“Thank you all for meeting here. On the weekends I like to work out of the penthouse. The change of pace reminds me that it’s time to kick back a little.” He turns to his two companions and introduces them as Preston Rhodes, the new head of acquisitions, and Mac Talbot, a new member of the product acquisition team. Then Stark shakes Brian’s and Dave’s hands, taking the time to chat briefly with each. They still look nervous, but I think that he’s soothed them enough that neither of the boys will botch the presentation by pushing a wrong button with a shaky finger.
He greets me next. Acceptable, polite, professional. But when he pulls his hand away, there’s the slightest curve of his finger, so that he gently strokes my palm. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I choose to take it as an acknowledgment that last night happened, but that today is only about the presentation.
All that in one little touch. I smile, and as I take my seat at the table, I realize that I’m much calmer. Whether he intended it to or not, Stark’s touch has soothed me.
Finally, he shakes Carl’s hand and greets him as if they’re the best of friends. They chat about vintage LPs—apparently Carl collects them—and the weather and the traffic on the 405. His intent is clear—he’s putting Carl at ease, and he’s done it so skillfully I can’t help but admire his technique. Finally, Stark takes a seat at the conference table, but not at the head. Instead, he sits opposite me, his long legs stretched out. He gestures to the head of the table and tells Carl to begin whenever he’s ready.
I’ve seen the presentation so many times that I mostly tune it out, focusing instead on Stark’s reaction. The technology really is amazing. Video footage of athletes is analyzed using a series of proprietary algorithms that translate anatomical movement into spatial data sets. Stats from each player are mapped against the data. Then, taking into account the player’s particular body structure and metrics, the software provides concrete suggestions for improving performance. But what is truly revolutionary is that those suggestions are demonstrated in holographic form so that the athletes and their coaches can see the actual position adjustments necessary for improvement.
Every article I’ve read about Stark mentions how brilliant he is, but today I get to see that intellect in action. He asks all the right questions from theoretical to applied to marketing and sales. When Carl raves and crows instead of letting the product speak for itself, Stark shuts that down so skillfully that I don’t think Carl even notices. He’s direct and to the point, efficient without being rude, firm without being patronizing. The man may have made his original fortune on a tennis court, but as I watch him, I have no doubt that business and science are in his blood.
Stark asks questions of all of us, including Brian and Dave, who gape and mumble but manage to articulate responses under Stark’s easy but firm control of the conversation.
He turns to me next and asks a technical question about one of the key equations at the heart of the primary algorithm. I can see Carl out of the corner of my eye, and I’m pretty sure he’s about to have a heart attack. This question is very firmly outside of my job description. But I’ve done my homework, and I use the virtual whiteboard to show Stark the mathematical underpinnings of the equation. I even go so far as to address the anticipated consequences of a few hypothetical adjustments that Stark suggests. At the head of the table, Carl sags in relief.
I’ve obviously impressed my boss. But what’s more satisfying is that I’ve impressed Stark. I can’t say the satisfaction rises to the same level as last night, but it comes pretty damn close.
When the meeting finally wraps up, I can tell that Carl is having a hell of a time playing the cool, calm professional. He knows too well that the whole thing went over fabulously. Stark’s interested in the product and impressed by the team. In this business, it doesn’t get much better than that.
We’re just about to start the round of goodbyes and handshakes when Ms. Peters steps in, her expression tightly efficient. “I apologize for interrupting, Mr. Stark, but you asked me to inform you if Mr. Padgett returned to the building.”
“He’s here now?” I watch as Stark’s expression shifts from casual and calm to hard and dangerous.
“Security just called up. I assume you’d like to speak to them?”
Stark nods, then turns to face us. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. There’s a situation that demands my attention. I’ll be in touch next week.” He glances at Ms. Peters. “If you could see our guests out?”
“Of course, sir.”
His eyes meet mine, but they are unreadable. And then he steps out of the conference room and disappears down the hall. The sense of loss from his departure surprises me, but I say my goodbyes to his colleagues, then turn my attention to helping Brian pack one of the cases, all the while afraid that everyone in the room can read my expression.
After Ms. Peters has put us on the elevator and the door has firmly closed, Carl does such a funky little jig that I can’t help but laugh. “That was great,” I say. “Thank you so much for letting me be here for this.”
Carl spreads his arms in a magnanimous gesture. “Hey, we’re a team. And we all kicked some ass.” The elevator doors open onto the lobby, and Carl swings his arms jovially around Brian’s and Dave’s shoulders. They valiantly try to move with their boss and still drag the rolling cases. I’m about to take pity on them when I hear my name.
I look up and see Joe the security guard gesturing toward me. “Ms. Fairchild? If you have a moment?” He’s holding a phone to his ear.
“Yes?” I say, hurrying to the guard desk.
Joe holds up a finger in a just a moment gesture. I glance sideways at Carl, who’s looking at me with an unmistakable what the fuck? expression. I shrug, just as clueless as my boss.
Joe says something I can’t hear, then hangs up the phone. “You’re wanted upstairs, ma’am.”
“Upstairs?”
“Back in the penthouse,” he says. “Mr. Stark would like to see you.”
Behind me, I see Dave and Brian nudge each other. Great. Apparently Carl shared his suspicions with the staff. Maybe by tomorrow there’ll be an interoffice memo.
“Now’s not a good time,” I tell the guard. “I’m on my way to a team meeting.”
“Mr. Stark was very insistent.”
I bet he was. An unpleasant heaviness starts to settle over me. I spent most of my life being told exactly where to be, where to stand, what to do, and when to do it. I squeeze my right hand into a tight fist and force myself to smile at Joe. “I’m sure he’ll find something else to occupy his time this afternoon. But if he calls my office, I’ll be happy to work him into my schedule next week.”
Joe’s eyes are wide, and his mouth hangs open a little, as if his jaw is made of rubber. I have the feeling nothing like this has happened before. People don’t say no to Damien Stark.
I toss my shoulders back a little, liking the new Nikki. “Shall we?” I say to Carl and the boys.
Carl frowns. “Maybe you—”
“No,” I say. “If he wants to talk about the project, we can all go back up.” In the distance, I hear the ding of an elevator, the sound punctuating my resolve.
He greets me next. Acceptable, polite, professional. But when he pulls his hand away, there’s the slightest curve of his finger, so that he gently strokes my palm. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I choose to take it as an acknowledgment that last night happened, but that today is only about the presentation.
All that in one little touch. I smile, and as I take my seat at the table, I realize that I’m much calmer. Whether he intended it to or not, Stark’s touch has soothed me.
Finally, he shakes Carl’s hand and greets him as if they’re the best of friends. They chat about vintage LPs—apparently Carl collects them—and the weather and the traffic on the 405. His intent is clear—he’s putting Carl at ease, and he’s done it so skillfully I can’t help but admire his technique. Finally, Stark takes a seat at the conference table, but not at the head. Instead, he sits opposite me, his long legs stretched out. He gestures to the head of the table and tells Carl to begin whenever he’s ready.
I’ve seen the presentation so many times that I mostly tune it out, focusing instead on Stark’s reaction. The technology really is amazing. Video footage of athletes is analyzed using a series of proprietary algorithms that translate anatomical movement into spatial data sets. Stats from each player are mapped against the data. Then, taking into account the player’s particular body structure and metrics, the software provides concrete suggestions for improving performance. But what is truly revolutionary is that those suggestions are demonstrated in holographic form so that the athletes and their coaches can see the actual position adjustments necessary for improvement.
Every article I’ve read about Stark mentions how brilliant he is, but today I get to see that intellect in action. He asks all the right questions from theoretical to applied to marketing and sales. When Carl raves and crows instead of letting the product speak for itself, Stark shuts that down so skillfully that I don’t think Carl even notices. He’s direct and to the point, efficient without being rude, firm without being patronizing. The man may have made his original fortune on a tennis court, but as I watch him, I have no doubt that business and science are in his blood.
Stark asks questions of all of us, including Brian and Dave, who gape and mumble but manage to articulate responses under Stark’s easy but firm control of the conversation.
He turns to me next and asks a technical question about one of the key equations at the heart of the primary algorithm. I can see Carl out of the corner of my eye, and I’m pretty sure he’s about to have a heart attack. This question is very firmly outside of my job description. But I’ve done my homework, and I use the virtual whiteboard to show Stark the mathematical underpinnings of the equation. I even go so far as to address the anticipated consequences of a few hypothetical adjustments that Stark suggests. At the head of the table, Carl sags in relief.
I’ve obviously impressed my boss. But what’s more satisfying is that I’ve impressed Stark. I can’t say the satisfaction rises to the same level as last night, but it comes pretty damn close.
When the meeting finally wraps up, I can tell that Carl is having a hell of a time playing the cool, calm professional. He knows too well that the whole thing went over fabulously. Stark’s interested in the product and impressed by the team. In this business, it doesn’t get much better than that.
We’re just about to start the round of goodbyes and handshakes when Ms. Peters steps in, her expression tightly efficient. “I apologize for interrupting, Mr. Stark, but you asked me to inform you if Mr. Padgett returned to the building.”
“He’s here now?” I watch as Stark’s expression shifts from casual and calm to hard and dangerous.
“Security just called up. I assume you’d like to speak to them?”
Stark nods, then turns to face us. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. There’s a situation that demands my attention. I’ll be in touch next week.” He glances at Ms. Peters. “If you could see our guests out?”
“Of course, sir.”
His eyes meet mine, but they are unreadable. And then he steps out of the conference room and disappears down the hall. The sense of loss from his departure surprises me, but I say my goodbyes to his colleagues, then turn my attention to helping Brian pack one of the cases, all the while afraid that everyone in the room can read my expression.
After Ms. Peters has put us on the elevator and the door has firmly closed, Carl does such a funky little jig that I can’t help but laugh. “That was great,” I say. “Thank you so much for letting me be here for this.”
Carl spreads his arms in a magnanimous gesture. “Hey, we’re a team. And we all kicked some ass.” The elevator doors open onto the lobby, and Carl swings his arms jovially around Brian’s and Dave’s shoulders. They valiantly try to move with their boss and still drag the rolling cases. I’m about to take pity on them when I hear my name.
I look up and see Joe the security guard gesturing toward me. “Ms. Fairchild? If you have a moment?” He’s holding a phone to his ear.
“Yes?” I say, hurrying to the guard desk.
Joe holds up a finger in a just a moment gesture. I glance sideways at Carl, who’s looking at me with an unmistakable what the fuck? expression. I shrug, just as clueless as my boss.
Joe says something I can’t hear, then hangs up the phone. “You’re wanted upstairs, ma’am.”
“Upstairs?”
“Back in the penthouse,” he says. “Mr. Stark would like to see you.”
Behind me, I see Dave and Brian nudge each other. Great. Apparently Carl shared his suspicions with the staff. Maybe by tomorrow there’ll be an interoffice memo.
“Now’s not a good time,” I tell the guard. “I’m on my way to a team meeting.”
“Mr. Stark was very insistent.”
I bet he was. An unpleasant heaviness starts to settle over me. I spent most of my life being told exactly where to be, where to stand, what to do, and when to do it. I squeeze my right hand into a tight fist and force myself to smile at Joe. “I’m sure he’ll find something else to occupy his time this afternoon. But if he calls my office, I’ll be happy to work him into my schedule next week.”
Joe’s eyes are wide, and his mouth hangs open a little, as if his jaw is made of rubber. I have the feeling nothing like this has happened before. People don’t say no to Damien Stark.
I toss my shoulders back a little, liking the new Nikki. “Shall we?” I say to Carl and the boys.
Carl frowns. “Maybe you—”
“No,” I say. “If he wants to talk about the project, we can all go back up.” In the distance, I hear the ding of an elevator, the sound punctuating my resolve.
