by John Herrick
With that, Hunter allowed his words to settle. He would let the prospective client have the next word, to which Hunter would respond.
Jake leaned back in his chair. He crossed his leg, stroked his chin.
“I can see the benefit behind it,” Jake said. “The question for us would be, ‘Does the benefit outweigh the cost?’ That’s the first thing my director would ask. Our data entry people enter 95 percent of the data in its correct format. So for those remaining cases, are we spending more money on data entry hours than we would spend on the cost of the product? Looking at the cost structure you emailed me yesterday—well, I hate to say it, but I just don’t see how we’d end up ahead.”
Hunter dreaded that response. As good as his company’s product was, and as much money as it could save a client, their current efficiency rate proved a wild card every time. Hunter had no way of knowing those efficiency rates when he entered into these initial meetings, and clients tended to avoid answering that question if he asked too early.
Jake’s reply wasn’t good. Demonstration meetings like these were uphill battles from the onset, so Hunter entered them prepared to counter a variety of possible scenarios. In each case, he would help the potential client see the long-term value his product offered. But in one sentence, perhaps without realizing it, Jake had all but shut down Hunter’s case. In one sentence, Jake had addressed not only their present situation, but also applied high-level analysis and reached a conclusion. And he also served as gatekeeper to everyone else at Pipeline Insurance Corporation.
Hunter decided to go for the next-best scenario. If he couldn’t sell the full product, he would try to sell one of his company’s smaller products.
“I understand what you’re saying,” Hunter said. “Although the solution I demonstrated for you is our top-notch, flagship product, we also offer a range of other services to help improve efficiency.”
In a halfhearted manner, Jake thumbed through a brochure Hunter had laid on the table earlier. “Do all of your services require integration into the software? Do you offer a standalone product we could use on an as-needed basis? That would reduce our cost of implementation.”
Hunter winced inside. He saw where this conversation was headed, and it wasn’t headed toward a sale. He knew he couldn’t offer a viable alternative to meet their needs. The discomfort in Hunter’s back inflamed further.
“The software-integration aspect is a foundational piece of all our products. In fact, it’s one quality that sets us apart from other data providers because it provides a seamless user experience.”
Jake shifted in his seat. “I’m afraid you’d have a tough time selling that to my director. With the upfront costs that would come with integrating the software, and the work involved by the tech staff on our end … I can tell you right now, he won’t go for it. I can pass along to him anything you’d like me to pass along, but I’ve walked through enough projects with him to tell you there won’t be a sale.” He drummed his fingers once upon the table. “To be honest, I could tell from the literature you emailed yesterday that the software wouldn’t be a good match for us, but I wanted to give you a chance to stop by anyway, in case I’d misunderstood some of the details.”
Jake glanced at Hunter. Hunter caught a twinge of disappointment in his eyes.
“Man, I’m sorry,” said Jake, one young adult to another. “Working together would’ve been good.”
Hunter appreciated the remark. He also wondered if Jake had meant his comment about working together at face value, or if he’d referred to getting to see Hunter more often, had the deal worked out. Hunter couldn’t decipher the answer. Though he would never admit it to a soul, the latter notion incited a longing inside him.
“Hey, I understand.” Hunter bit his lower lip, started shutting down his laptop, and retrieved a flash drive from his saddle bag. “I’ll leave this flash drive with you. It contains a demo of our product for you to pass along to your director. If he expresses interest, feel free to contact me, okay?”
Jake reached out to receive the flash drive. Their fingertips brushed. Jake’s eyes caught Hunter’s again, as if searching for a potential next move. Hunter wanted more time to see what, if anything, hid behind the signals—or non-signals—he’d detected from Jake.
In the end, however, professionalism disallowed either man from asking questions or taking another step. In a social context, or if they knew each other better, perhaps they would have had more flexibility.
But today they didn’t.
Hunter hoped the forlorn expression in Jake’s eyes meant what he wished it did.
Chances were, it didn’t. But the fact that someone like Jake—a peer, an equal, and a handsome one at that—might have looked at Hunter and considered something more …
It left Hunter with a surge of warmth combined with the ache of another letdown.
Whether out of courtesy or a desire to savor the final moments their paths would cross, Hunter didn’t know, but Jake walked him down to the lobby.
They shook hands. They exchanged formal smiles. And Hunter walked out the door as Jake turned back toward the elevator.
Five steps out the door, with more than enough time for Jake to have reached the elevator, Hunter glanced back.
Through the glass walls of the lobby, he noticed Jake lingering at the elevator, glancing back at him.
The elevator door opened. Jake seemed to hesitate for a split second, as if caught between options of what to do next, then turned and entered the elevator.
Hunter nodded.
Another opportunity … vanished.
CHAPTER 2
Heading west on Interstate 480 after work, Hunter’s mind drifted back to that morning’s unsuccessful meeting. Another potential sale lost.
His third major turndown this month.
He hadn’t seen this one coming, though. In fact, he had considered Pipeline Insurance Corporation a hot prospect, with high likelihood of becoming a long-term client. In his phone conversations with Jake Geyer, he had perceived genuine interest in hearing more about the software product. Jake had acknowledged how the product could help, but hadn’t mentioned his employer’s limited scope of need.
Hunter’s manager, Wayne, held a one-on-one status meeting each week. When he’d mentioned Pipeline to Wayne during one recent meeting, Wayne had inquired about Hunter’s ability to secure the client. Though he’d prefaced his response with caution, noting it was too early to know for sure, Hunter had estimated his chances as high.
Wayne latched onto that estimation and forgot the preface.
Today’s development couldn’t help Hunter’s employment status. He hadn’t just underperformed this month. His dry streak had lasted six months and counting.
Once the top-performing member of his team’s sales force, Hunter hadn’t worried about losing his job. Nowadays, however, he’d grown concerned.
His back ache persisted. Hunter scratched his head. The bristles of his brown hair, which he kept short and styled with a touch of gel, tickled his fingers. He rubbed his neck, a nervous habit, and tried to ignore the sickening feeling in his stomach.
“Lord, please help me,” he murmured.
After the meeting with Jake, Hunter had stopped by a current client’s office to ask how well the software continued to work for them and to let them know if they ever needed anything, they could give him a call. An unnecessary visit, but it would only strengthen their business relationship.
More than that, Hunter had needed to revisit a past success. It provided a visual reminder that the dry streak could end and his fortunes could turn around.
He heard a single buzz from his cell phone as he veered toward Cleveland Hopkins International Airport. Grabbing the phone from the empty passenger seat, he checked its display and found a text message from his girlfriend, Kara.
Her flight had arrived. To avoid wasting time waiting in the baggage-claim area, Kara always brought a piece of luggage small enough to fit into a plane’s overh
ead bin. That meant she was now on her way through the airport concourse, heading for the pickup area.
Perfect timing. Hunter wouldn’t need to pay to park.
Standing at the curb, Kara looked diminutive compared to most passersby. At five foot four, the top of her head could rest comfortably beneath Hunter’s chin when he tilted his head at the proper angle. He found it cute.
When she saw his car approach, she gave a feverish wave, as though her trip had lasted weeks rather than a few days. By the time Hunter reached the curb, Kara had already begun dragging her luggage toward his car. Hunter chuckled at the sight. She looked adorable: a diminutive elf lugging a sled through the snow. Throwing the car into park, he popped the trunk and climbed out.
“I’ll take care of your luggage,” he said, jogging toward the rear of the car.
“Don’t you worry, Carlisle,” she said with a glint in her eye. “I’ve got your back.”
Despite the honking of car horns behind them, Hunter allowed himself the luxury of ignoring them for a few seconds. Pulling Kara into his arms, he lifted her a few inches from the ground and held her. She loved when he did that. Petite and slender, she felt like a feather to anyone who tried to lift her. But Hunter visited the gym often, so Kara presented even less of a challenge for his athletic build and toned arms. Hearing her giggle made him grin.
She ran her finger once along his upper lip before he planted a kiss on hers.
“It’s good to be home,” she said.
Another horn shrieked behind them. The sound echoed amid the concrete surroundings and brought Hunter back to the moment.
“Door’s unlocked.” He shoved her luggage into his trunk and made his way back to the driver’s side. “We don’t want to keep Jerky waiting behind us.”
When he climbed in, he found her buckling her seat belt. Strands of her blond hair had gone astray in all the right places. She couldn’t look a mess if she tried.
Pulling out of the parking area, Hunter tapped his finger on the dashboard clock, which approached 6:30 in the evening.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I grabbed some sushi during my layover in Denver,” she said, then leaned toward him with a genuine, vulnerable longing in her eyes. “I missed you.”
Hunter’s mind raced back to his encounter with Jake earlier that morning. He caught himself bouncing his left heel at a nervous pace and brought it to a halt before Kara noticed. He gave her a quick glance, then returned his eyes to the road.
“Missed you, too.”
* * *
Hunter lived toward the eastern edge of Hudson, a suburban community situated between Cleveland and Akron in northern Ohio. He had grown up in this community, where he’d played on the high school baseball team and had run cross-country. Hunter’s career in sales left him with constant pressure and challenging goals. Living in Hudson lent a sense of familiarity and balance, the luxury of coming home to something he knew he could count on.
He rented a small home from a white-collar family that had relocated to London for two years as part of the husband’s career. Though the kids were several years younger than Hunter, he had known the family since his early teens.
Hunter followed Kara into his kitchen by way of an entry door from the garage. Kara set her purse on the kitchen table, removed her shoes, and wandered into the living room.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to order Chinese? We can have it delivered,” he called out.
“Thanks, I’m in good shape,” came her voice from the other room. “Just ready to relax.”
From a miniature wine rack he kept at the corner of his kitchen counter, Hunter grabbed an open bottle of cabernet sauvignon—Kara’s favorite wine to help her relax. He poured two glasses and carried them to the living room, where Kara had settled onto the sofa with her head tilted back and her eyes shut. Her hair splayed across the back of the sofa.
When she heard him approach, she opened her eyes and accepted her glass, raising it in toast-like fashion in appreciation for his gesture.
“You’re such a sweetie.” She patted the cushion beside her.
Hunter took a seat, settling into the sofa and closer to Kara.
The discomfort in his back had eased a bit. Hunter had played sports since childhood and had suffered a wide variety of sprains, pulled muscles, headaches and anything else imaginable. Pain is part of life, his father had always said. Walk through the pain. Let others complain, but you be the strong one. Hunter seldom talked about discomfort—external or internal—and, over the years, had developed a high tolerance for pain.
Aware his back issue wasn’t severe, Hunter had never gotten around to mentioning it to Kara. It hadn’t seemed worthy of a special remark and hadn’t made its way into the course of everyday conversation.
Just another secret, thought Hunter.
Hunter always held back little secrets in his romantic relationships.
He couldn’t put his finger on why he held himself back from someone else. Maybe it was his way of marking his territory or preventing anyone from venturing too deep into his psyche. Whatever the reason, he treasured his guarded space.
Within time, he suspected, women sensed he held something back. They seemed to have radar for that sort of knowledge. They could tell something was wrong but didn’t know why they sensed it. They would ask if he was okay, and he would tell them he was preoccupied with work. Women seemed to accept his response and regard him as a complex individual—still waters run deep, as the adage goes. They resigned themselves to the fact that they had entered a relationship with yet another male who seldom showed his emotions.
Hunter could see the trace of hurt in a woman’s eyes when she knew he only trusted her 99 percent.
But it wasn’t the woman’s fault Hunter didn’t trust anyone more than 99 percent.
Within that remaining one percent, Hunter guarded his personal torment, his darkest secret.
And he couldn’t confide in anyone about that secret. Certainly not with a woman with whom he was involved in a romantic relationship. Not as long as he made an honest effort to stifle his temptations and walk through the hidden pain.
Taking a sip of wine, Hunter reached for Kara’s hand and massaged her fingers with his free hand.
“How was New York?” he asked.
“I found a new line of purses I’d like to take a closer look at. I didn’t catch them until the end of my trip, but I’ll be back there for a few days next week and can follow up at that point. We’ve never carried this particular line in our stores. In the meantime, I’ll get some more demographic information from our marketing people to help me determine if the line is a good fit.”
Kara worked as a buyer for a national retail chain. With a focus on purses and jewelry, she traveled often, visiting major cities throughout the world, on a mission for the products her stores should carry. As a result of her travels, she and Hunter spent much time apart. Large blocks of time—a few days here, a week or two there. Hunter, by comparison, covered a large region of northern Ohio in his sales position and traveled by car. Kara’s frequent flyer miles were the envy of anyone who took the time to perform a few mental calculations. Most people dreamed of traveling to an exotic city as a capstone event, the vacation of a lifetime. Not Kara. At twenty-six, the same age as Hunter, Kara dreamed of seeing few cities. She had already visited them. While Hunter dreamed of discovering new places, Kara savored their familiarity while passing through. She spoke of Tokyo the way most Americans spoke of a local pub.
“How was work?” Kara asked. “Didn’t you say you had a big sales opportunity with an insurance company this week? How’d that go?”
Yes, he’d said that.
“It doesn’t look promising.” Hunter fixated on the television in front of them, which they hadn’t turned on. “In the lead-up to the demo meeting, their interest looked high, but they re-evaluated their situation by the time I got there.”
Kara leaned her head towar
d him, searching his eyes. “So where do you go from there?”
Though disappointed, Hunter pushed his frustration into hibernation. He refused to pull Kara into his pity. He resolved to let it go.
“I’ll find another prospect to replace them.”
“I know you’ve had a dry spell for a while.”
He rubbed her fingers again, then moved his hand over her shoulder blade and massaged her back with his thumb. He smiled. “No big deal. It’s part of the game.”
In truth, he wondered whether the floor was about to collapse beneath him.
Kara squinted a moment, as though to evaluate him in her pixie manner, then grinned at him. She set her wineglass on the coffee table, then lifted Hunter’s glass from his hand and set it beside hers. She peered into his eyes and held his gaze. For a split second, her pupils dilated, inviting Hunter into her world.
He wanted to feel drawn into her world. He really did. And he’d tried so hard.
Over and over, he’d tried to will it to happen; nevertheless, he couldn’t take that final step across the broad gulch he knew existed between Kara and him. Between any woman and him.
With a tender expression on her face, she ran the tops of her fingers along his cheek and leaned in for a kiss. Hunter closed his eyes and responded, but sensed an absence of involvement from his heart. In a flash, his mind flitted back to an image from that morning, the way Jake had studied him when it didn’t look like Hunter had noticed.
And in another flash, the memory vanished. Hunter smothered it, forcing it into hiding the way he would fold a sweater and shove it into a dresser drawer. He closed the drawer tight. Concealing such memories and feelings from others had served as his protocol for the last 14 years, since he was twelve years old.
Two light kisses before Kara hesitated. “Are you sure you’re okay?”