by Hope Ramsay
The old man stood up and smiled a cadaverous smile. Boy, the guy needed to give it a break and spend some time on the golf course. He looked like a bald troll, with a pair of reading glasses perched on his forehead, held up by a pair of dark, bushy eyebrows.
“Steve, please, sit, I have something difficult I need to speak with you about.” Ahearn gestured toward a genuine black leather Bauhaus chair.
Steve sat. The chair was surprisingly uncomfortable. No doubt that’s why Ahearn’s interior designer had put it there.
The CEO of National Brands took his seat behind a chrome-and-glass desk the size of an aircraft carrier. He leaned back in his chair.
“Steve, we have a problem.”
“Sir?”
“I’m sure you’re aware of this negotiation Deidre has been involved with.”
“With Penny Farthing Productions?”
“Yes. I’d like to know what you think about it.”
Steve clamped down on the smile that wanted to come out. This was not the time to gloat. “Well, I don’t know much about it, David. Deidre has been pretty tight-lipped about things. I gather the negotiation is at a delicate phase. That Arnold Simons blog had Deidre in a total snit on Monday, I can tell you that. She’s been acting a little erratically, if you want to know. I figure it must be stress.”
“Well, that article was a valid concern. But I don’t think it was entirely accurate. It seemed to be based in large part on a bunch of local gossip. Besides, Rhodes has an amazingly positive image with our core customer. That blog hasn’t dented his positives.”
“Exactly my point, sir. Deidre made a mountain out of what was basically a molehill.”
“So what do you think about this idea to change the Cottontail Disposables logo?” Ahearn asked.
“It’s something of a gamble, isn’t it? And it’s not as if we haven’t been gaining market share in the disposables sector. Have you seen the mail we’ve been getting about those baby-changing races?”
“Yes, I have. Very positive. Rhodes may be eccentric, but apparently he has a real touch with the kiddies.” David’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t exactly smile. “Which brings me to why I asked you up here so early. Your ideas for the baby-changing races and the entire Cuppa Java campaign have caught just about everyone’s attention. We’re very pleased.”
“Thanks.”
“So I need you to take on a difficult and sensitive assignment.”
The CEO leaned forward and picked up a small stack of papers stapled at the corner. “Someone in the research department…” He wiggled his eyebrows, and his glasses fell down onto his nose. He leaned back in his chair again and tilted his head to read the name on the memo. “A person named Sarah Murray. You know her?” He looked up from the papers.
“Yes, I do. She’s a competent researcher.”
“Well, Sarah Murray from the research department has written a very interesting memo. Unfortunately, she e-mailed it to the entire Board. The Board is not used to getting e-mails from the research department. That’s not exactly how we do things around here, you know?”
“I understand. Do you want me to fire her? She’s in—”
Ahearn threw up a hand. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t fire this woman. I think she probably needs a promotion. I gather she’s in South Carolina serving as sponsor liaison to Ferguson Racing.”
“She is. That was Deidre’s idea.”
“I see.”
“To be honest, David, I don’t think Sarah is all that happy living in South Carolina.”
“Of course she isn’t. Who would be? And I’m sure that explains her memo, which, I might add, is very insightful.”
“What memo is that, sir? I don’t think she copied me on it.”
Ahearn looked over the tops of his reading glasses. “No? Hmmm. She’s playing a very high-stakes game, isn’t she? I like a person who does that. Deidre is much the same way. Unfortunately, this researcher has not learned the finer points of how the game is played, I think. It’s an excellent memo, but it has not made me a happy man.”
“Sir, what exactly has Sarah done?” Steve played the innocent.
Ahearn leaned forward, handing Steve the papers he’d been waving around. Steve took the papers, looked down at them, and pretended to study them. He knew exactly what was in that memo. It had Sarah’s name on it, and it had been sent from Sarah’s old workstation in the research department, but Sarah had not written the memo.
Steve finally looked up. “This is terrible,” he said.
“Yes, it is. And unfortunately the entire Board knows about it. And that’s bad. I can only assume that this researcher has a serious bone to pick with Deidre.”
“It would appear so.” Steve nodded his head like a good yes-man.
Ahearn continued, “And you know, if her research wasn’t so good, I would have this Sarah Murray woman fired on the spot. But unfortunately, everything in that memo has been verified. It paints a very unflattering picture.”
The CEO sighed and leaned back. “I’m disappointed in Deidre. She appears to have lost her focus. I understand her reasons for pushing this Racer Rabbit logo deal, but I can’t allow her to commit so much of the company’s resources on what is basically a gamble motivated by her own personal tragedy.”
“No, I can see that,” Steve agreed. “Especially not in this economy. It wouldn’t be prudent. And with the Board breathing down your neck…” In his head, Steve could almost hear the nails being hammered into Deidre’s professional coffin.
“So, Steve, I need your help,” Ahearn said.
“What can I do?”
“Well, the Penny Farthing people are meeting with Deidre this noontime at Ferguson Racing in South Carolina. I need you to go down there and put the brakes on this deal. The corporate jet is waiting for you at LaGuardia.”
“Okay. I take it Deidre doesn’t know I’m coming?”
“No. I haven’t been able to reach Deidre by phone this morning. I can’t imagine why she’s not checking her messages, unless she’s avoiding me. But I’ve got my secretary trying to reach her every fifteen minutes. I’m sure we’ll connect with her before you get there, so be prepared.
“Now, about Penny Farthing Productions—we certainly don’t want to pay their asking price for the licensing fees, but we don’t want to burn any bridges either. You never know what the future will bring, and the idea of Tulane Rhodes and Racer Rabbit teaming up in television commercials is very intriguing.”
“It is, sir.” And it was probably a winner, because Sarah Murray had dreamed it up, and she had the Midas touch. If Steve could figure out a way to get rid of Deidre but keep Sarah around, he’d be made in the shade.
Ahearn stood up. Steve followed suit. “Steve, I’ll need you to tell Deidre to get her butt on the plane. I want her in my office on Monday morning to explain all this.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And finally, I want you to reassure the Ferguson group. I don’t want them thinking this has anything to do with that ridiculous article on OnlyLeftTurns.com. Tulane Rhodes is still a hit with our core customer and our diaper sales are going through the roof. I want you to let them know we want to renegotiate our sponsorship package with them for another year. We’re very happy with Tulane Rhodes.”
“Okay.”
“When you get back on Monday, I want to sit down with you. I’m a firm believer in promoting from within. I think we can probably find you a position that will better suit your talents. Let’s talk next week. Set up an appointment with Nancy on your way out.”
They shook hands. “Keep in touch this weekend. I need to be able to tell the Board I’ve got the situation under control.”
“I’ll handle it, sir. And thanks for this opportunity.”
At 8:30 Deidre summoned Sarah to the small conference room on Ferguson Racing’s ground floor. Because this weekend’s race was scheduled for Darlington, South Carolina, a short distance from the Ferguson Racing headquarters, Sarah wasn’t planning to head o
ut to the racetrack until right before qualifying laps started later that afternoon.
In the meantime, Deidre was borrowing space at Ferguson HQ for a working lunch with the Penny Farthing people, and Sarah was on standby while she finished details for the weekend’s hospitality events.
Sarah wasn’t sure how she was going to feel when she saw Tulane later in the day. She had not seen him since the debacle on Tuesday morning. He’d been off testing car setups in Las Vegas on Wednesday and Thursday. She was glad of that. Stressing about seeing him again had been keeping her awake at night.
She needed to grow up and accept the fact that Tulane had only given her what she’d asked for.
She should have asked for more.
Sarah pushed through the beechwood doors of the conference room, where Deidre was camping out in advance of her meeting. The room had windows overlooking one of the garage floors. Because it was Friday, things were quiet. Everyone who mattered was out at the racetrack.
The minute Sarah stepped inside the conference room, she knew something was wrong. Deidre was pacing the room, dressed to kill in a cream-colored Chanel suit and Christian Louboutin shoes.
“Sit down.” Deidre pointed to a chair on the opposite side of the conference table.
Sarah sat and tried to slow her runaway heart rate. Deidre remained standing. She leaned on the table, towering over Sarah. “You really fooled me. And I’m not easily fooled,” Deidre said.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Your memo is what happened.”
Sarah’s body went cold. She thought about several choice curse words, but she didn’t say them aloud. Instead, she tried to explain the unexplainable. “Uh, you see, that memo was just a joke, and I—”
“A joke? You think this is a joke? You little conniving b—” Deidre cut off the word she’d been about to say and started pacing the little conference room. She waved her arms around like a crazy person. She was raving mad and, if Sarah could believe her eyes, on the point of tears.
Why would Deidre be so angry about the bunny memo? It might have been a joke, and it certainly humiliated Tulane, but it was selling diapers like crazy.
On the other hand, her memo had backfired spectacularly. It had made Steve Phelps look like a marketing genius. That probably wasn’t good for Deidre’s career advancement.
Especially since Deidre hadn’t actually gotten the joke.
Sarah decided that there was absolutely nothing she could say that would calm Deidre down. So she braced for the tongue-lashing she knew was coming. She had lots of practice doing this. Grandmother Howland had been known for her sudden tempers, too.
Deidre turned and shook a finger at Sarah as if she were actually channeling Grandmother. “That memo is going to cost me my job. You do realize that?”
“Uh…”
“Of course you realize it. You set out to get me out of the way from the very start, didn’t you?”
“Um, Deidre, really, I’m sorry, but I—”
“Get out of my sight.”
“But—”
“You heard me. I should never have trusted you, knowing all the things you’ve done, all the lies you’ve told. Get your purse and leave. There’s a guard outside the door, waiting to escort you from the building. And I’m telling you, Sarah, if you speak with any of the employees of Ferguson Racing, I will personally get a restraining order out on you.” Deidre leaned in on the table.
“Um, Deidre, don’t you think you’re over—”
“I have never been so wrong about a person in all my life,” Deidre ranted over Sarah’s feeble attempts to calm her. “You’re nothing but a little liar. Get out of here.” Deidre waved her arms and looked like she might actually breathe fire. There was no point arguing. So Sarah got up and left the room, only to find one of the Ferguson Racing security guards standing there waiting for her.
He escorted her to her third-floor cubby, allowing her to get her purse but making her leave her laptop and BlackBerry, both of which were National Brands property, behind. She was cut off from the rest of humanity, standing in the middle of South Carolina.
The guard saw her to the front door and suggested, in a polite Southern drawl, that she should leave the premises as quickly as possible.
Sarah crossed the large parking lot in a complete daze. She got into her rental car and shut the door. The heat grew. She had nowhere to go. No one she could turn to.
Except Tulane.
Every cell in her body longed to go find him so she could cry on his shoulder like she had done on Monday morning. Tulane had defended her from Deidre on Monday like a big, gallant dragon slayer. But he wasn’t going to defend her this time.
Not when he learned the truth. When Tulane learned the truth, he’d react just like he had on Tuesday morning when he’d learned the truth about her father.
She rested her head on the steering wheel. Her world was caving in on her.
She really had lost her job this time. National Brands wasn’t going to rehire a person who wrote memos and put other people’s names on them.
But even worse than losing her job was the fact that she’d lost Tulane.
Not that she’d ever actually had him. But in her silly heart she had hoped.
Now even the hope was gone.
On Friday afternoon, Tulane stood beside his pink car at the tail end of a long line of brightly painted race cars, awaiting his turn to qualify for the weekend’s main event.
He should have been thinking about car setups and all the stuff Doc had been talking about, like tire pressure and forward grip on a track that the sun was heating up with every passing minute.
But he wasn’t thinking about cars or track conditions.
He was thinking about Sarah.
He hadn’t seen her since Tuesday morning when he’d escaped from her apartment. Looking back on that moment, he was completely ashamed.
He should have stood his ground and staked his claim. He’d had all those romantic plans for the morning, but somehow when faced with her father’s question about his intentions, he’d clutched.
Like a moron. Or a not very mature person.
He needed to find Sarah as quickly as possible and apologize. He needed to explain that he never wanted a one-night stand. He should have explained that before they went to bed in the first place. He had really screwed up.
So as soon as he was finished qualifying, he was going to find her and clear the air. He’d been wanting to do this for a couple of days, but he’d been off in Vegas testing car setups. He could have called her, but the conversation he wanted to have with Sarah needed to take place face-to-face. Talking about a serious relationship with a woman was not something a guy did over the phone or in an e-mail.
While he waited for his turn to qualify, Tulane scanned the crowd, searching for her. Jim had mentioned something about her working at headquarters until later in the afternoon. Everyone had expected her to show up in time for qualifying.
She was probably hiding from him. That must explain why he hadn’t seen her all day. And it was just his rotten luck that he’d drawn the last spot for qualifying.
“Okay, you ready?” Doc said, breaking into his thoughts.
“Uh, yeah.”
Tulane climbed into his car and took off.
Fifteen minutes later, he was sitting on cloud nine, having just turned in a lap that not only put him on the pole for Sunday’s race, but also destroyed the track record by a full two-tenths of a second.
He pulled the car back into the pits, disconnected his safety harness and head restraint, and hoisted himself through the window. He scanned the immediate area.
Sarah had to be here somewhere. It was almost three o’clock. He set out to find her, only he didn’t get very far.
He was tackled almost immediately by a scrum of reporters from Fox, TNT, and the Speed Channel who wanted comments because he’d just won the pole for Sunday’s race. He put on his “aw shucks” demeanor and talked about his c
ar and his team and his sponsor.
A blonde reporter for the Speed Channel shoved a microphone in his face, and he prepared for the inevitable question about how it felt to win the pole wearing a pink suit.
“Do you have any comment about the apparent shake-up at National Brands? And do you think this is because of what Arnold Simons wrote on his blog this week?”
Tulane should have expected this question. But he’d been too busy thinking about Sarah.
“I’m not aware of any shake-up at National Brands, and I have no comment about Arnold Simons’s blog.” Tulane clamped down on his back teeth so he wouldn’t do something stupid like tell the reporter where she could shove her microphone.
In the next instant, Jim Ferguson materialized beside him, his face grim. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in his slow Texas drawl, “I can assure you our relationship with National Brands has not changed. The decision to recall their sponsor liaison is a staffing decision and nothing more.”
Every nerve ending in Tulane’s body jangled. Sarah had been recalled? What the hell.
Five new questions were hurled in Jim’s direction, but he smiled and said, “I have no further comment.” Then he grabbed Tulane by the upper arm and pointed him in the direction of the team hauler. Five minutes later, Tulane found himself in the hauler’s cramped sitting room, facing the serious faces of Jim Ferguson, Sam Sterling, and Doc Jackson.
“What’s all this crap about Sarah being recalled?”
Jim cleared his throat. “This morning, Deidre asked to have one of our security people escort Sarah from our building. I gather Deidre was upset about something Sarah wrote, but I don’t know all the details. A little later Steve Phelps showed up and sent Deidre back to New York on the company jet. Steve has assured me that our sponsorship with National Brands is going to be extended another year. But the car seat safety program has been canceled.”
“But—” Tulane started to get up and Sam pushed him down in his seat. “You need to keep calm, boy. You just won the pole. The best thing is to just ignore the crap and focus on driving.”
“Jim, can I borrow your phone? I need to talk with Deidre.”