by K. J. Lewis
“Elise,” I say.
She stops and stares at me. “I’ll be ready to go in twenty minutes. The helicopter will be here in thirty,” she says in business mode. She pulls the keyboard to the TV out and after typing in a few things, pulls up a conference session.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Theo croons to her through the screen.
“What’s the name of the girl?” she asks calmly, giving nothing away.
“Laurie Townsend. Why?”
“She’s my new client,” Elise responds without batting an eyelash.
“Elise.”
“I want everything, Theo, and if you hold back, I will bury you and your client.”
“Our client Elise. You know we—”
“I know we had an agreement and you broke it. He could have called on a hundred other companies to handle this for him.”
“We can’t decide to have a conscience because—”
“Don’t start, Theo. I don’t have a problem getting our hands dirty. It’s the nature of this job. But on this subject, we have integrity or we don’t.”
“It’s not that simple.” Theo runs his hand down his face. “He’s my cousin. I know him. He didn’t do it.”
“Then you won’t have a problem sharing what you have so far. If I find supporting information, it will exonerate him.” She leans towards the screen and with a look of sheer force on her face she continues. “But if I find out he did it and you still choose to move forward in destroying this girl, you’ll have my resignation before the ink is dry on the newspaper.”
“Elise.” Theo looks like he’s going to be sick. She disconnects the call. Turning to her team, she begins handing out orders.
“Blake, you already have your tasks. Gabby, call Laurie Townsend. Explain the shit storm that is about to hit her doorstep. If you have to go to her, do it. I want to know what she eats, breathes, and sleeps. Ryan, I want you on the Senator’s son. For every one we know about, there’s a dozen we don’t. If she’s telling the truth, he’s done this to others.”
Everyone stops when she walks over to Blake. When she hugs him, the tension that has been building in him since their exchange visibly dissipates.
“Ten minutes,” she says to me. This woman is fierce. Fuck, I want her.
The screen on my cell phone flashes. It’s Theo.
“Beckett,” I answer, moving to my room to dress at a record pace.
“Hey.”
“Sounds like you fucked up,” I tell him, putting him on speaker.
“I need a favor.”
“What is it?” I slide into my suit pants.
“I need you to stay by Elise today.”
“I’m not a fucking baby-sitter.” I don’t feel the need to tell him I have no plans to not be with her today.
“Just do it. She’ll act like she’s okay, but I know she won’t be.”
“What’s the story on this Bowen kid?” I tuck in my shirttail.
“He’s being accused of raping this girl.”
“And if he did it? What are you going to do?”
Without hesitation, he answers, “Choose Elise.”
I disconnect the call and grab my suit coat.
The team are working on their tasks. Elise enters a minute after me. She looks sexy as fuck. She’s wearing a tight pencil skirt with a sheer silk blouse. I can see the curve of her breasts through her camisole. She uses the chair as support as she slides into high heels that lift her ass just so.
I pull my suit jacket around me, obstructing any view of my arousal. Owen knocks and enters. Even in the midst of craziness, Elise and I catch each other’s eyes and smirk. Gabby is all business, unaware of our childish behavior.
“I have a car ready to take you to the clearing,” Owen says. “I also have someone making sure Nova is looked after until you are back.”
“Thank you.” I pull on my shirt cuffs from under my suit. When I look up, Elise’s eyes are a dark gray and by now, I have learned the look of desire on her face. She shakes it off and follows Owen out. I’m disappointed that we won’t be alone in the car. It’s only five minutes to the clearing, but it would have given me five minutes alone with her.
Owen makes small talk. All I really want is to tell him not to fuck girls against trees, but I don’t.
The helicopter is waiting for us. Elise ducks and grabs my hand for balance as she walks on the balls of her feet across the soft grass. One of the men up front climbs out and opens the door for us. I help Elise in and am rewarded when her skirt pulls up mid-thigh as she slides across the bench. I climb in behind her, and the man makes sure the door is secured.
The pilot points to the cans in front of us, and we slide them over our ears.
“Mr. Beckett? Miss Donovan?” he asks, and we nod our heads in confirmation. “It’ll be about an hour flight. There’s water if you would like some.” He points to the beverage holders by our feet before turning back to the controls. A few minutes later and we are flying over the mountains headed to Denver.
“Want to tell me what was going on this morning?” I ask Elise. She’s reading a report that was emailed to us right as we were leaving.
“I’m not a girl scout. I have no problem fighting dirty if someone fights dirty with us, but I’m not okay with destroying this girl’s life to save a senator’s career.”
“So, when you said you were a hypocrite?”
“I apologize, but you guys are on VOX. You might want to hold your conversation,” the pilot informs us.
“Thank you,” Elise says and finishes the email before putting her iPad away. She watches out the window, but I can tell she doesn’t see anything. She’s too lost in thought. I have been in unfamiliar waters since I met this woman. I want to comfort her, but I don’t want to insult her. Grabbing my phone, I attempt to lighten her day.
“Wanna explore my chamber of secrets?” I press send and wait, watching the landscape fly by. I hear laughter but will myself not to look at her. My phone buzzes and I check her response.
“Would that make me be your Dumblewhore?”
“A man can dream, Dove.”
Throwing caution to the wind, I tuck her hand in mine and am rewarded with an air kiss before she drifts back to her thoughts.
We land on the roof of the corporation we’ve been called on to help. There are two men waiting to greet us. I have to stop myself from breaking the fingers of one of the guys who places his hand on Elise’s lower back to guide her into the waiting elevator. Their appreciation for my girl is evident. It’s both interesting and irritating.
“Elise Donovan?” the taller one asks.
“Yes. And this is my associate Reid Beckett.”
The tall guy doesn’t hide his surprise. “Mr. Beckett, what an honor.” He offers me his hand.
“I’m sure,” I answer haughtily to maintain the upper hand. I don’t have to turn to Elise to know she is rolling her eyes. The doors open and we enter into a large reception room. Hargrove Corporation owns the largest all-natural food chain in the states. They are a multi-billion-dollar corporation that has recently fallen into some bad press with overpricing issues.
The men see us into a conference room where the CEO Spencer Hargrove is waiting.
“Elise Donovan.” She offers her hand and gives a firm handshake. I start introduce myself but he stops me.
“Reid Beckett, it’s nice to meet you.” He shakes my hand.
“Thank you.”
“Please, have a seat.” He motions for us to sit around a conference room table.
“What can we do for you, Mr. Hargrove?” Elise begins.
“Spencer. Please.” He studies her for a moment. He’s maybe 35. “Have we met before?” he asks with his head cocked to the side as if he’s trying to conjure up a memory.
“Not that I’m aware of.” She smiles politely and, fuck me, she’s beautiful.
“It’ll come to me,” he says. “I heard Theo was in the area, and I wanted to get ahead of some bad press we have been experiencing for the last
few months.”
“Price gouging,” Elise nods.
“I prefer to call it scale malfunctions.”
“You can put whatever color of lipstick you want on it, it’s still price gouging. You have a problem at multiple stores in multiple venues that all suffer from the same issue: charging for a product the customer is not receiving. Add to it the natural food market is already pricier than other leading chains.”
“It’s why our patrons come to us. They want quality. There’s a price that comes with that,” the tall guy states.
“Agreed. You already know they are willing to pay more because they are in the store. The difference is you aren’t charging them for quality. You are charging them for a product they didn’t receive. It’s greed. We can’t fix greed. That has to come from the top.”
“And I assure you it is,” Spencer counters with evident surprise at Elise’s bluntness. “I have cleaned house the last three months, ensuring new management in the stores that were cited, and we have implemented checks and balances to make sure our staff doesn’t feel like they have to cheat to make their quotas. The reason I have called you here is for direction on a new issue. It will be on the nightly news tonight that we have been utilizing prison labor to make some of our products.”
“I don’t think it will be an issue,” the tall guy interjects. “My team has a statement prepared to announce we will phase out our prison labor. That should address it.”
“Why?” Elise asks.
“It has to be addressed, Elise. Surely you would agree?” By his tone, it’s obvious he doesn’t like being questioned, much less by a female.
She turns her attention to Spencer. “Why?”
“Our patrons have stated they aren’t comfortable with a product that was made in a prison.”
“What is your goal here, Spencer?”
“To avert another black eye on the company’s image. We can’t have another hit this soon.”
“You have bigger problems than your image. You don’t have a direction for your company. I assume your PR and Marketing are all in-house?”
“Yes.” He points to the tall guy. “Jeff is our CMO.”
“You’re the CMO, and your solution is to stop the prison labor?”
“It is. The customers speak and we listen.”
“That’s a problem,” she says to Spencer. “Your team should be ahead of the curve, telling the customers what they want. Yes, you listen to your customers and gather ideas from them, but if your customers are the ones driving the vision for this company, then that’s a problem. Marketing is statistical. And anyone who tells you otherwise is doing you a disservice.”
Spencer stops the man who is about to interrupt Elise, and she continues.
“If you were looking at statistical data, you would know only about four percent of your customers state they are not comfortable eating a product that was grown or created in a prison. This tells me that you are about to embark on a change for a small portion of your customer base.”
“Squeaky wheel gets the grease. The ones who are unhappy are getting the press,” the tall guy volleys.
“Change the narrative,” she responds.
“You don’t get anywhere by telling your customers they are wrong. Even if it is only four percent.”
“You do if it solidifies you with the other ninety-six percent. Your customer base is comprised of middle and upper class. Because of price point, you have less than three percent of customers who fall outside of those classifications. What your team should be telling you is that ninety-three percent of Americans think our penal system is broken. Latest polls also show that people like being told they are good. They are seventy-five percent more likely to buy shoes from a company that donates a pair to the needy. Eyeglasses. Water. The list goes on and on. Handled correctly, you have the opportunity to tap into an untouched customer base.
“My prediction is you would see a growth once the announcement is made. Your stats also show that three out of five customers come back. This would give you about a seventeen percent increase for this year. Considering you have been averaging less than five the last four years, this would be a significant increase.”
I have an excellent CMO, so I happen to know her numbers are accurate. What I’m surprised about is Elise’s ability to call them out when she had no prep given to her for this meeting. This is the Elise Donovan I’ve heard about.
“So your suggestion would be?” Spenser asks her.
“Come out in support of your company and start a conversation around what needs changed. The system is broken. That is something everyone agrees on. Prison is big business. People don’t want to fix the system, because people are making billions off the system. Including you. Prison labor is pennies on the dollar. Send them the message that you are teaching skills to people who will need to be productive members of the community. If we don’t provide a way to rehab these inmates and give them a way to support themselves and their families, they will never have what they need to break the cycle.”
“It’s not our place to fix the world,” the tall guy interrupts.
“You have an image problem. Your customer comes to you for wholesome, organic food. It represents wholesome, organic living. It’s people dancing in a field of flowers where everyone loves each other. It’s not a multi-billion-dollar company that is so greedy it has to alter prices and produce something for pennies at the perils of others.”
“My suggestion is to determine what it would cost you to have these items made in a regular factory. Subtract from that what you are paying for the prison labor and use it to facilitate change. Half of it goes to an organization with a long standing reputation for addressing these issues, and half of it goes to building an education and skill set for incarcerated men and women. Possibly setting aside jobs for them. We’re not talking about an amount of money that would cripple you. It’ll probably have little impact on your pocket. But the payoff will be significant.”
Elise stands and everyone follows.
“You’ve only been CEO here for six months. I am telling you your company has a problem: you’re greedy. You’ve been overcharging your customers, and you use cheap labor to benefit yourself. Only you can make that right. Once you do, you will need a CMO who understands who your customer is. Right now, you just think you know. But you don’t. It’s why you haven’t had growth the last few years. You’re marketing to someone who’s already shopping here. You need to bring in people who have never shopped here.”
She offers her hand, but tall guy chooses not to accept it.
Yep. You just got bitchslapped. By my girl.
Spencer dismisses his team.
“I realize where I know you from. You spoke at Stanford, my sister’s college, two years ago. I was in her city for a meeting and arrived early on campus to pick her up. You were speaking when I got there. You’re a great speaker. Do you still speak?”
“I do, depending on my schedule, but I try to do a speaking engagement at least three to four times a quarter.”
“It was educational. The students relate to you.”
“Thank you,” Elise says.
I want to ask questions, but I would feel like I was intruding. She’s off today. It’s not something Hargrove would notice, but I’m very aware of it.
“Thank you for your advisement today. I’ll let you know where we land.”
“We have a team in place ready to implement if you so choose,” she says and shakes his hand, which he holds longer than necessary. Clearing his throat, he informs us there is a car waiting for us per Theo’s request.
We share an elevator with several others. When the door closes Elise slides her hand in mine. It’s a simple gesture, but I feel the weight it carries. She’s telling me she needs to feel me, and I find myself wanting to wrap her so tightly into my arms that she knows without question that she is protected with a force field that I would not let anyone or anything penetrate.
The doors open and she attemp
ts to release my hand, but I don’t allow it, instead guiding us to the waiting SUV.
“You’re welcome to go back by helicopter,” she tells me as she punches an address into the GPS.
“I’d rather be with you, if that’s alright.”
“I’d like that.” She smiles sweetly at me.
“Lunch first?” I turn onto the street.
“Sure,” she answers, but I think I’ve lost her again. We are near the Denver Biscuit Company, and I pull in to park for us to eat.
“It’s easy food, but thought you would like an experience unique to Denver,” I tell her while opening my door. Her hand on my arm stops me and closing the door, I shift in my seat to face her. She does the same. She seems…anxious.
“Until you, I’ve never slept with anyone that I just met or had only known a couple of days. Work has been completely crazy, and as you know, I’ve been gone for several weeks. Then you were there and I just felt this electric pull to you, like an intensity that I’ve never felt for someone before. Especially in only a day or two of meeting. I’m just not someone who hooks up just to hook up, if that makes sense. And it’s all happened so fast.”
She’s babbling and her eyes are downcast.
“Elise. What is it?” The look on her face troubles me, and I know I am not going to like where she is going with this. Is she not enjoying our time together?
She lifts her chin and her cool gray eyes envelope mine. “I just want to explain why I haven’t said anything before now.” Taking a breath, she pulls her shoulders back and proceeds, “During my senior year of college, I was raped. Multiple times in one night by the same guy.” She releases a quick nervous breath.
I know I will look back on this moment and wish I would have said so many things. Wish I would have had the perfect words. Pulled her onto my lap and told her no person will ever harm her again, for fear that I would send down an army of retribution on them so intense just the mere thought would stop them. Told her that the only thing that matters is that I can’t go a minute without thinking about her or wondering what she is doing. That I call her Dove because I grew up hearing my grandfather use it with my grandmother. She was strong but gentle, like Elise. That I feel emptier when she isn’t with me. If only we had instant restarts.