When I realize I’m grinning, I set my face straight. I don’t need the CEO of Woof Meow Chow to come in and think I’m a pushover because I’m part Cheshire cat.
I’m also well aware I’ve been staring at Sabrina too long. She’s so alluring it’s hard to look away.
I tell my eyes I’m still in control, and as I peel my gaze off her, I notice her sleek black laptop has a sticker on it the size of my hand.
I shake my head.
We’re going to have a talk about office appearances.
She can’t come to an executive-level meeting with her laptop dressed up like it belongs to a damn college kid.
What is that thing anyway? It’s got pink feet and wide yellow eyes, but it’s...a bulb of garlic?
Why would garlic have feet and eyes? Who puts humanoid garlic on their laptop?
Shit. I’m going to be thinking about that all meeting long now.
Not the distraction I need.
There are three empty chairs across from me. I made sure my team left them so when Chester Stedfaust and his people get here, they’ll be right where I want them.
The man’s older, close to my father’s less-than-graceful middle age. In fact, they’re still friends, which doesn’t make this any easier.
He comes in flanked by two guys my age. The younger minions immediately take the leather seats across from me.
Stedfaust scans the table. His eyes linger on my twenty-three-year-old assistant longer than they should.
A biting urge to punch the guy burbles up, but thirty seconds ago I did the same thing.
He’s only human, and apparently, I’m only part jealous caveman.
The difference is, he finds one empty chair at the end of the table and takes it, so Sabrina is right beside him.
An alarm goes off in my head. Executives don’t normally come into this room and automatically plop down beside the youngest, prettiest, most inexperienced new girl.
Not sure what game he’s trying to play, but it’s not happening on my turf.
Client relations be damned.
“Miss Bristol, do you want to come closer?” I motion to the one seat left across from me.
She raises an eyebrow, then nods and begins moving her laptop.
“Easier for you to help with the presentation,” I add, since it’s clear she has no idea what’s going on.
She nods and takes the open seat.
The old man with the bulldog face at the end of the table looks disappointed.
Douchebag. I take care of my employees, even the childish ones with pink garlic stickers on their company laptops.
Sabrina opens the PowerPoint and syncs it to the projector, beaming it on the pull-down screen.
“Thank you all for coming today. I know you’re a busy man, Mr. Stedfaust, so I’ll get right to it,” I say, casting my eyes around the room. “Let’s start with data on the target audience you’re after, and then I’ll show you our concepts and explain how each one corresponds to what the data says.”
Each member of my team is poised at their laptop, ready to take notes. The two guys from Woof Meow Chow across from me nod.
“Sounds like a swell time,” Stedfaust mutters.
I stare at him. He has a hard face to read. Is he using words like “swell” because he’s as old as my father? Or is he being a jerk in my meeting room?
I’ve seen the guy around for most of my life, though casually, and often several years apart. I rack my brain, trying to decide if I’ve heard him use “swell” before.
Either way, I need laser focus, so I dismiss the thought.
HeronComm isn’t losing this account.
I point to the first bar on the graph. “Here’s your current market share. As you can see, Boomers buy Woof Meow Chow like the pet food apocalypse is coming.” I touch the second bar. “Sales with Gen X are evenly distributed among you and your top two competitors, but there’s a major dip when it comes to millennials.” I mark the drop from between the two data points with my finger, drawing attention to how vertical it is.
Then I touch the baseline. The next bar barely reaches over it, and I need to scare the shit out of this old man.
“Now your sales with Gen Z. Virtually nonexistent. That’s a problem because the time will come when those younger buyers grow up and become happy pet owners.”
I nod to Sabrina and she changes the slide. A black slide with cherry-red facts appears.
Too bright. The slide looks like it jumped out of a horror movie.
Who chose this damn color scheme? It had to be someone on the design team. Very doom and gloom. I’ll have a talk with them later.
“One thing we know about millennials and will likely prove true for Z,” I continue, “is that they’re having kids later in life, if at all. To them, it’s a financial risk and they’re often straddled with too much student loan debt to take on the challenge in their early twenties.”