“The property is as hot as lightning,” Ian says, referring to the files we’re looking at in our folders. The chairman turns to his heir for an explanation. If we had known that the young woman at the table was the most fluent in English, we would have asked for her to sit closer to the center. Instead, we’re playing this weird game of English and Japanese telephone, because no American here can speak a lick of Japanese beyond the business pleasantries.
Once the chairman is convinced that he knows what we’re talking about, he responds with, “Branding is important to our company and to our customers.” His accent isn’t as thick as his sister’s, and his simpler use of my native tongue gets some getting used to, but if you could see this guy like I see him, you’d take him super seriously too. He’s older than Ian and I put together, but he scares me more than my own father. Fuck, he scares me more than anyone in my boyfriend’s family, and there’s a reason anyone with the last name Mathers is a billionaire!
Is his hair still naturally black, or does he dye it? I see some flecks of gray on his scalp… or I would if he didn’t keep staring into my soul like he was debating whether to buy my blond ass. Don’t get me wrong. He’s not leering at me, but the chairman of this Japanese hotel empire has been sizing me up ever since I arrived. Ian told them that I was coming, right? I may not know Japanese, but I’ve studied enough Japanese business culture to have had the foresight to make Ian’s father add me as an official employee of Mathers & Co. before I touched ground at Narita International Airport this morning. The Japanese really don’t like it when “outsiders” are invited into regular ol’ business meetings. One as delicate as this? They don’t care if I’ve helped the Mathers buy a thousand properties back in America. All they know is that my last name isn’t Mathers and that I’m boning the sole heir. (Boning him for going on two years now, but, you know, boning him on the regular.)
“We absolutely understand.” Ian motions for his assistant Valerie to hand him more folders. “That’s why we want to make it clear that we are willing to share the branding of this location. On top of that, all Japanese literature will have your company’s brand as if it’s the only one, with only a minor footnote regarding Mathers & Co.” He opens the newest folder to show off what he has in mind. The pamphlet mockup is entirely in Japanese, including the golden logo of the Nippon Royal Hotel empire that the Mathers are trying to team up with. I admit, it’s a brand-new venture for them, and one that even shocked Ian when his father brought it up a month ago. The Mathers have never shared branding like this with any of their investors, but the Isoyas aren’t your usual group of hospitality entrepreneurs. They’re one of the most powerful names in Japan when it comes to hotel living. You’d almost think they dealt exclusively in high-end hotels, but they’ve made a killing appealing to the common businessman and couples on a nice vacation.
Ian’s father is looking to retire soon, although you didn’t hear that from me. One of the last things he wants to do before formally passing the torch on to his son is establish a powerful foreign connection. So happens that the Isoyas are looking to do the same thing from their side of the ocean. They have opened a swanky hotel in Okinawa. Next stop? Brand-sharing in America, apparently.
That’s assuming they can agree on what property to buy together. The Mathers will be doing most of the grunt work, but the Isoyas are ponying up millions of dollars to make it happen. All they want in return (besides their share of the profits, obviously) is to have their brand plastered on everything, especially to the Japanese businessmen and tourists they’re referring that way. That way, when they open up their own hotel in America within another ten years, the groundwork has already been laid.
Or so I’m figuring. I can barely understand what I’m having for dinner tonight, let alone what’s going on ten years from now.
The chairman exchanges blank looks with his sister and his heir. The younger woman scribbles something down in Japanese and slides it to her uncle. He nods and says, “We will consider the numbers tonight and give you our answer at tomorrow night’s dinner.”
That means this meeting is done, and we haven’t even gotten dessert!
I’m glad it’s over, honestly. Weight is lifted from my shoulders. Pent-up breaths shoot through my nostrils. Valerie likewise heaves a sigh of relief that she can now stop typing up notes. Ian and I shake hands with everyone else at the table and awkwardly bow. This is one of those times I really, really wish I had studied Japanese business culture more than I did European business culture. Or that, you know, I had brought my best friend Eva with me. She speaks Mandarin. I’m convinced that would’ve helped me. Somehow.