Nolan Reece looks humble. ‘I did my part.’
‘Did your part?’ Peter exclaims. ‘You designed the whole damn campaign!’
‘Well, yes, I guess I did . . . and it was a very successful promotion for me.’
Yeah. I bet it was. Rumour has it that Chantry Relations built a performance-related bonus into its contract with the then-desperate Porker & Wright, which meant that when the pharma company’s fortunes turned around, they were blessed with a massive dump of cash.
If Nolan here was part of that, no wonder he has the money to buy Peter out.
Mind you . . . given the way things have been, we were probably worth about £3.64 and a packet of AA batteries.
‘Working for Chantry was great,’ Nolan tells us, ‘but I’ve always wanted to run my own PR company, so when the opportunity came up to buy Stratagem, I jumped at it. It’ll give me the chance to do what I’ve always wanted to.’
‘And what’s that?’ I blurt out, immediately going wide-eyed. It’s not like me to speak up in such circumstances, but I’m currently suffering an intolerable level of confusion, doubt and worry, and my social skills have apparently been deeply affected by it.
Nolan Reece and Peter Rothman both look at me in surprise. As does everyone else in the room. I shrink into my chair a little. How decidedly embarrassing.
‘I know you, don’t I?’ Nolan says, gently pointing a finger in my direction.
I elect for subterfuge. ‘No! No, I don’t think we’ve ever met.’
This is actually true, if you think about it. Nearly running somebody down in a car park can’t really be classed as having ‘met’ them, can it?
Nolan nods a little uncertainly. I’m not sure he believes me. I certainly wouldn’t.
‘I’ve always wanted to run a PR company that emphasises working with environmentally friendly businesses,’ he tells us – or rather me. He’s still got a pleasant expression on his face, but the focus he’s now putting just on me is a little bit disconcerting. Those eyes are quite piercing, when their attention is solely on you. I would be blushing like mad, because he is a handsome chap, but the worry about what’s going to happen to Stratagem is keeping me very pale at the moment. With any luck, the two things might actually balance my complexion out, and I’ll look normal. ‘The environment and climate change are things I’m passionate about, and I’m at the stage in my career where I’d like to think I can help do something about them.’
He stops talking and gives me a smile.
Oh God. I think he wants me to reply.
My stupid intervention has focused all of his attention on me, and now I have to respond.
‘That’s . . . that’s . . . nice?’ I say, squirming in my seat and going red in the face.
What else am I supposed to add? It is nice. Being environmentally friendly is very nice. I don’t know anyone who would think otherwise. I’d like to say something a bit more impressive than that, but Nolan Reece’s focus on me has left me more than a little discombobulated.
‘Yes, I guess it is,’ Nolan says, still examining me, a little like someone examines a particularly strange and alien-looking creature they’ve just discovered hiding in their garden pond. He’s still wondering whether he’s actually met me before or not – I can tell.
‘More than nice though, I hope!’ he continues, returning (thankfully) to address the whole crowd. ‘I want to run an ethical PR company that prides itself on its green credentials.’ He holds out his hands expansively. ‘And I want you all to be part of it!’ He stops himself. ‘Well . . . almost all of you. I’m afraid I don’t quite have the money to keep you all on. I’m so sorry about that.’
The cold hand of fear runs down my back.
We’re not all going to keep our jobs.
The mood in the room immediately turns dark.
Darker, I should say. I don’t think any of us were exactly turning somersaults about the company being bought out in the first place. But that pales alongside the knowledge that some of us might be heading out of the door.
Nolan immediately looks regretful, like he knows he probably should have broken that piece of news a little more carefully. ‘We’ll only have to let a couple of you go, though! Two or three at most. I’ll be having a close look at all of Stratagem’s finances, and coming to a decision after that. Rest assured that any of you we can’t keep on will have solid redundancy packages in place!’
That’s when Nolan looks right at me again, and my soul dies a little.
My hand also involuntarily squeezes the Evian bottle I’m holding, creating a loud, obnoxious scrunching noise and sending the remaining contents up and out, all over the conference table.
‘Eeeek!’ I squawk, and immediately start rubbing at it with my hand, as if my skin has suddenly turned sponge-like.
‘Can somebody get Ellie some tissues to mop that up?’ Peter asks, and my face flames even redder.
‘Ellie?’ Nolan Reece says.
Oh, great. Now he knows my name.
‘Yes . . . it’s Ellie,’ I reply, still frantically massaging water across the desk with my hand for some reason. I look like I’ve developed some kind of problem with my motor functions. ‘Ellie Cooke.’ I then hold out my hand, which is now dripping with water, for him to shake.
He does not do this.
Of course he does not do this. Why the hell would he?
Nadia leans forward and hands me a wad of tissue that someone has kindly spirited from somewhere, and I soak up the water with it.
So, now I have a mound of unsightly wet tissue parked in front of me, to go next to the crushed water bottle. This is not turning out to be a good meeting for me, is it?
Nolan looks at me closely again, as I turn my attention back to him. ‘Do you . . . do you drive a Mercedes?’ he asks, the realisation dawning in his eyes.
I am saved from having to respond when Terry stands up from his seat at the back of the room. ‘Mr Reece, when exactly will you be letting us know who’s getting the sack?’ he asks bluntly.
Thank you, Terry. Thank you for turning everyone’s attention away from Ellie Cooke and her wodge of used tissue, and single-use plastic. You are a godsend, sir.
‘It’s going to take me a few days to go through it . . . er . . . ?’
‘Terry.’
‘Terry. But I promise I won’t leave you all hanging for too long. I want us to get started on our new business portfolio as soon as possible. I already have many contacts I want to exploit, all of whom are committed to more environmentally friendly practices.’
‘What kind of practices?’ asks Amisha, our supremely talented social media manager. She won’t be going anywhere, I wouldn’t imagine. She’s far too good at her job to be let go.
The same goes for Amisha’s husband Joseph, our tech guy. The two of them come as a package, and if we lose one, we lose both.
‘You know the kind of thing,’ Nolan says to her. ‘Companies that try to be carbon-neutral, ones that promote healthier living – vegetarian foods, for instance. Places that trade in technologies and products that will help the planet.’
‘Like renewable energy,’ Nadia pipes up from beside me.
‘Exactly!’ Nolan replies, looking pleased.