Breene, K F - Growing Pains 01 Page 8

  So would sex.

  “REGARDING THE PRESENTATION!” She yelled to block out that last, damning thought.

  The whole room turned to her.

  “Sorry to interrupt, everyone. Sorry about that. I was just joking around over here. Hah hah…”

  Sean’s look had turned piercing, half in frustration, half in boyish amusement.

  When everyone turned away—after making a show of rolling their eyes at the inexperienced idiot in the corner—she turned back to Sean in a brusque manner. “Focus, please, Sean. This is my first presentation to a real client and I want to do well.”

  He did sober then, finally. “I’m sorry. Yes, please continue.”

  Another sigh followed by a wince and a guilty look at Sean, and she got back on course.

  “I did change the colors, yes. The art people’s stuff clashed with mine, as you saw, so I changed it to something that would add contrast, but still worked within their color schemes.”

  She moved to the first topic slide, but before she could explain her desired approach he asked, “Who helped you with this?”

  “--what?”

  He took a step away from her and that business look of his was back. “Did you make that decision on your own? About the colors, I mean?” His voice was quieter. It rumbled deep in his chest.

  “Yes? Why? I thought you showed me the art stuff so I could mesh the two…?”

  “Yes, of course,” his eyes bored into hers unwaveringly. “I’m just not used to your department thinking about the overall presentation. Usually they’re more concerned with the numbers and less concerned with the appearance.” He paused as dawning struck, “That’s why you asked if James had seen it when I showed you the art mock-ups.”

  “Um, yeah?” She sounded like a valley girl. “I mean…yes. I thought someone would’ve told me the color scheme before I did all the work. It’s the same presentation so it should look similar. Right?” She could feel her face flush in uncertainty. She also wondered if anyone had noticed the large “Student Driver” sign around her neck.

  “Yes, exactly,” Sean looked back at the computer.

  Krista had worked on Sean’s notes without hesitation or problem, which would have irked Mr. Montgomery had he known. Sales often gave critique to Research, but Research wasn’t obligated to follow it unless it came from John or higher. Sean just sidestepped that need since Krista had already agreed.

  The problem hadn’t been with Sean’s notes, though; the problem was with her presentation versus that of art. Art people could do art … obviously. And while Krista could make a numerical presentation look nice with graphs and pictures, she was hard pressed to come up with a matching cohesive color scheme to match some else’s. That was what Ben was for.

  She had asked Ben, very nicely, to help her put it all together. Even though her being extra nice made him nervous, he had looked through it once, played around for ten minutes, and turned the computer back to her with exactly what she was going for. Then, because he wasn’t satisfied with the job he had done, regardless of Krista’s heartfelt praise, he had her explain the art side and what she was going for numerically, and went at it again.

  He’d hunched over the computer for another fifteen minutes, a look of concentration on his face, before he showed her a finished project just shy of miraculous. It was easily better than what she remembered of the art stuff. The colors weren’t the same, but were cohesive because they contrasted perfectly.

  Ben explained something about a color wheel or palette or something, but it was Greek to Krista. All she knew was that the slides had a distinct “pop” that pleased the eye and also highlighted her graphs and bullet points. Sean apparently thought so, too, since he was devouring the first slide with a critical eye.

  While Sean was distracted, Krista jumped quickly into an explanation of the slides. It turned out she had practiced enough to get through it in front of Sean without a hitch. He asked a couple of insightful questions, but mostly let her explain the ins and outs of what she’d previously devised. When she was finished she backed away from him—he’d moved too close again and it was causing a weird humming in her body—and waited for any questions.

  “Okay,” he looked up at her. His eye contact lingered a little too long before he said, “I have what I need. Thanks.”

  Sean walked away with his head bowed over his notes, thoughtfully tapping the side of his notepad. He paused in front of the other salesman, then straightened up, his voice a low murmur. That was about the time Mr. Sleazy-O looked up and caught her eye. With a pronounced grimace, she tore her eyes away, now intently focused on her fingernail. She was careful to keep her butt pointed at the wall.

  “Okay, everyone.”

  The tone change dragged Krista’s eyes upwards.

  The transformation nearly took Krista’s breath away. Sean stood in the middle of the room, straight and broad, owning his body and the space around it. He seemed taller, somehow; superior. He was radiating authority as he moved, drawing eyes to him as though they were attached to a fishing lure and being reeled in.

  With the last swing of his shoulders, he planted his feet in a power position and faced his staff. Without being able to help it, unable to ignore the swelling of her groin and the desperation to be touched, Krista’s eyes raked down his body. Wanting him inside her. Wanting to surrender to him so badly she broke out in a sweat.

  It was at that moment Sean’s eyes swiveled to her, taking in the last of his troops before giving direction. When his eyes connected with hers, he hesitated for a brief second, his eyes widening ever so slightly. He couldn’t pause long, though, with all eyes on him.

  “Let’s all gather near Krista,” he said waveringly, his voice wistful, lacking the control his body showed. His brow knit in confusion for a brief second before he tore his eyes away from hers.

  “On that desk,” his voice got stronger, calmly commanding. “Please have everything organized and squared away. I’ll bring them in. Yes?”

  Seeing that they would all comply, Sean and the other salesman left to receive the clients.

  Krista made herself small, huddled against the wall, as the three other team members headed her way. The first to reach her was a middle-aged woman with long, graying hair. She had large, red glasses and a frumpy brown suit. Krista couldn’t help but stare at her shoes, which were those plain, glossy black tennis shoes that nurses wore. Why she thought those shoes, worn with a suit, still classified her outfit as business attire Krista did not know, but this woman did not seem to care about it in the slightest. She swung four loose poster boards, covered in font and graphics, onto the desk.

  Next came her sister-at-arms, the other marketing person. She was also middle-aged, also had a frumpy suit, but was at least wearing something resembling proper shoes. They were open-toed, though. Through the hole poked out a large, unpainted, yellowing toenail. Krista shuddered, looking up immediately.

  Finally came a well-groomed guy in a feminine suit. He was possibly in his late thirties, but he was Filipino, so he could have been 100 for all his perfect skin would show it. He had a laptop so Krista figured he would demonstrate the art mock-ups she had seen in Sean’s office.

  And there they were, a rag-tag team of four, each completely different from the other, except for the Ronald McDonald sisters. The only thing that made them better than Research was that they didn’t stink.

  “He is so cute, isn’t he?” The man was saying, turning on his computer.

  “Yes!” the lady with giant red glasses said. Her glasses actually matched the suit of the other frumpy marketing person. “All the girls rave about him! He is a little too young for me, though. He could be my son!” She laughed in a high-pitched twitter that crawled under Krista’s skin and laid eggs.

  “I heard he was dating a girl from Development. Apparently he is a wonder in the sack,” the man said conspiratorially.

  “Oh, Roger, stop it!” said Glasses.

  “I heard the same thing
.” This from Red Suit. She fanned herself with an open mouth, apparently trying to feign some sort of sexy pose with her hip stuck out and her chest popped up. It was gross.

  Normally Krista wouldn’t be so detail-orientated in her judgments, but this was a presentation. Could they not pull out, or buy, a better suit? Did the guy, whose suit was professional, even though it was made for women, need to wear bright pink loafers? Where did he even find bright pink loafers?

  It occurred to her that Dell must have taken all the best, most experienced employees, leaving the rag-tag team for this account. She wondered again why Sean was mixed up in it. He would’ve been better hitting heavy with the big boys. Surely they wanted their best salesman to close the deal with a big account?

  The gossip was interrupted by loud guffaws. Sean was leading in the clients.

  They were all white, middle-aged men with big stomachs and balding heads. Sean led them, still laughing, to seats around the oblong table. They sat and stowed their briefcases before they looked up and glanced at the crew in the corner. Krista got another flutter of nervousness.

  Oh God, I should have peed before I came up here.

  The two marketing ladies and the guy seemed bored with the proceedings. They barely looked at the clients. Instead, they murmured to each other and fiddled with their props. But then, they didn’t have to use el bano. Nervous pee was seriously the worst. Besides peeing one’s pants, obviously.

  From a seat at the end of the table, Sean started talking about a new approach he was working on that would reach a younger audience. Words didn’t matter. Sean was spellbinding. His charisma lit up the room, drawing all eyes to him as he outlined the company’s plan. The clients were focused, nodding, agreeing with him on all points.

  When he was done dazzling his audience, Sean introduced the first creative person, who was to lead off the campaign. As Glasses made her slow way to the presentation area, Sean jumped up to help her with her images, talking with the clients about a new spin on graphics. The other salesman sat down one seat away from a client sporting a fantastic comb-over, letting Sean work his magic. He certainly didn’t need any help.

  Judging by the graphics, which looked out of date but not hip and vintage, Krista thought Sean was blowing smoke about a new spin. She hoped the clients didn’t share that view.

  Glasses faced the clients with a vague look in her eyes, and began talking in a medium-paced monotone. Her voice barely rose and fell with beginnings and endings of sentences. She might’ve been making a point, or beginning a new idea—no one knew, because she was so droning and boring that it was painful to actually listen to her words.

  Sean stepped in immediately, adding dramatic pauses and a dynamic to the delivery based on when he emphasized her information. He was the glitter to her club scene. The cross to her savior. He was the only reason the clients weren’t already leaving.

  The hilarious part was that Glasses was missing all of this. She stood with the same pose, droning on, seemingly unaware of her surroundings. She was perfectly still except for her mouth. Worse, she wasn’t even looking vaguely at the clients anymore, she was honest-to-God staring out the window, probably wishing she were somewhere else. It was like she was a film; whenever Sean wanted to interrupt, he pushed pause. Then, when he hit play again, she seamlessly continued as though no time had gone by. It was spectacular only because it was so weird. Forget her dress code choices; she was so far removed from professional Krista wasn’t sure how she still had a job.

  After an eternity, Glasses stopped talking. She gave Sean a brief glance, then turned to grab her stuff. That was it. All done.

  Krista stifled a giggle. So. Weird. How did Sean deal with these people on a regular basis?

  Next up was Red Suit. Sean carried her boards and got a grin and thank you for doing so. She stood in front of the clients, got introduced by Sean just as Glasses had, and started up the engines. Red Suit—Krista liked that name better than Betty—at least looked at the clients when she spoke. She wasn’t much better in her delivery, but she smiled a couple times and shifted every once in a while. Sean still had to help. He still had to dance around her words and brief pauses, basically giving the presentation for her.

  If Krista were the client, she would definitely think this was rinky-dink. She’d say no just because they didn’t have it together. But these guys were apparently still listening, not bothering to look at Red Suit, just waiting for Sean to tell them what they needed to know.

  Too soon it was over. Which meant…her turn.

  As Sean carried the boards back, he glanced at her in anticipation, expecting her to head up front. Since she only had her laptop, and didn’t need help carrying that, she excused herself around Pink Shoes and headed to the podium where she quickly plugged in her computer and made sure everything was displayed properly on the large screen behind her.

  Show time!

  Krista exhaled all the wind out of her body with a half-controlled release of tension. With the small plastic remote in a white-knuckled grip, she turned to the clients with a smile.

  Sean was off to the side, lazily leaning back against a cabinet with his legs crossed and arms in a pose of relaxation. He went from participant to audience. As his gaze slid over her body, she felt like she should have a pole instead of a laptop. It was disgusting and discontenting at the same time.

  Trying not to be daunted, she lifted her chin as she met his eyes, silently asking if he was going to introduce her. He looked back with a closed-off expression that spoke volumes. She was on her own.

  So be it.

  Turning to the panel, ignoring the rising panic of stage fright, she brought up her first slide with a click of the remote. “Hello, my name is Krista Marshall, and I’ll be walking you through some numbers and research that support our ideas for this campaign.”

  Besides the guy with his greasy, black comb-over, there were two other guys. One was average looking with brown, fluffy hair and stubble on his chin, and the other was older with salt-and-pepper hair and a suit jacket that didn’t quite fit.

  Fat man in a little coat…

  Krista smiled animatedly to hide the anger and borderline humiliation at the looks from Sean and the other creepy sales guy, who was taking this opportunity to molest her with his eyes.

  Luckily, instead of acting like the two guys who were supposed to be on the same team as Krista, the clients all wore respectful expressions, each looking her in the eyes. Slightly relieved, she breathed out a smile-encrusted sigh and let her mannerisms relax as she started her lecture on numbers, figures, and all things boring in the marketing world.

  Throughout the slides she paid each man equal attention, choosing her own pace to match their interest level. She rarely had to speed up, because their attention never wavered. They were focused and interested, nodding politely with each point she made and returning her smile when she gave one. Well, two of them did. The third was straight-faced, but still maintaining focus. He looked back and forth between her and the slides, occasionally writing something down.

  At the end of her lecture she paused and asked for questions. The man who hadn’t smiled, Mr. Comb-over, asked, “I noticed all your figures rotate around a demographic slightly older. Do you have anything that hits a little closer to what we’re going for?”

  Good question.

  She had no idea.

  She looked at Sean, expecting him to jump in. On average, her company didn’t go after a younger crowd. From what she’d seen while looking through historical information in their giant database, the company didn’t have as much experience marketing to that demographic. Based on the fact that this younger crowd was Sean’s idea, and because he didn’t tell her anything about it, she had absolutely no idea how he hoped to succeed.

  And apparently he wasn’t planning on enlightening her or the clients, because he stood there, staring at her. No change in posture except for being slightly more rigid. Not very helpful.

  Fine, if he wants me to d
o his job, he can eat the repercussions.

  She put on a confident expression that she had perfected in college in order to hide the complete bullshit she spewed at a professor, and lied. “To date, with this type of product, we’ve been working mostly in the twenty-five to thirty-five demographic.” She used a cool, level voice. She was desperately trying to hide the crippling lack of knowledge. “Now, however, that market has changed, and we’ll be using our cutting edge approach to graphics, advertising niches, and already established connections in the sports world to aim lower. Aim for a younger crowd. We already do this with a number of our other products, so it is just a matter of tweaking our system, integrating your product, revamping the look, and inundating all those impressionable young minds with our message.” She smiled brightly as she said the last few words, aiming for humor to cover the tide of rabble that fell in clumps out of her mouth.

  The man nodded once and looked toward Sean. The other two men were still gazing at her. So was Creep-O salesman. She was starting to feel a little self-conscious about the whole situation.

  “Great,” Sean said, pushing away from the wall. The other sales guy stood up and conferred with Sean for a second before Sean sprang into action, no longer sparing her a glance.

  Krista figured her time was up, and that she should exit the podium, when Sean introduced the art guy. With a ragged sigh, she grabbed her computer and headed toward the table where the rest of her team waited. Before she made it, she was intercepted by Creep-O. Confusedly, she let him usher her out of the room, making sure he didn’t touch any part of her person.

  Once outside, the guy said, “Great work Kristie. Really good stuff. You’re excused.” He turned to go back inside.

  Kristie? “But… what if they have questions?”

  He closed the door again. “We’ll handle it. You’ve done enough. Thanks.”

  And just like that he briskly walked back into the conference room, leaving her standing in the hallway alone, clutching her computer. She was the geek who was laughed out of the cafeteria by the cool kids. First the loser that has to sit on her own, now the unwanted geek.