Page 8 of Octane

Daniel Kramer: Where the hell have you been?

Sawyer Stone: I'm sorry, but there was an issue with the elevator in our building. I texted you a few times. Did you see them?

Daniel Kramer: It is unacceptable for you to come in late. You're my girlfriend and the CEO's future daughter-in-law. There is no room for error or you run the risk of people complaining about nepotism.

Sawyer Stone: I'm sorry, Daniel. It won't happen again.

Daniel Kramer: It better not.

I minimize the screen and look through my email. Nervous about my meeting, I want to start getting prepared as soon as possible.

* * *

Two hours later,and I am seated in our executive conference room with my manager, Trina, and my client, Dawson Brands. They're a mid-level personal hygiene product distributing company and the biggest client I’ve ever pitched to. I know that Daniel assigned me to their account as a test. I need to do well, or I will be giving him the ammunition he needs to tell me I’m not right for this job.

“I’ve gone through the market data that you sent over. Based on what I saw, you’re missing out on various opportunities to expand your sales and business by not considering the online market.”

I look at Mr. Dawson to gauge his reaction. DB is more old-school compared to most of our other clients. If they want to join the ranks of higher-grossing companies who sell the same types of products, then they’re going to have to drastically expand their reach.

I watch as his son, the younger Mr. Dawson, awaits a response from him as well. When he doesn’t respond, I continue.

“I would suggest we begin utilizing social media advertising immediately. By doing so, you can tailor your ads based on demographics. Once we start to notice any trends with that data, we can focus our efforts there to ensure you’re receiving the highest return on investment.”

My nerves are on edge, and his lack of response has me beginning to sweat. The elder Mr. Dawson is a seventy-five-year-old man who should have retired years ago and let his son step in. His inability to trust in those he’s hired to help him is apparent by the lack of a team he brought with him today. I’m used to clients bringing a small army made up of various executives and assistants. I exchange a glance with his son who looks at me with an apologetic smile.

“I have a feeling,” Mr. Dawson finally speaks, his liver-spotted fingers steepled, “that you don’t understand the essence of my company. We didn’t need that fancy computer nonsense when I started this company fifty years ago, and I think you’re relying on it to do your job for you.”

I’m floored by his unwillingness to see that his company will have a difficult time climbing the ranks if they don’t expand their reach. There has to be something else going on here. Even his son has a look of surprise on his face.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Dawson, but the world is a completely different place than it was fifty years ago.”

“I think I’ve heard all that I need to hear.”

As Mr. Dawson gets up from the table, his son speaks up.

“Dad, come on, you need to think this through. This is the future, and all of your hard work will have been for nothing if you don’t adapt to change and welcome suggestions for improvement.”

I shoot the son a look of gratitude, but his father continues to walk to the door. Panic sets in at losing this client, knowing Daniel is waiting for me to fail.

“Mr. Dawson,” Trina jumps in. “I’ll take another look at numbers and options with Sawyer, and maybe we can reconvene in another week or so.”

He stops and looks at Trina.

“I’ll give you one more chance, but then I’m going to take my business elsewhere. Good day.”

“Understood,” Trina answers.

I’m thankful to Trina for stepping in, causing my stress level to begin to go down slightly.

Until we enter the hallway, where Daniel is waiting for us.

This isn’t going to end well.

"Mr. Dawson, nice to see you again. How did everything go?"

"Well, unfortunately, I believe that Ms. Stone is quite incompetent when it comes to the job she is supposed to be doing."

Daniel frowns, his forehead creasing. "I'm so sorry. I—"

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