Cherish Hard
Page 18
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That appearance counted for a lot was going to be part of Sailor’s pitch.
Speaking of which, his beat-up gardening truck, the bed full of bags of soil, looked utterly out of place in among the glossy BMWs and Mercedes in the parking lot of the building in Auckland’s central business district. He could—and would—do nothing about that. Sailor was a landscape gardener and proud to be one, and this company was looking for a man just like him.
They just didn’t know it yet.
“Balls to the wall, man,” he told himself, then picked up his large presentation folder and walked through the front door of the Crafty Corners headquarters.
12
Decapitated Teddy Bears and a Skeptical Dragon
SAILOR MIGHT’VE BEEN TAKEN ABACK by the sight of the two receptionists stitching together a fluffy brown teddy bear if he hadn’t already read up on the company. As it was, he smiled and said, “I have a meeting with Jacqueline Rain in ten minutes.”
“Mr. Bishop?” At Sailor’s nod, the Polynesian receptionist—dressed in gray pants and a pale pink shirt, complete with cheerful Crafty Corners cufflinks—put down the bear’s decapitated head and rose to his feet. “Please follow me. Jacqueline told us to bring you right up.”
Surprised by the courtesy, though perhaps he shouldn’t have been given Jacqueline Rain’s reputation in the industry, Sailor did as the receptionist had asked. Behind him, the other receptionist—a tanned blonde in a sky-blue dress—began pushing stuffing into the unlucky bear’s head with sharp, stabbing motions of her shiny red nails.
Crafting was clearly a far more bloodthirsty hobby than he’d ever imagined.
Two steps later, he came to the realization that Jacqueline was probably calling him up early so she could get rid of him before her day began in earnest. It had taken a lot of fast-talking on Sailor’s part to convince her to see him in the first place—and that was after he’d talked his way past two gatekeepers to be put through to her.
Sailor had no intention of letting all his hard work go to waste.
The receptionist led him to the left and up a curving flight of stairs to the mezzanine level. “This way,” he said with a smile as he took Sailor through to a smaller but just as colorful reception area where a brunette woman in a sleek black wheelchair sat working on what looked to be a jewelry box in the shape of a love heart.
Looking up, she smiled, and it was bright enough to compete with the sparkles on her craft project. “You must be Mr. Bishop.” She wheeled herself out from behind the counter. “I’ll take it from here, James. Thank you.”
The receptionist stepped back. “See you later, Ginny. That jewelry box is coming along great.”
Sailor had to fight not to burst out laughing; he wondered how many jewelry boxes and other craft items these poor people had to make during the course of a working week. And where did it all go?
“If you’ll come with me, Mr. Bishop.” Ginny’s words were accompanied by a subtly appraising look from a set of deep brown eyes.
Sailor kept his expression strictly neutral. Not only was he obsessed with a curvy bit of trouble who’d played him for a fool, he needed his head fully in the game this morning. The meeting with Jacqueline Rain could turbocharge his entire business plan, and Sailor had no intention of fucking it up.
Shoulders squared and the heat of battle in his blood, he followed Ginny to her boss’s office. It involved going a quarter of the way across the huge open space dotted with seating arrangements around tables set up with crafting sets, and what looked to be casual meeting areas bordered by potted plants.
Reaching a set of glass doors smoked just enough to blur what lay beyond, Ginny flashed her employee card over the scanner. When the doors slid open on a quiet swoosh, it was to reveal a craftless corporate setup that looked like it might be the domain of an executive assistant.
No candy pink or lime green here—the carpet was an elegant gray and the walls a soothing off-white. The color came from the large expressionist painting on one wall that burst with pigment without being overwhelming. The only pieces of furniture were a large glass desk decorated with a live white orchid in excellent shape and the sleek ergonomic chair behind it.
No one sat at the desk, but the computer was humming and a mug of coffee stood beside it as if the assistant had stepped away for a moment to do another task. Annalisa Rhymes, that was her name. He’d spoken to her when he called for Jacqueline.
And now here he was: the moment of truth.
Balls to the wall.
Knocking on the partially open door beyond the executive assistant’s desk, Ginny poked her head inside. “Ms. Rain, Mr. Bishop is here.”
She must’ve gotten a nod from within because a second later, she pushed the door all the way open. “Please go in.”
“Thank you.” Entering—and very conscious of Ginny leaving the door open in a not-so-subtle sign that his time with Jacqueline was limited—Sailor found himself approaching a heavy oak desk behind which sat an impressive woman with hair of darkest auburn. He’d seen her photo, but in person she reminded him forcefully of his cute, lying redhead; it wasn’t just the color of her hair but the structure of her face along with an indefinable sense of presence.
He’d half expected her to stay seated, a little power play, but Jacqueline Rain was classier than that. She rose and held out a slim but in no way fragile hand. “Mr. Bishop.”
Extending his own hand while forcefully wrenching his mind off the pleasurable memories that couldn’t be permitted to fuck up this chance, he said, “Thank you for agreeing to see me. I’m aware you’re busy, so I’ll keep this quick.”
Jacqueline raised a perfectly curved eyebrow and, retaking her seat, waved him into the chair across from her, the sprawl of aged and very expensive wood between them. “I’m listening.”
It looked as if his attempt to deflect her brush-off was working, but he knew he had to hold her interest. Jacqueline Rain hadn’t survived this long in business by being a slow decision-maker. He had three minutes at most before she cut him off. He had to make those minutes count.
As he’d made the most of his time in the water with a certain naked redhead.
Opening his presentation folder with a firm mental slap directed at his misbehaving brain, Sailor nonetheless didn’t immediately set out the visuals he’d created using crappy old software on an equally crappy laptop. It still worked, and if he got his job, he could afford an upgrade.
“I know Crafty Corners is launching a new business,” he began. “Fresh, organic, fully handmade fast food, with a customizable menu.”
It had seemed like a strange concept when he’d first spotted a report about it in the business pages, but the more he’d read up on it, the more he’d realized that it was a genius move once you factored in the demographics of the areas in which the fast-food restaurants were to be based.
“That’s hardly a secret,” Jacqueline said with a well-known coolness. “And, quite frankly, Mr. Bishop, I fail to see what it has to do with a landscaping company. Your initial pitch intrigued me enough to agree to a meeting, but on further reflection, I see no point in expanding our landscape budget on the project.”
Sailor didn’t back down or flinch.
“As I walked in here,” he said, “I saw a number of your employees working on craft projects. Clearly that’s designed to hammer home your Craft Is Family motto.”
Speaking of which, his beat-up gardening truck, the bed full of bags of soil, looked utterly out of place in among the glossy BMWs and Mercedes in the parking lot of the building in Auckland’s central business district. He could—and would—do nothing about that. Sailor was a landscape gardener and proud to be one, and this company was looking for a man just like him.
They just didn’t know it yet.
“Balls to the wall, man,” he told himself, then picked up his large presentation folder and walked through the front door of the Crafty Corners headquarters.
12
Decapitated Teddy Bears and a Skeptical Dragon
SAILOR MIGHT’VE BEEN TAKEN ABACK by the sight of the two receptionists stitching together a fluffy brown teddy bear if he hadn’t already read up on the company. As it was, he smiled and said, “I have a meeting with Jacqueline Rain in ten minutes.”
“Mr. Bishop?” At Sailor’s nod, the Polynesian receptionist—dressed in gray pants and a pale pink shirt, complete with cheerful Crafty Corners cufflinks—put down the bear’s decapitated head and rose to his feet. “Please follow me. Jacqueline told us to bring you right up.”
Surprised by the courtesy, though perhaps he shouldn’t have been given Jacqueline Rain’s reputation in the industry, Sailor did as the receptionist had asked. Behind him, the other receptionist—a tanned blonde in a sky-blue dress—began pushing stuffing into the unlucky bear’s head with sharp, stabbing motions of her shiny red nails.
Crafting was clearly a far more bloodthirsty hobby than he’d ever imagined.
Two steps later, he came to the realization that Jacqueline was probably calling him up early so she could get rid of him before her day began in earnest. It had taken a lot of fast-talking on Sailor’s part to convince her to see him in the first place—and that was after he’d talked his way past two gatekeepers to be put through to her.
Sailor had no intention of letting all his hard work go to waste.
The receptionist led him to the left and up a curving flight of stairs to the mezzanine level. “This way,” he said with a smile as he took Sailor through to a smaller but just as colorful reception area where a brunette woman in a sleek black wheelchair sat working on what looked to be a jewelry box in the shape of a love heart.
Looking up, she smiled, and it was bright enough to compete with the sparkles on her craft project. “You must be Mr. Bishop.” She wheeled herself out from behind the counter. “I’ll take it from here, James. Thank you.”
The receptionist stepped back. “See you later, Ginny. That jewelry box is coming along great.”
Sailor had to fight not to burst out laughing; he wondered how many jewelry boxes and other craft items these poor people had to make during the course of a working week. And where did it all go?
“If you’ll come with me, Mr. Bishop.” Ginny’s words were accompanied by a subtly appraising look from a set of deep brown eyes.
Sailor kept his expression strictly neutral. Not only was he obsessed with a curvy bit of trouble who’d played him for a fool, he needed his head fully in the game this morning. The meeting with Jacqueline Rain could turbocharge his entire business plan, and Sailor had no intention of fucking it up.
Shoulders squared and the heat of battle in his blood, he followed Ginny to her boss’s office. It involved going a quarter of the way across the huge open space dotted with seating arrangements around tables set up with crafting sets, and what looked to be casual meeting areas bordered by potted plants.
Reaching a set of glass doors smoked just enough to blur what lay beyond, Ginny flashed her employee card over the scanner. When the doors slid open on a quiet swoosh, it was to reveal a craftless corporate setup that looked like it might be the domain of an executive assistant.
No candy pink or lime green here—the carpet was an elegant gray and the walls a soothing off-white. The color came from the large expressionist painting on one wall that burst with pigment without being overwhelming. The only pieces of furniture were a large glass desk decorated with a live white orchid in excellent shape and the sleek ergonomic chair behind it.
No one sat at the desk, but the computer was humming and a mug of coffee stood beside it as if the assistant had stepped away for a moment to do another task. Annalisa Rhymes, that was her name. He’d spoken to her when he called for Jacqueline.
And now here he was: the moment of truth.
Balls to the wall.
Knocking on the partially open door beyond the executive assistant’s desk, Ginny poked her head inside. “Ms. Rain, Mr. Bishop is here.”
She must’ve gotten a nod from within because a second later, she pushed the door all the way open. “Please go in.”
“Thank you.” Entering—and very conscious of Ginny leaving the door open in a not-so-subtle sign that his time with Jacqueline was limited—Sailor found himself approaching a heavy oak desk behind which sat an impressive woman with hair of darkest auburn. He’d seen her photo, but in person she reminded him forcefully of his cute, lying redhead; it wasn’t just the color of her hair but the structure of her face along with an indefinable sense of presence.
He’d half expected her to stay seated, a little power play, but Jacqueline Rain was classier than that. She rose and held out a slim but in no way fragile hand. “Mr. Bishop.”
Extending his own hand while forcefully wrenching his mind off the pleasurable memories that couldn’t be permitted to fuck up this chance, he said, “Thank you for agreeing to see me. I’m aware you’re busy, so I’ll keep this quick.”
Jacqueline raised a perfectly curved eyebrow and, retaking her seat, waved him into the chair across from her, the sprawl of aged and very expensive wood between them. “I’m listening.”
It looked as if his attempt to deflect her brush-off was working, but he knew he had to hold her interest. Jacqueline Rain hadn’t survived this long in business by being a slow decision-maker. He had three minutes at most before she cut him off. He had to make those minutes count.
As he’d made the most of his time in the water with a certain naked redhead.
Opening his presentation folder with a firm mental slap directed at his misbehaving brain, Sailor nonetheless didn’t immediately set out the visuals he’d created using crappy old software on an equally crappy laptop. It still worked, and if he got his job, he could afford an upgrade.
“I know Crafty Corners is launching a new business,” he began. “Fresh, organic, fully handmade fast food, with a customizable menu.”
It had seemed like a strange concept when he’d first spotted a report about it in the business pages, but the more he’d read up on it, the more he’d realized that it was a genius move once you factored in the demographics of the areas in which the fast-food restaurants were to be based.
“That’s hardly a secret,” Jacqueline said with a well-known coolness. “And, quite frankly, Mr. Bishop, I fail to see what it has to do with a landscaping company. Your initial pitch intrigued me enough to agree to a meeting, but on further reflection, I see no point in expanding our landscape budget on the project.”
Sailor didn’t back down or flinch.
“As I walked in here,” he said, “I saw a number of your employees working on craft projects. Clearly that’s designed to hammer home your Craft Is Family motto.”
