I've Got This

by Louisa Masters

  Well, fuck. But—

  “The whole exec team?” I ask. “Not just the ADs?” This might just be corporate taking an interest in how we plan to handle this whole situation.

  He shrugs. “She said the executive management team.” He hesitates. “That’s a good sign, right? They’re not going to fire the entire exec team.”

  “It’s a great sign,” I tell them both firmly, even though I’m still not convinced. “Did they say if assistants are invited?”

  Dimi makes a face. “You’re welcome to bring your assistant if you choose.”

  I raise a brow. “Do you not want to come?” That surprises me. Dimi has always been of the opinion that knowledge is power.

  “I guess I’m just a little nervous about this whole thing. We’ve never had so many bigwigs from corporate here at once, and I don’t think both Joy and Holder have been here at the same time since I’ve been working for JU.” He shakes his head. “But if I don’t come, I’ll regret it. Get down there before it looks like you’re stalling or something. I need five minutes to clear the rest of your day, and then I’ll join you.” There’s a determined set to his jaw now that makes me feel… proud?

  “I can do it,” Gina volunteers. “Go, both of you. I can cancel or reschedule all your meetings.” Dimi looks like he’s going to protest, but she shoos us toward the door. “Dim, this is a great opportunity for you to meet the bosses. Don’t be the doofus who strolls in late and interrupts.”

  “I don’t think it’s so great to meet anyone in the middle of a crisis,” Dimi points out, but allows himself to be shooed. I check my pocket for my cell as we’re ushered out the door.

  A few harrowing minutes later—harrowing because everyone we pass in the halls seems to know exactly where we’re going and either avoids eye contact or gives us sympathetic, mock-cheerful looks—we’re in the boardroom and taking seats at the table. It’s worth noting that Ken definitely isn’t in charge of this meeting. I can tell straight away, because assistants aren’t relegated to the far end of the table.

  Most of the exec team, including the other assistant directors, are present, but the “meeting” hasn’t begun yet—we seem to be waiting for Margo and Toby—so everyone is talking quietly to their neighbors. From across the table, Kim shoots me a wink. I smile and nod back. She looks just as in control and confident as always, despite the pressure that must be on her and her team, and I murmur as much to Dimi.

  He chuckles. “So do you, and we both know you’re only half as confident as usual.”

  I drop my gaze to the table. Huh. Maybe I’m not the only one who pretends sometimes. I let my attention wander to the head of the table, where two men are standing, deep in discussion with Ken. I’ve met them both, briefly, on separate occasions—Dimi was right when he said Malcolm Joy and Seth Holder haven’t both been here at the same time for years. They’re both tall, well-dressed men in their late sixties, and there’s a pretty strong family resemblance. The man and woman sitting nearest to them I recognize from pictures—Malcolm’s daughter Samantha and Nicholas Carrow, both senior execs, both slated to step up when Malcolm and Seth retire. A quick glance around shows that two board members are also here, chatting by the window.

  On the plus side, nobody looks especially grim. I mean, no one is laughing with joy (no pun intended), but that’s to be expected given we have a major situation on our hands. I’m not seeing the “oh shit, I have to fire everyone in this room” expression, though.

  Not that I’ve ever seen that before.

  Margo and Toby come in together with their assistants right then, and someone closes the door. People who were standing take seats, including Malcolm and Seth, which settles the room.

  In fact, you could say the silence is deadly. The weight of expectations hangs in the air.

  Am I being dramatic? Sorry, I’ll stop. It’s not like me, anyway, and it feels kind of weird. The moment just seemed to need something more than “we all shut up and waited for the big bosses to speak.”

  “Thank you all for rearranging your day on short notice,” Malcolm says. He has a truly amazing voice, really deep and just a bit gravelly. I can understand why he’s been in demand as a speaker for the past few decades, even disregarding his incredible business acumen. “Things have been a bit unsettled here for the past few days, and we’d like to plot out a clear course of action.”

  Well, that’s straight to the point.

  “You all know what the situation is. You know that JU bears no fault whatsoever in the murder of Peter Rutherford. The legal system will determine the rest—it’s not our problem. However, in response to Kylie Rutherford’s patently false allegations, Joy Inc. will be suing, on behalf of both the company and the individuals who were accused of taking part.” His gaze meets mine. “Derek, we have the utmost confidence in you and your people. You’ve worked hard and tirelessly for Joy Inc. for the last ten years, and we’re not going to let your reputation be tarnished.”

  I swallow hard. It feels like I’ve been punched in the stomach, but I manage to pull myself together enough to say, “Thank you.” I was sure it would come out thready or croaky, because my throat is so dry, but it actually sounds strong, so I follow it up with a small smile. “I appreciate that.” And I do, oh hell, I do. Those few words mean more than I’m willing to let anyone see.

  But I’ll tell Trav about it later.

  Malcolm nods sharply. “The details are in the hands of legal, of course, but their instructions are to go hard.” He looks down the table at Jeff, who heads up the legal team for JU. “Head office has been in touch with you?”

  Jeff nods. “Yes, sir. We’ve forwarded all the information we have, and a teleconference has been set up for later today.”

  Malcolm’s gaze shifts to Kim. “If you haven’t already, you’ll be receiving a memo on this, Kim,” he tells her, and her smile is almost evil.

  “I have it,” she says. “And I can’t wait to get started.”

  His nod this time is approving. “For the rest of you, Kim’s instructions, and the line everyone at Joy Inc. will be taking from this point is that Kylie Rutherford deliberately set out to kill dreams.” He pauses. “That sounds a bit dramatic, but essentially we no longer intend to remain neutral, or to claim that she’s mistaken, confused, or grieving. Our standpoint going forward is that she deliberately chose to kill her husband here at JU, and to then accuse JU employees of being complicit, with the full knowledge that she would be tainting one of the places millions of children dream of visiting.”

  Wow. As the others around the table stir, I turn that over in my head. It’s a hard line to take, and if it takes, it’s going to turn the tide of public opinion very firmly against Kylie Rutherford.

  I can’t say that upsets me much.

  The noise settles, but there’s an air of excitement now. It’s like the knowledge that we’re going to hit back has energized everyone, and I can’t blame them. It’s certainly brightened my day. That awful, heavy weight in my stomach is gone, and I don’t feel like I have to “just get through” anymore.

  Malcolm’s not done. “This is in the hands of legal and PR now, and I know you all agree that they’re very capable hands. That’s probably not going to stop some of you from worrying”—he shoots a look at me. Am I really so obvious?—“but we ask that you keep your focus where it belongs, on the running of this complex. And on that note, I’m going to hand you over to Seth.”

  Seth smiles and picks up the remote for the huge TV on the wall. I glance over as he turns it on and see that he’s got his laptop hooked up to it. The screen comes to life with the image of a financial chart, and a quick look shows that it’s not a good one. The red line plunges pretty drastically. In fact… I frown at the chart. That can’t be right.

  “I’m not going to go into a lot of detail here,” Seth begins. “You’ve all seen the numbers, and you all know they’re not good. But I want to show you why this management team has my and Malcolm’s—and the board’s�
��complete trust and confidence. The graph you’re looking at was compiled by a team of top analysts. You may have noticed that the figures don’t correlate with last week’s. That’s because this chart isn’t about what happened last week. I gave that team the last twelve months’ figures for Derek’s district, right up until the week before the murder. I gave them an outline of exactly what happened that week—murder, staff crisis—and asked them for a projection. This”—he waves toward the screen—“is what they projected should have happened to Derek’s profit center. This”—he lifts the remote and hits a button—“is what actually happened.” A blue line appears. The only place it touches the red line—or comes anywhere close to it—is right at the beginning, where the chart is dated Sunday. “This graph only shows that week, but the projection was for three months, and I can assure you that reality is much better.”

  He hits another button, and a new graph appears. “This is the projection the team did for me after last week’s crisis.” The red line on this one is even worse. The numbers this time are for all of JU, not just my district, and it’s a pretty catastrophic downward plunge. I skim along the time axis—this one is for three months, and although it shows some recovery, the numbers are nowhere near what they should be. I fight the urge to sink dow— Wait. Hang on. Those numbers aren’t quite right. I frown at the screen again.

  “And here are the actual figures,” Seth says. The blue line appears again—not for the whole graph, since it’s been less than a week—and a ripple goes around the table. The blue line is plunging, sure, but not as much as the red line, and it seems to be leveling off a little—it’s hard to tell with the scale of the graph.

  “Seth, could we see that on a shorter time scale?” Grant asks. He’s leaning forward in his seat, eyes fixed intently on the screen.

  Seth smiles and hits a button. Another graph appears, this one with both lines already visible, and showing only a two-week period. And yes, the drop definitely slowed over the weekend.

  “It’s still early days, of course,” Seth cautioned, “but when I spoke to the analysts again this morning, I was told that no public relations gimmick, no statement we issued last week could have caused this result. This, I’m told, is the return we get on long-term hard work and excellent reputation. There was the initial shock at the accusation, but now people are starting to think about it, and they can see it doesn’t make sense. We expect things to continue to stabilize organically and believe that our next steps will boost that even more. This success”—he looks around the table—“because it is a success in the face of adversity, is entirely due to the excellent team in this room and the people you have working for you. You should all be proud.”

  Those damn tears sting my eyes again, and I focus on holding them back. It’s all kind of sappy, right? Maybe Malcolm and Seth have been watching too many of Joy Inc.’s movies, the ones where the good guys always win and there’s at least one inspirational speech.

  Although, hell, if the people who make those movies can’t live them out, who can? And I sure as shit like being told I’m a success who should be proud. Seth’s right, we work damn hard here, and it’s nice to see that recognized.

  “So,” Seth says in a summing-up kind of voice, “what we’re going to do moving forward is act from a position of strength. Marketing has put together a proposal for heavily discounted vacation packages to attract people”—he nods to Elise—“and while that would be the usual strategy in this situation, Mal and I have decided not to go ahead with it. Instead we want small rewards for guests who are already here—discounted meals and services, freebies in the parks, that sort of thing. Employees should be prepared to be spontaneous about giving things away—we want guests kept on their toes, not sure what they might get or when. Accounting is already working up a special budget for this. Otherwise, let’s keep it business as usual on the operational level. We don’t need to discount vacations here, because we’ve done nothing wrong, and people are going to see that.”

  I lean back and think about it as Margo asks a question. It’s ballsy. He’s right that the usual strategy would be to get people in even if it’s at a loss—after all, nothing looks worse than a partly empty vacation destination, and some money is better than no money and empty rooms. But I think I like this idea. It’s flipping the bird at all the people who turned on us.

  I tune back in as Malcolm starts to speak. “The next stage of our genius plan is to announce something big—something strategic for the complex. Make it seem as though not only are we so unaffected by this that we’re not going into crisis mode, we’re actually moving forward with expansion.”

  Also ballsy, and really kind of clever. “What are we announcing?” I ask. A new park, maybe? That could work, although I have no idea what theme they’d go with.

  Malcolm shrugs, and Seth smiles sheepishly. “No idea. That’s why we had you clear the day, for brainstorming. You’re all on the ground here—what do you think?”

  Silence.

  “Actually,” Toby says. We all turn to look at him. His expression is a cross between excited and nervous. “I’ve been working on a proposal that might be what you’re looking for.”

  Malcolm makes a “go on” gesture; Seth leans forward slightly.

  “It’s, uh…. Well, as you know the village has seven full theaters. My department keeps them booked with all the best shows, and it hasn’t exactly been hard—most production companies are happy to plan a run in a place with a captive audience, so to speak, and not a lot of competition. A lot of the time they approach us, rather than the other way around. The challenge is maintaining a balance of shows to appeal to all our guests. Last year, for example, I really thought we’d have to leave one of the theaters empty for a three-month stretch because my choices were limited to sad, dramatic productions only, and we already had four of those in the lineup. I managed to find something else, but I remember thinking at the time that it would be so much easier if we had complete control over the productions ourselves. Then Tr— Uh, I started thinking about it again a month or so ago”—his gaze flicks in my direction, and suddenly I know exactly where he’s going with this—“and….” He spreads his hands. “When I looked at the numbers, it actually seemed feasible.”

  Malcolm and Seth look thoughtful, but Ken’s face is confused. “What seemed feasible?” he barks.

  Yep. Barks. He didn’t get his job because of how he treats his employees.

  “A production company,” Malcolm says, and Toby nods.

  “Small to start,” he adds. “One theater, one show at a time. That would allow us to get a feel for it with minimal risk. We have a pool of performers already employed by us—I thought we could enlarge it a little, and let them audition for the roles, rotate through the theater the same way they do the parks. Most of our performers move on after a relatively short while. As a rule, they’re quite young and just starting out. But the opportunity to get experience in a full-length production might entice them to stay. Especially if we bring in a seasoned director.”

  My heart is in my throat. I’m not joking. I want to speak, to leap in and seize this incredible chance, but I can’t. Did I ever say a bad word about Toby? I take it back. He’s my new best friend.

  Dimi nudges me, and then I guess he realizes I’m paralyzed, because he says thoughtfully, “It might be an idea to hire an experienced performer to be attached to the company. Someone who’s been on Broadway, for instance, and can act as both a creative guide for the production and a mentor to the other performers.”

  I love Dimi. He and Toby are neck-and-neck for best friend status.

  And suddenly I know what I’m going to do with Dimi, career-wise. I turn the idea over, examining it for flaws, but it’s perfect.

  My attention is drawn back to the group by Toby. “I was thinking something along those lines,” he agrees, and his gaze is on me.

  Seth clears his throat. “Derek, do you have a secret past in the theater that we know nothing about?”
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br />   We all laugh, although Toby’s cheeks are a bit pink as he chuckles. “Sorry, that was a bit obvious, wasn’t it? Actually, the reason I started thinking about this again was—” He stops abruptly. “Do you mind?” he asks me, and I shake my head.

  “Go for it. All of JU already knows; why not Joy Inc.?” I smile to show I’m kidding, and he grins back.

  “Right, well, a couple months back Derek started dating one of the performers from the village. Things between them seem to have gotten quite serious, and I was thinking what a shame it is that there’s not really any avenue for his career here… and that brought me to the idea of a production company.”

  Malcolm raises an eyebrow at Dimi. “So when… it’s Dimitri, isn’t it?”

  “Dimi, please,” Dimi says, and I’m so proud of the casual confidence in his voice. I’m also hella proud that Malcolm knows who he is—assistant to the AD isn’t exactly a junior position, but Malcolm has a lot of executive names to remember already without adding assistants.

  “So when Dimi suggested an experienced performer be attached to the production company, and you agreed, Toby, you were both thinking specifically of Derek’s boyfriend?”

  “Yes, sir,” Dimi replies, while Toby nods.

  “Is he at least good? What’s his name?”

  I decide to hold off on being offended, because Trav is good, and nobody can say otherwise.

  “Trav Jones, and he’s excellent, sir,” Toby assures him.

  “Oh, I know that name,” Nicholas Carrow says, speaking for the first time. He turns to Malcolm and Seth. “You know my youngest goes to drama school in New York. She’s always talking about Trav Jones—if she wanted to go into musical theater instead of film, he’d be her idol.”

  I make a mental note to find out where she goes to school and send her something. No, wait, that’s creepy, right?

  Malcolm looks somewhat mollified to know that if we hired Trav, it wouldn’t just be because he’s my boyfriend. “Well, it’s early to be considering staffing,” he concedes, “but it’s a definite possibility. How far along is your proposal?”