear.
Something wet touched my neck. I jumped and spun around, coming face-to-face with a big white dog, panting in the heat. “Oh!” I said in surprise. “What’s your dog’s name?”
“Mac.”
“Cute,” I said flatly. “So, Mr. Aver-”
“Thompson,” he corrected.
“Right, of course!” I made a mental note of his name preferences. “I know I’m jumping into the rodeo a little late. How has the season been so far?”
He grumbled and itched his chin. “If it were going well, you wouldn’t be here, would you?”
I laughed, ignoring his obvious indifference to me. “That is absolutely true! Have you always enjoyed rodeos?”
“Yes.”
Awesome. Cool. Love this.
I looked out the dirty window. The sun’s heat was giving the cityscape a hazy glow.
Instead of tall trees looming over the sidewalks, there were cacti in the xeriscape landscape.
It looked as hot as it felt, reminding me that I needed to lean as far off the seat as I could so I could let my sweat dry.
After a few more sad attempts at small talk, it was clear Thompson was more comfortable in silence, so I took the rest of the drive to mentally prepare myself for this meeting.
Thompson pulled the truck into the parking lot of a portable trailer, just outside an incredible arena. “Welp, here we are.”
The arena towered over us. With massive plate-glass windows for the lobby and enough seats for twenty thousand people, this was no amateur county rodeo; this was the big leagues.
It was situated on thirteen acres, hosting over one million people every year, between concerts, sports events, and, of course, rodeos.
I followed Thompson into the portable trailer, where a man was already seated in a folding chair at a flimsy table. Paper cups filled with old coffee and napkins with donut crumbs sat before him.
If possible, the trailer was somehow even hotter than outside. The heat hit me like a bus, and my poor back began to sweat even more. I swallowed hard and plastered my marketing smile on my face. “Good afternoon!”
The man was what I expected, around Thompson’s age, dressed in jeans and a polo, wearing a hat with the “Agri-Corp” logo proudly printed.
I glanced around the room. It was tiny, not what I was used to with my introductory meetings. No projector, no computers, nothing but me, my briefcase, and a few farmers who’d rather be anywhere else.
“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” I said, overly perky. I took my files out of my briefcase and laid some notes on the table in front of me. Behind me, I set up three tiny foldable easels, with covered little posters, ready to reveal my plan at the perfect moment.
Thompson and the man barely blinked.
I was a perfectionist when it came to presentations, regardless of the lack of interest.
“My name is Allegra Ford, and I am so excited to spend these next few months getting to know you and your incredible company. I spent the flight getting familiar with your data and statistics, but I want to get to know every one of you personally!” I gestured toward the man I hadn’t met yet. “What was your name, sir?”
“Micky Montgumery,” the ginger man said gruffly.
The door opened behind me, making me jump.
“I apologize. My boys were getting set up, and I wanted to wish them luck,” a man said hastily to Thompson.
He faced me, holding his hand out. “Very sorry, I missed your introduction. I’m Dennis Nash.
It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for coming all the way out here to help us old farts out. We can’t wait to hear your ideas!”
I tried to hide the obvious shock on my face and shook his hand. “Allegra Ford.”
He only had a little salt and pepper in his hair.
His giant smile took up most of his face, but his eyes were constantly glistening, as if he was in love with everything he saw.
“Let me get out of your way, and you can continue. Again, I apologize.” His accent was thicker than the other men’s, reminding me of home.
I straightened myself and jumped right back in.
“Agri-Corp is a legacy brand with unmatched quality; however, our market research shows a growing perception disconnect between the brand and the rising generation of farmers. Your social media presence, while growing, has a low engagement rate, an average of four likes per post.”
Micky grunted. “My daughter does those.”
I was right, no surprise there.
“She’s fourteen, she knows all about that social site.”
It took me a minute to decipher what he meant.
Because she was fourteen, she was a social media expert, regardless of the age of the subject of the posts.
I nodded. “And while I think she is doing a fantastic job, I do have some insights I’d like to discuss moving forward.
” I took a breath. “Your brand currently feels like an institution when we need it to feel like a partner.”
More unsatisfied grunts. I struck a nerve. Not offending these men was going to be the hardest part of my assignment.
I glanced at my notes in front of me, doing my best not to read off the papers.
“To fix this, we’re not going to be running a campaign; we’re going to be running an immersion strategy.
My job is to embed myself with the National Rodeo Tour to generate three core assets that will redefine the brand. ”
I was losing them, I could feel it. And to make matters worse, in the arena, they were beginning to play loud music to get the crowd warmed up as they wandered inside. I flipped my first poster around.
In big bold letters, it said, Authenticity through storytelling. “We need video case studies of real rodeo stars and stock owners using Agri-Corp equipment in their daily lives. Not stock footage, not A.I., authentic content.”
For some reason, I glanced at Dennis, who was still grinning and leaning forward to read the poster. The rest of the men were fiddling with their cups or napkins.
I flipped the next one. Digital Relevance. “I will generate new, high-quality media designed specifically for each social media platform, where the next generation of buyers are making purchase decisions.”
Micky cleared his throat again. “My daughter does all this.”
And we were back to the subject I thought we had avoided. I pointed at him. “You are exactly right, however, as I am getting paid to do this for you, I feel it may be unfair for your daughter to do this for free.”
Thompson shook his head and itched his bald head under his cap. “We pay her five dollars a post.”
Oh dear, now we were breaking child labor laws. My brain did cartwheels trying to figure out the best way to pacify Micky for the time being. “Well, if she is going to be around for the tour, I would love to sit down with her and teach her some things about marketing to specific audiences.”
Nobody responded, so I moved on and flipped over the last board.
Experiential Marketing. “We need physical interaction. I’ll develop concepts for a mobile demonstration unit at the events. This will allow attendees to physically interact with your product. A demo ride, if you will.”
The plan was on the table; they could take it or leave it, but as Micky and Thompson kept glancing toward the music, I knew they would agree just to shut me up and get to their rodeo.
I passed around personalized manila folders with each step of my plan, including all the additional details I knew they were not interested in reading.
“This is a team effort. While I do have the marketing expertise, I lack the essential knowledge of rodeo logistics and the day-to-day operations of your equipment. That’s where you come in.
If you have any ideas, thoughts, or anything that you think will help your company thrive, I’d love to hear them.
My card is in your folder, so feel free to call me anytime.
For now, I’ll let you enjoy the rodeo, and we’ll be in touch! ”
Thompson raised his hand. “Legra?”
“Yes?” My back was soaked in sweat, and my left ear had begun to ring. I needed some caffeine and a chair, but there was no time. The rodeo was going to start in half an hour.
“What rodeo circuit will you be traveling with?”
Not a clue, but I was supposed to be the person with all the answers, so I glanced at my itinerary. “Looks like I’m hitting the highlights of as many as I can. But I will be there for the qualifying rounds and the NFR, of course. Thank you, gentlemen.”
They got up and practically rushed the door, all except Dennis. He stopped beside me, helping me gather my papers. “That was wonderful.”
I glanced up as I shoved my posters back into my briefcase. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Nash. I appreciate your feedback.”
He handed me the papers he had straightened for me and leaned back, crossing his arms casually.
“I hope you don’t take the boys’ lack of interest personally.
Our company has been stalled for two years now, and I was getting nervous.
I suggested we get some help with our marketing, and it took a long time for them to get on board. They’re old-fashioned.”
Really? I hadn’t noticed. “That’s kind of you to say, but there are few people who are genuinely interested in a marketing presentation.”
“I was! You did great, and I really think you’re going to help us go from where we are to where we need to go.” He put his hand on my shoulder.
I glanced at it, and he dropped it. “Any tips for the gentlemen as we move forward?” I said with a small laugh.
He laughed and opened the door for me. “Unless it’s about harvest, animals, or gettin’ to watch the rodeo, they won’t listen. Just do your thing. We trust you. Are you headin’ over to watch the show?”
I stepped outside. The sun was beginning to set, and the temperature was finally bearable. “Of course, that’s what you hired me to do!”
“Well, I’ll see you there. My wife was grabbin’ some corndogs when I last saw her, and if I don’t hurry, she’ll eat mine too.”
I chuckled.
“Thank you, Miss Ford. We appreciate the effort you’re puttin’ into us.”
As he walked away, I finally noticed his shirt. It was a black long-sleeve jersey, including his name and the number twelve. I tilted my head, wondering why he would wear that and what it meant.