“Your coffee is on your desk,” she said by way of greeting. “Matrix Publishing confirmed your meeting with Jonas Rift today at eight. They’re looking to transfer from Pace to us. I had them set up Conference Room A with the usual pastry spread.”
She handed me an iPad, and I scrolled through the file on Matrix while we walked toward my office.
“I had them push the staff meeting to ten-thirty to accommodate,” she continued. “Then, you have lunch with your brother …”
I tuned her out after that, already well-versed in my schedule for the day. The Matrix meeting needed my attention the most. One of my recent hires, Patrick Mercer, had set up the meeting. Mercer came from a moneyed, well-connected communications family, and he had been gunning for a promotion since he had arrived a mere six months ago. He was a sales associate, who felt the job was beneath him, but he hadn’t proved to me yet that he could handle more responsibility.
His performance had always fallen short, and his attitude left a lot to be desired. He often pouted about the larger leads being given to senior members of the staff and, on more than one occasion, I’d overheard him badmouthing our marketing manager and director of sales. The only reason I hadn’t fired him yet was that, despite his shortcomings, he was great with clients and knew how to make money.
Still, Mercer was on drugs if he thought he had any chance of moving up just because he brought in one big client. Judging by his attitude around the office in the days leading up to this Matrix meeting, however, that’s what he thought he deserved.
I had to admit that I was impressed he’d managed to get a contact with one of the fastest-rising publishing companies in the city. Matrix was dynamic—churning out literary bestsellers and well-loved genre novels alike, while sticking to a personal-touch, boutique structure that usually wasn’t sustainable once a publisher scaled up to their size. They were unique, eager to cooperate with a new marketing firm, and their share price seemed to double every time I checked the market.
“Make sure Mr. Rift has anything he wants,” I said, cutting Nora off as she continued to run down my schedule. I passed the iPad back without meeting her eyes. “Also, make sure Mercer is there before the potential client arrives. If he wants me to take him seriously, he needs to show me he deserves it.”
Among his other faults, Mercer had a nasty habit of running late, and I had decided that the meeting would go forward with or without him. I wasn’t going to make a potential client wait indefinitely. The only reason I hadn’t just taken the account from Mercer and given it to someone with more experience was because of my brother’s insistence that I didn’t.
“Oh, just let him have it,” Devon had said. “If he fails, hilarious. If he doesn’t, we have a new client. Either way, it might be nice to let him show you what he’s really made of.”
Devon was my vice president of marketing and sales, and one of the few people I trusted to handle such a position. We had gone into business together from the start of the company, and we had come a long way from when we’d barely had two dollars to rub together between us, no investors, and a huge city full of competitors with more money and experience.
The board had scoffed at my choice of hiring. My brother was several years younger than me and didn’t have nearly the same experience. Devon was … shy and a little forgetful, and he was terrible at negotiating. However, he shared my vision and understood what I wanted to accomplish, and he was someone I could train and mold.
“Of course, Mr. Patterson,” Nora said. “Will you need anything else from me?”
“Only what’s on the list I emailed you ten minutes ago,” I said, my voice mild despite my annoyance. “The only reason I send it every morning is, so you won’t waste my time with questions. Don’t make me have to remind you to check your email again.”
Nora tried to act unfazed by my abruptness, but I saw her jaw clench for the briefest moment.
She nodded. “Understood.”
We had reached my office, and I slipped inside without pausing, shutting the door behind me before she could follow. Alone once more, I sat at my desk and took a sip from the coffee that Nora had left for me: extra-large, one milk, no sugar.
I didn’t look at my computer or my phone, just enjoyed the view from my window as I sipped my morning drink. This was one of my few sacred moments of peace in a sea of hectic meetings, teleconferences, and phone calls. The rest of my day belonged to work, clients, and investors, but the first minutes of the morning were mine, and I treasured them, drawing them out as long as I could.
When I finished my coffee, it was time to throw myself into work.
As the founder and CEO of Patterson, the scope of my job was endless. I had a hand in every aspect of the company, including decision-making, management, and communication with the board of directors. Patterson was my legacy, and I had done everything in my power to ensure we moved in the direction I’d envisioned from the start.
The first company I worked for out of college had been a joke. They had been more interested in keeping things “business as usual” than in expanding and being innovative. In the year I worked there, I met the CEO maybe once. Half the time, he was on vacation or in an important “business meeting.” I saw my coworkers miss deadlines, pressure clients, and deliver barely acceptable work while the CEO had his head shoved up his own ass. The day I marched into his office to discuss my displeasure, only to find him doing a line of coke on his desk, was the day I quit. I vowed to myself to be the leader he should have been and to hold my employees to the same standards to which I held myself.
My phone alarm went off, reminding me of the Matrix meeting. I threw the cup into the trash and headed for the conference room.
Devon arrived only a moment later. “Important meeting,” he said with a grin. “I’ve been thinking about it all week.”
At only twenty-six, Devon hadn’t quite lost that irrational sense of optimism that comes with youth. While most people his age were still struggling with bills and student loans, he owned his apartment, three sports cars, and whatever new gadget or phone was trendiest. I had responded to the scarcity that had dominated our childhood by being tight-fisted with my money—he had responded with excess. Still, despite his weakness for splurging, he had a solid work ethic and was a fast learner. Wherever I had gone in life, Devon had always been a half-step behind, eager to help in any way he could.
“Where’s Mercer?” I asked.
Devon frowned and looked at his watch. “Not sure. He told me he was on his way a half an hour ago.”
“If he’s not here before the client is, you know what I’m going to say, right?”
Devon gave me a pat on the back as he took the seat next to mine. “He’ll be here,” he assured me. “I stressed the importance of him making a good impression in this meeting.”
I ignored his reassurances, in no mood for his overbearing optimism. “If he doesn’t show, I want you to take the account.”
Devon looked surprised, and he anxiously laid his cell phone and Moleskine notebook out on the table in front of him.
“But I haven’t run an account before,” he protested. “Jillian or Seth should do it. They’re the ones responsible for Mercer. In fact, they’re the ones supposed to be running this meeting, not us.”