by Trixie More
“Adam, just leave it be, OK? Doug Lloyd doesn’t think their products mesh with the market we are trying to promote.”
“Oh? And who is the marketing expert here? Us or him?”
“You sure sound tough when you’re not the one in the room with the man every week.” Peter rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Look, I’m telling Kathy that we’re not taking it. If you want to meet with him, be my guest. Just don’t take the job.” He hung up his cell phone and wished, for a moment, the phone had a good old-fashioned handset so he could slam the thing down.
Ten minutes later, after Doug disappeared into Peter’s office, Dorothy uttered her closing sentence and then sat silently, searching her mentor’s face.
“Well …” Kathy stalled. “Well, it’s got potential.” The other woman recovered herself quickly, presumably when she saw Dorothy slump and dramatically fling her palms over her face. “Dottie, you can’t expect to have a great campaign on the first draft. And that’s what this is. This is a first draft. I can tell, and so can Adam. Please. You are a bright woman, and you know full well, you just turned this out this week. Am I right? You only started creating this a few days ago, right?” Kathy’s voice had gone up an octave in frustration.
“Last night,” Dorothy whispered.
“What?”
“Last night, OK? I did the placard drawings last night and I did the script this morning when I got to work.”
Kathy flung her pencil down on her desk. It was the most animated Dorothy had ever seen her and it made Dorothy feel terrible. Kathy had been good to her, supporting her ideas and helping her with every slam and Dorothy had let her down … again.
Kathy straightened in her chair, cleared her throat and seemed to get an inch taller. “Let’s go. I’ll help you with this but this is the last time. I can’t have my work fall behind to help you, if you aren’t concerned about your deadlines.”
Ouch. That was harsh, but Dorothy supposed she deserved it. For the next hour, the two women worked quietly, their heads together as they went over the presentation. It was one forty-five when they stopped.
“This isn’t going to win,” Kathy said finally. “But at least it won’t get you fired.”
Dorothy looked at the time on her laptop and yelped. “Oh my God. I have fifteen minutes!” She cringed at what she was about to do but pressed on. “Can you run to the print shop and get the placards for me? I have to pee before I go in there—and I promise this will be the last time.”
Kathy sighed. “I guess. I’m already behind.”
Dorothy cringed inside. She knew that Kathy would be working from home tonight to catch up now. She shouldn’t have done this to her friend. Cursing her own bad planning, Dorothy headed to the ladies’ room while Kathy walked briskly to the elevator. Behind Dorothy the elevator chimed and with her hand on the bathroom door, Dorothy heard Peter Brookings’ voice ringing across the floor.
“Miss Terhune. Where are you off to? I’ve been waiting for the copy you promised me.”
Dorothy could tell he was in a foul humor. She pushed on the ladies’ room door, hearing Kathy telling him she was headed to the print shop as the door closed behind her.
The meeting went about as expected. Adam didn’t yawn during her presentation but he didn’t cheer either. He saved that for Terrance Hightower’s presentation, which, they all knew would be the winner. Every slide was clean and minimal. There wasn’t one extra word on them and the backgrounds were amazing. He had created them all from scratch, Dorothy could tell. His placards were brilliant and the slogans were simple and memorable. Not exactly what Dorothy brought to the table.
Sighing, she collected her placards and laptop and trailed the others from the room. She checked her emails and discovered a new meeting had been scheduled. It was four p.m. and she had a half hour before the mystery meeting. She opened the invite and found it was a one-hour conference with Edward Walker, a new client. She would have to hustle to be ready. Grabbing a granola bar from her pencil drawer, she opened the attached file for Walker and Birkeland. It was a small startup headquartered in Norway of all places. She did an Internet search on Norway and found pictures of mountains, water and roasted sheep heads. Next, she searched for Walker and Birkeland. The business appeared to have an environmental focus. Taking a large bite from her bar, she scrolled through the company website while she chewed.
The products were pretty cool. Really cool, actually. She started to print pages as she went through them. In fact, a person who sold stuff like this would be doing something important. It was certainly a better gig than figuring out how Miss Reality-Star-of-the-Year could sell off her stock in pointy-toed pumps before they went buy-one, get-one.
“Go, go before they bogo, baby,” she muttered to herself. It would have been a lot more fun failing her slam if she’d used that tag line. Better yet, “Tiffany Stone Shoes: You know they’re gonna bogo.” That made Dorothy laugh quietly to herself. She retrieved her printouts of the way more interesting, way more important, products from the land of roast sheep. These were, for sure, not destined for a discount rack in your neighborhood department store. She returned to her desk, took another bite of granola, and started marking notes on the pages with a magenta pen.
It was odd that Adam was having this meeting. Peter Brookings normally handled the environmental campaigns. Why wouldn’t Peter and Kathy be meeting with Edward Walker today? Dorothy scrolled down the page and saw a photo of a man’s hand, the wrist wrapped in the cuff of a thick ivory sweater. A dark metal cylinder rested across the man’s clean, pink, palm.
“How’d it go?” Kathy’s voice startled Dorothy. She hadn’t heard the woman walk up.
“About as you’d expect, I guess.” Dorothy shrugged. “I’m just going to have to up my game.” She looked up from the screen at Kathy but the woman wasn’t looking at Dorothy, she was looking at the Baby Dot clipping.
“Don’t you get tired of it?”
“What?” Dorothy asked. “Failing?”
“No, being saved.”
Dorothy was confused. She looked at the clipping, the grainy image of the wailing toddler reaching desperately back toward something deep in the shadows behind the wooden screen door. “What?”
Kathy sighed. “Never mind.” Her glance fell to Dorothy’s monitor. “You’re meeting with Edward Walker today?”
“Yeah.” Dorothy was still puzzled by the prior question. “Why?”
“I’m surprised is all. Peter turned down the meeting. He doesn’t like them.”
“Walker and Birkeland?”
“Yeah. He thinks it’s too soon for companies like that. It’s dangerous to start with those type of products now.”
“What? What products?” asked Dorothy.
“Smaller technologies that clean the atmosphere. It’s too soon for them.” Kathy shrugged like it should be obvious to Dorothy, which, it was not. “I gotta get back upstairs. Good luck today and I’m sorry.”
With that strange statement, Kathy disappeared from sight, leaving Dorothy feeling uneasy and more than a little mixed up. Sorry for what? And the slam was over, why would she need luck now?
Chapter 2
Damn all these people. Couldn’t they walk through a turnstile normally? Edward Walker glared at the school kids horsing around in front of him. It hadn’t occurred to him that he’d be hitting the subway the same time the kids were getting out of school. He grunted and shoved himself through the narrow gateway, hitting what he thought of as his city stride, as soon as he burst through. A few long steps and he was past the kids and heading up the stairs, two at a time. Out into the daylight, on the street, he felt instantly better. The subway was too damn crowded today. He stopped and got his bearings. He was about three blocks north of East 20th and it was about five after four so he had twenty-five minutes to get to the Cogent Digital building, straighten up in the men’s room and find the right office. Plenty of time. He resumed his walk, a little more relaxed now.
The area
was upscale. Handsome residential buildings gave way to well-maintained businesses with expensive awnings interspersed with office buildings. It was a far cry from the neighborhood where Edward lived, which had bodegas and sacks of garbage for decoration.
Ahead of him, two young men in expensive looking suits cut in front of him as they came out of a clean, upscale market, white cardboard coffee cups in their hands. They stopped right in his way. Edward swerved around them just as one of them moved forward, almost colliding with him. The man’s manicured hand landed on Edward’s shoulder.
“Sor—”
There wasn’t any time for him to get the words out because Edward lowered his shoulder and shoved the idiot backward.
“Get the fuck away from me,” he growled. The guy’s coffee sloshed out of the hole in the lid, dripping on his designer pant leg.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” the yuppie cried out but Edward was already moving down the block. He could hear the two men calling after him but he kept going. He didn’t slow down again until he reached the building he was looking for. Frankly, he felt more comfortable in his own run-down neighborhood. In his neighborhood, you sure as fuck didn’t touch a stranger on the street. If it had been up to Edward, he wouldn’t come into this upscale area. He was only here for one reason: everyone at his company was counting on him, especially his partner Gunnar. They needed sales desperately.
Inside the building that housed Cogent Digital Partners, he found the listing on the directory and took the elevator to the sixth floor. He was greeted by glass doors, etched with the company name and hung within a wide, clean, oak façade. Of course, Cogent Digital was one of the top marketing agencies. No layers of paint on paint here. He pushed open the door and stepped inside. The receptionist greeted him from behind a sleek modern desk flanked by glass doors to each side. Closer to the front of the reception area, to his left, he spotted the men’s room.
“I have a four-thirty appointment with Peter Brookings. I’m Ed Walker.”
“Hello, Mr. Walker. Yes, Mr. Brookings was supposed to meet with you but we’ve had a last minute change. Mr. Blanchard will be meeting with you instead. You have about fifteen minutes before he should be here, would you like some coffee or water while you wait?”
“Not necessary.” Shit. Did he sound curt? He couldn’t tell. He turned from the desk and headed to the men’s room. To prepare for the meeting, he’d done some research on Peter Brookings but he hadn’t bothered to check out the other partner, Blanchard, other than to notice his photo. From all accounts, Brookings was the one who handled all the environmental business. After relieving himself and washing up, Edward took a minute to check his appearance. Nothing on his jacket, tie looked fine, nothing in his teeth. Some of the tension left his shoulders. He patted his breast pocket and could feel the sheaf of papers inside. He huffed out a breath, squared up his posture and returned to the waiting room. A taller man, in a light gray suit, had just turned from the receptionist’s desk and was heading away. From his hair color and build Edward thought the guy looked like Adam Blanchard.
“Excuse me.” Edward approached the receptionist.
Holding one finger in the air, the young woman spoke softly into her headset, her eyes glued on the computer monitor before her. The other man pulled open a door beyond which Edward could see rows of cubicles. Noise from the work environment beyond floated into the waiting room. Was that Adam? Had Edward somehow missed his appointment while he was in the restroom?
“Excuse me.” Voice louder now, Edward edged closer to the desk.
The receptionist raised her eyes to him, narrowed them and shook her head slightly. Her lips were curved in a smile but her eyes were stern. The hell with that.
“Hey, lady. Stop what you’re doing and answer me. Who was that guy that just left here?”
Wide-eyed she gaped at him. “Excuse me a moment,” she said to whoever was on the other end of the oh-so-important phone conversation. Edward noticed a slight tremor to her hand as she pushed her chair back from the desk a few inches. Like maybe she was going to get up and leave.
His voice had been louder than he intended and he had both hands flat on her desk. He stood up and backed away a bit, feeling his face heat. Damn it. This was why Gunnar should be doing this shit.
The receptionist looked at him and shook her head.
“Sir, Adam Blanchard is behind you. That,” she frowned, glancing in the direction of the doorway, “is a sales rep for a copier company.”
Shit. Edward looked to his left and sure enough, a guy about his own age, in a polo shirt and khakis was standing about four yards away, and from the expression on his face, he wasn’t really impressed with the man he saw in of front him.
“Thank you, Miss …” he looked around her desk but saw no name plate. “Thanks.” He was damned if he would apologize.
“Mr. Walker?” The polo shirt guy was walking toward him now.
“Yes, that’s me,” Edward said, offering no excuse for his actions. If they didn’t like him then fine. He’d find some other way to get his business moving and buy out the loan against his company. He stayed put, extending his arm fully to offer his hand. “You’re Adam Blanchard?”
For a minute Edward thought the other guy wasn’t going to take his hand, but after a heartbeat or two, he did. But then, Blanchard did that other thing these big shot people did, he stepped forward about six inches to close the gap Edward had purposely left open. Ed dropped the handshake quickly and leaned forward a bit more. Adam Blanchard took a step back and Ed relaxed.
“Yes. I’m Adam and this is Dorothy Johansen.” He gestured to a pretty blond woman standing just behind and to the right of him.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” the woman said and extended her hand. Her expression, unlike Blanchard’s, wasn’t sanctimonious. Her oval face was smooth and her mouth held the smallest wry smile. When she met his eyes, her expression almost looked approving. What was that about? Edward knew he’d been an ass even if he wasn’t going to admit it. He stepped forward to take the hand she offered and to his surprise, she held his eyes and leaned in slightly, imitating him. Their hands clasped and he held his ground. He had enough time to register that her hand was cool, soft and dry and then it was gone.
“Same here,” he said, feeling off balance. He was always unsure of how to react to female aggression. There were so many rules around women.
“Come with me, Mr. Walker,” said Adam. “My office is just through these doors.” He paused and gave Edward a look that clearly showed what he thought of Edward’s earlier behavior. “Behind me.” With that he turned and led the way through the doors, down an aisle between some cubicles and larger work spaces until he came to a row of offices that took up what must be a wall of windows. Not that the people in the cubicles would see the daylight.
Fine. If the guy was going to hold the thing with the receptionist against him, he didn’t have much of a chance here. He thought of Gunnar and the team back at the shop and resisted the urge to sigh. He couldn’t really afford his own pride right now, he supposed. Edward kept his shoulders squared back and his expression impassive. After all, the blond, Dorothy, was right beside him and he wasn’t quite that out of pride.
Adam Blanchard’s office was a hell of a lot more appealing than the man himself. The walls were painted ivory. The back wall of his office held a series of large windows that looked out on the street scene below. In between the windows were small glass shelves at random but pleasing intervals, slightly offset from each other. Each held a statuette that was clearly an industry award. Several of them looked like stubby pencils. One was a glass lion’s head. In front of the window, was a sleek modern desk similar to the receptionist’s but so large the company probably paid a hundred dollars a month just to rent the floor space beneath it. The desk itself was predominantly clear of work items. Under their feet was a light blue patterned wool rug, plush and soft. On either wall, left and right, were floor-to-ceiling book cases that mat
ched the desk. From the disorder of the books, it was clear that many were used often. A pair of upholstered chairs sat before the desk. The overall effect was both spacious and light as well as comfortable, like a reading nook Adam just happened to have his desk in. Ed relaxed a little and he guessed that was the point of the place.
Adam gestured to the chairs and Edward settled in, with Dorothy taking the seat to his right. Edward took his papers from his jacket pocket.
“So, Mr. Walker …”
“Call me Ed.”
“Ed. What is it that Cogent Digital can do for you?” Adam had a legal pad in front of him. There was no computer in sight. He held a pen at the ready. There wasn’t going to be any small talk apparently.
Ed cleared his throat. “Well, our company, Walker and Birkeland, makes tools to clear carbon dioxide from the atmosphere.”
“Yes, that’s what I’ve read. You have a tailpipe extender that cleans car exhaust?” Adam didn’t wait for Ed to answer. “And a way to move toxins through a pipe system so that they can be diverted underground?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Ed leaned forward, this time out of sheer excitement. Their company had some of the most advanced environmental solutions on the planet and Ed couldn’t wait to start flooding the market with them. “And we are about to acquire the patent to technology that recycles carbon emissions as they exit industrial processing centers. This technology renders the carbon into a reusable compound that can be molded like plastic.” He could feel the energy building in him as he spoke. These little technologies, each unable to do much more than clear a few meters of air a day, when taken together were the little engine that the earth needed. He could feel it in his bones.
“And you want to market these items?”
“We need to do more than market them. We need to make our business known before our initial public offering. We need to generate excitement and the kind of investor interest that will enable us to pay off our venture capital loans and fund our future developments.”
