the floor numbers.
“Hey, 6, remember, we’re not looking for trouble. We’re running the campaign we want. So we’re taking it easy, right?”
6 opens her mouth, and I’m fairly sure she’s preparing something like, Actually Scat, I’ve kind of reconsidered that particular idea and found it to be full of shit. But then the elevator doors spring open and there’s
jamieson
“Mr. Jamieson,” 6 says. Her voice is genuinely surprised, which is very unsettling.
“Ah, 6,” he says. “I’m glad I caught you. I need to talk to you about the campaign.”
6 takes a slow, controlled breath but says nothing. This is a good start.
“The thing is,” Jamieson says, punching 12, “it’s a damn good campaign. Risky, too. I have to make sure I’ve got the right people on the job. People I can trust. You understand that, right?”
In case 6 interprets this remark as aggressive and responds in kind, I jump in first. “Of course, Mr. Jamieson. It’s critical to get the execution right. We’re very concerned about that.” I slip in a friendly smile to show Jamieson how we can all be good buddies, and make sure 6 catches it.
Jamieson smiles back. “Excellent! That’s just what I wanted to hear.”
I can’t resist: I throw 6 a smug look. When this is all over, I’m going to sit her down and use the phrase You see a lot, and she is going to nod and say, Well, Scat, I guess you were right. Which will be a welcome change from right now, with her eyes burning into me as if she can barely contain her fury.
Jamieson says, “As you know, we’ve been very privileged at Coke to have a new man onboard recently: Sneaky Pete. He’s brought a number of very good ideas to the company, including a product we’ve got great hopes for this summer: Fukk.” He nods toward me. “Have Sneaky Pete tell you about it some time, Scat: it’s going to be huge.”
I say something like: urk. It feels a lot like swallowing my own heart.
“The thing is, he’s put a case to me to take over the summer campaign,” Jamieson says, scratching his ear, “and you know, I’m tempted. I have to match the right people to the job. Right?” He looks at me, and, incredibly, I actually nod. 6 shoots me a gaze so hot I can feel it in my toes.
“Mr. Jamieson,” 6 says, stepping forward, “if we can just back up a second here, I think it’s too late to talk about bringing someone else in now. This is my campaign and I’m in the middle of it.”
“I appreciate that, 6. I’m not pulling you off it. I just want to meet and discuss how we’re going to handle it. Just the three of us—four if you’d like to be involved, Scat.”
I open my mouth to agree, then abruptly lose all confidence in my ability to say anything intelligent and close it again.
The elevator dings politely and the doors slide open. “Talk to Julie about the time and place.” Jamieson steps through the doors, then slips us a small, hard smile just before the doors close again. “Thanks for your cooperation.”
murder one
6 turns to me slowly, and for a few long seconds, I am pretty sure I’m about to die.
6 makes a call
“So I was wrong,” I say. I’m trying hard not to squirm, but I’m finding 6’s eyes particularly intimidating right now. “I was very, very wrong.”
6 stares at me across the desk for a moment, so intently that I can’t help but think she’s trying to identify my brain. “Oh, boy,” she says finally. She picks up the phone and dials. “Oh, boy.”
“I’m a terrible businessman,” I grovel. “I will never offer you advice again.”
6 abruptly slams the phone down. I notice that the handset has a series of small dents, as if this kind of treatment is fairly common. “Voice mail,” she says with disgust.
I am feeling stupid. “Whose?”
“Sneaky Pete.”
“Oh.”
She dials again but spares the handset by punching for speaker. As it rings she moves over to her personal percolator.
“Julie Stephens.”
“Julie, 6.”
“Hey, 6, remember, we’re not looking for trouble. We’re running the campaign we want. So we’re taking it easy, right?”
6 opens her mouth, and I’m fairly sure she’s preparing something like, Actually Scat, I’ve kind of reconsidered that particular idea and found it to be full of shit. But then the elevator doors spring open and there’s
jamieson
“Mr. Jamieson,” 6 says. Her voice is genuinely surprised, which is very unsettling.
“Ah, 6,” he says. “I’m glad I caught you. I need to talk to you about the campaign.”
6 takes a slow, controlled breath but says nothing. This is a good start.
“The thing is,” Jamieson says, punching 12, “it’s a damn good campaign. Risky, too. I have to make sure I’ve got the right people on the job. People I can trust. You understand that, right?”
In case 6 interprets this remark as aggressive and responds in kind, I jump in first. “Of course, Mr. Jamieson. It’s critical to get the execution right. We’re very concerned about that.” I slip in a friendly smile to show Jamieson how we can all be good buddies, and make sure 6 catches it.
Jamieson smiles back. “Excellent! That’s just what I wanted to hear.”
I can’t resist: I throw 6 a smug look. When this is all over, I’m going to sit her down and use the phrase You see a lot, and she is going to nod and say, Well, Scat, I guess you were right. Which will be a welcome change from right now, with her eyes burning into me as if she can barely contain her fury.
Jamieson says, “As you know, we’ve been very privileged at Coke to have a new man onboard recently: Sneaky Pete. He’s brought a number of very good ideas to the company, including a product we’ve got great hopes for this summer: Fukk.” He nods toward me. “Have Sneaky Pete tell you about it some time, Scat: it’s going to be huge.”
I say something like: urk. It feels a lot like swallowing my own heart.
“The thing is, he’s put a case to me to take over the summer campaign,” Jamieson says, scratching his ear, “and you know, I’m tempted. I have to match the right people to the job. Right?” He looks at me, and, incredibly, I actually nod. 6 shoots me a gaze so hot I can feel it in my toes.
“Mr. Jamieson,” 6 says, stepping forward, “if we can just back up a second here, I think it’s too late to talk about bringing someone else in now. This is my campaign and I’m in the middle of it.”
“I appreciate that, 6. I’m not pulling you off it. I just want to meet and discuss how we’re going to handle it. Just the three of us—four if you’d like to be involved, Scat.”
I open my mouth to agree, then abruptly lose all confidence in my ability to say anything intelligent and close it again.
The elevator dings politely and the doors slide open. “Talk to Julie about the time and place.” Jamieson steps through the doors, then slips us a small, hard smile just before the doors close again. “Thanks for your cooperation.”
murder one
6 turns to me slowly, and for a few long seconds, I am pretty sure I’m about to die.
6 makes a call
“So I was wrong,” I say. I’m trying hard not to squirm, but I’m finding 6’s eyes particularly intimidating right now. “I was very, very wrong.”
6 stares at me across the desk for a moment, so intently that I can’t help but think she’s trying to identify my brain. “Oh, boy,” she says finally. She picks up the phone and dials. “Oh, boy.”
“I’m a terrible businessman,” I grovel. “I will never offer you advice again.”
6 abruptly slams the phone down. I notice that the handset has a series of small dents, as if this kind of treatment is fairly common. “Voice mail,” she says with disgust.
I am feeling stupid. “Whose?”
“Sneaky Pete.”
“Oh.”
She dials again but spares the handset by punching for speaker. As it rings she moves over to her personal percolator.
“Julie Stephens.”
“Julie, 6.”
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