Not Quite Crazy
Page 25
Melissa, the head of staffing, leaned forward in her chair. “It sounds like you’re gunning for my job, Rachel.”
Rachel put a hand in the air. “No thanks. I have enough to do with mine. My approach to marketing, and this plan, will reach out to the millionaire millennials and the working-class millennials. They speak the same language.”
“You act as if it’s a foreign language,” one of the brokers said. His name escaped her.
“In a way it is. In one breath they’ll talk about pros of personal jet travel to meetings for work, and the next connect because they both zip-lined in the Swiss Alps. There is an entirely new generation of professionals out there that understand there is a time for work and a time for play. If you give them a task, they will complete it on time, but if you force them into an office to do it, you might be nudging them two days after the task is due for the results.”
“I’d be firing them,” Gerald said.
“That’s my point. You won’t have to, because this generation understands the power of the online world better than anyone. That getting things done, and getting it done quickly and efficiently, means they have more time to skydive. How many of you have teenage kids?”
Half a dozen hands went up.
“Their phones are attached to their fingers day and night, right?”
“My phone is attached to my fingers,” Glen said.
“I would guess it isn’t for the same reasons. Teens today grew up with technology in ways even I didn’t. And I think I’m a bit younger than some of you in this room.”
Several people smiled. One of the secretaries muttered something about asking her kid how to use her phone.
“Generation Z, that’s kids born after 1995, are the fastest growing consumers. They have an attention span of about eight seconds. Which means you win or lose them quickly. Seventy-six percent of them are on Instagram, which is why you see me speaking of social media in all aspects of marketing.”
“This generation doesn’t have money.”
“You’re right, but their parents do. Seventy percent of the parents say their children influence their spending.”
Hayden from accounting piped in. “Yes, but how many parents will charter a flight for their kid’s birthday?”
There were several of the staff who obviously thought Rachel was blowing smoke up their asses. “When I was in LA, I was known to join my friend for her son’s holiday programs at the local elementary school. Do you know what it costs to make a playground a winter wonderland when it’s seventy degrees outside? Snow . . . man-made snow?”
The laughter stopped.
“Children influence their parents. From snow to a sixteen-year-old in a brand-new Camaro. I’m not suggesting we’ll see a spike in teenage-inspired flights. But those same kids that dream of it now will be flying in a couple of years. And that . . . that is what we are thinking of.”
The room was silent.
Rachel met Jason’s gaze.
His slow smile said he approved.
Jason stood by when Rachel handed Glen his requested budget proposal. He flipped through the pages as the conference room emptied out.
“How did you do all of this in a week?” Glen’s gaze never left the document in his hand.
“I wanted to make sure Fairchild Charters didn’t regret bringing me out here from LA.”
Glen glanced up, slapped the file in the palm of his hand. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
Jason felt a bit of pride in his chest, although he didn’t own it. Still, for some reason, he took joy in Rachel’s success.
“I like how you think,” Trent said as he slid a hand behind Monica’s back.
“I’m glad,” Rachel said.
“I’ll meet you in the lobby at noon?” Monica asked.
“I’ll be there.”
Jealousy that Monica could have an innocent lunch with Rachel when Jason couldn’t sat in his chest.
Jason hung back, waited until the last employee had made their way out of the room before he spoke. “Wow.”
“Is that a good wow, or . . . ?”
“If even half of what you’re presenting worked out, I can see our bottom line increase within six months to a year.”
“It’s more of a three- to five-year plan.”
“Even better.” He waved his own stack of papers in his hands. “I’ll need you to work with Glen on a bottom-line budget.”
“I’ll schedule an appointment with his secretary.”
Jason was never so happy that Glen was happily married as he was at that moment. His once upon a time player brother would have jumped at someone like Rachel before Mary entered into his life.
He lowered his voice. “How is Owen?”
“Kids bounce. He’s okay.”
“Good.” He couldn’t think of any legitimate reason to keep her by his side.
Rachel shifted from one foot to the other. “Well . . .”
“Yeah . . .”
“How is the Christmas party planning?”
God, she was beautiful. “Good, uhm. I think. You’re coming, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“What is Owen doing?”
“Staying with friends.”
“That’s probably for the best. The brokers really party,” he told her. They didn’t deny people bringing their kids, but . . .
“Just the brokers?”
“No, but they let loose. Most of them used to be Wall Street traders. High stress. We try and minimize that here, but most of them are just wired that way.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I had no idea.”
“Well . . .” He didn’t want to leave.
“Yeah,” she said again. “I should get back to work.”
“Me too.”
Neither of them turned to leave.
“This is awkward, isn’t it?” she asked, breaking the tension.
He leaned closer. “It is.”
“That’s stupid. It shouldn’t be.”
She gathered her paperwork closer to her chest, smiled. “We’ll talk later,” she told him.
He stood back and watched her as she left the room. Jason was pretty sure his eyes just violated some kind of sexual harassment clause by the way they lingered on her ass.
Chapter Twelve
Monica had Rachel laughing long before their lunch arrived.
“. . . So you call your husband Barefoot?”
“From the day we met. If he had his way, he’d walk into the office with flip-flops.”
“He’s one-third owner, what’s stopping him?” Rachel asked.
“Peer pressure from his brothers. He is casual Friday every day of the week, however.”
The waiter arrived with lunch and promptly left. Monica picked up her sandwich. “So you’re from LA too?”
“Yep. Santa Monica, the last couple of years.”
“I lived in the Inland Empire.”
“Isn’t that hot?” As far as Rachel was concerned, the IE was a place to drive through on your way to Vegas.
“Yeah, I hated it.”
“Why were you there?”
Monica shrugged. “Grew up out there. Lived with my older sister while I finished nursing school and eventually found myself in the ER.”
The two of them glanced out the window of the small restaurant. New Yorkers were bundled in heavy coats, hats, and boots. “Now we’re both here in the cold.”
Rachel put a hand in the air. “No thanks. I have enough to do with mine. My approach to marketing, and this plan, will reach out to the millionaire millennials and the working-class millennials. They speak the same language.”
“You act as if it’s a foreign language,” one of the brokers said. His name escaped her.
“In a way it is. In one breath they’ll talk about pros of personal jet travel to meetings for work, and the next connect because they both zip-lined in the Swiss Alps. There is an entirely new generation of professionals out there that understand there is a time for work and a time for play. If you give them a task, they will complete it on time, but if you force them into an office to do it, you might be nudging them two days after the task is due for the results.”
“I’d be firing them,” Gerald said.
“That’s my point. You won’t have to, because this generation understands the power of the online world better than anyone. That getting things done, and getting it done quickly and efficiently, means they have more time to skydive. How many of you have teenage kids?”
Half a dozen hands went up.
“Their phones are attached to their fingers day and night, right?”
“My phone is attached to my fingers,” Glen said.
“I would guess it isn’t for the same reasons. Teens today grew up with technology in ways even I didn’t. And I think I’m a bit younger than some of you in this room.”
Several people smiled. One of the secretaries muttered something about asking her kid how to use her phone.
“Generation Z, that’s kids born after 1995, are the fastest growing consumers. They have an attention span of about eight seconds. Which means you win or lose them quickly. Seventy-six percent of them are on Instagram, which is why you see me speaking of social media in all aspects of marketing.”
“This generation doesn’t have money.”
“You’re right, but their parents do. Seventy percent of the parents say their children influence their spending.”
Hayden from accounting piped in. “Yes, but how many parents will charter a flight for their kid’s birthday?”
There were several of the staff who obviously thought Rachel was blowing smoke up their asses. “When I was in LA, I was known to join my friend for her son’s holiday programs at the local elementary school. Do you know what it costs to make a playground a winter wonderland when it’s seventy degrees outside? Snow . . . man-made snow?”
The laughter stopped.
“Children influence their parents. From snow to a sixteen-year-old in a brand-new Camaro. I’m not suggesting we’ll see a spike in teenage-inspired flights. But those same kids that dream of it now will be flying in a couple of years. And that . . . that is what we are thinking of.”
The room was silent.
Rachel met Jason’s gaze.
His slow smile said he approved.
Jason stood by when Rachel handed Glen his requested budget proposal. He flipped through the pages as the conference room emptied out.
“How did you do all of this in a week?” Glen’s gaze never left the document in his hand.
“I wanted to make sure Fairchild Charters didn’t regret bringing me out here from LA.”
Glen glanced up, slapped the file in the palm of his hand. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
Jason felt a bit of pride in his chest, although he didn’t own it. Still, for some reason, he took joy in Rachel’s success.
“I like how you think,” Trent said as he slid a hand behind Monica’s back.
“I’m glad,” Rachel said.
“I’ll meet you in the lobby at noon?” Monica asked.
“I’ll be there.”
Jealousy that Monica could have an innocent lunch with Rachel when Jason couldn’t sat in his chest.
Jason hung back, waited until the last employee had made their way out of the room before he spoke. “Wow.”
“Is that a good wow, or . . . ?”
“If even half of what you’re presenting worked out, I can see our bottom line increase within six months to a year.”
“It’s more of a three- to five-year plan.”
“Even better.” He waved his own stack of papers in his hands. “I’ll need you to work with Glen on a bottom-line budget.”
“I’ll schedule an appointment with his secretary.”
Jason was never so happy that Glen was happily married as he was at that moment. His once upon a time player brother would have jumped at someone like Rachel before Mary entered into his life.
He lowered his voice. “How is Owen?”
“Kids bounce. He’s okay.”
“Good.” He couldn’t think of any legitimate reason to keep her by his side.
Rachel shifted from one foot to the other. “Well . . .”
“Yeah . . .”
“How is the Christmas party planning?”
God, she was beautiful. “Good, uhm. I think. You’re coming, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“What is Owen doing?”
“Staying with friends.”
“That’s probably for the best. The brokers really party,” he told her. They didn’t deny people bringing their kids, but . . .
“Just the brokers?”
“No, but they let loose. Most of them used to be Wall Street traders. High stress. We try and minimize that here, but most of them are just wired that way.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I had no idea.”
“Well . . .” He didn’t want to leave.
“Yeah,” she said again. “I should get back to work.”
“Me too.”
Neither of them turned to leave.
“This is awkward, isn’t it?” she asked, breaking the tension.
He leaned closer. “It is.”
“That’s stupid. It shouldn’t be.”
She gathered her paperwork closer to her chest, smiled. “We’ll talk later,” she told him.
He stood back and watched her as she left the room. Jason was pretty sure his eyes just violated some kind of sexual harassment clause by the way they lingered on her ass.
Chapter Twelve
Monica had Rachel laughing long before their lunch arrived.
“. . . So you call your husband Barefoot?”
“From the day we met. If he had his way, he’d walk into the office with flip-flops.”
“He’s one-third owner, what’s stopping him?” Rachel asked.
“Peer pressure from his brothers. He is casual Friday every day of the week, however.”
The waiter arrived with lunch and promptly left. Monica picked up her sandwich. “So you’re from LA too?”
“Yep. Santa Monica, the last couple of years.”
“I lived in the Inland Empire.”
“Isn’t that hot?” As far as Rachel was concerned, the IE was a place to drive through on your way to Vegas.
“Yeah, I hated it.”
“Why were you there?”
Monica shrugged. “Grew up out there. Lived with my older sister while I finished nursing school and eventually found myself in the ER.”
The two of them glanced out the window of the small restaurant. New Yorkers were bundled in heavy coats, hats, and boots. “Now we’re both here in the cold.”
