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Tim wasn’t a bad guy but he had this nasty habit of making promises to prospective clients without getting the authorization to actually make good on them. Apparently he’d had a talk today with Deacon about comping some commercial airtime. Deacon was totally right to tell him no. JDC didn’t need clients that didn’t want to pay for things. Now, Tim was trying to go above Deacon’s head. Bad move.
Jim shook his head as Tim’s voice mail came on the line and said, “Tim, Jim Conroy. I got your message. Deacon was one hundred percent correct in telling you no. We don’t need clients that don’t want to pay for our services. Airtime isn’t cheap, and it’s definitely not free. When the CFO of the company tells you no, don’t run to me expecting a different answer. It’s unprofessional, and this is the last time it’s going to happen. If you do it again, I’ll fire you. If you have any questions, feel free to call me. I’ll be happy to clear them up.”
Jim hung up the phone. He’d been kind of an asshole in the voice mail, but that was unacceptable. JDC didn’t operate that way. They’d always implicitly trusted one another. Besides. It was a waste of everyone’s time when they duplicated work efforts.
Dialing Deacon now, he waited. On the third ring, Deacon picked up.
“Hey, Jim. What’s up?” Deacon said.
Sighing, he said, “Guess who I got a call from?”
Deacon laughed and asked, “That dick weasel, Tim from Sales, right?”
“Yeah. Can you beli
eve he wanted us to pay for a thirty-second spot during playoffs? Anyway, I got his voice mail. I told him no and that if he tried to go over your head again that he’d be fired.”
“Nice,” Deacon said. “I knew when he left my office that you’d be getting a call. Not sure what the hell he was thinking. I was pretty sure you’d back me up on that, but I appreciate you laying down the law.”
“Not a problem. It wastes everyone’s time when we have to duplicate work. You know the financial side better than I do, anyway. I trust you and Chris both implicitly. We’ve got the same vision for the company,” Jim said.
They talked for a few minutes more about Cynertex and the ongoing issue with Tyrell Jackson before they disconnected. Mentally, Jim went through the other voice mails he’d listened to, deciding that Kimo was the most important of the calls he had to make.
He felt a little bad about last night. He had definitely not been entirely focused on the call they’d had. Toward the end, he had been rushing through. He hoped Kimo hadn’t been offended. People in Hawaii tended to run at a totally different pace than the rest of the US did, and Jim had definitely been hurrying him along.
Thirty minutes later, Jim was satisfied that he was still in Kimo’s good graces. He’d been calling to go over one of the points they’d discussed last night, just to make sure he fully understood. Jim was confident that they’d have a new client soon. He’d probably have to go out there to get the signatures. There were far worse places to go on business than Hawaii, he thought with a grin.
His expression soured slightly when he realized he was in one of those places right now. Kansas City was miserable when it was snowing. Traffic had started moving a little bit, so he was almost to his hotel. Dialing the management office for the Kings, he spoke briefly with the GM’s administrative assistant to confirm the meeting time tomorrow.
The trip would be two-fold. Tomorrow he’d be working with the Kings directly to help widen their team brand. Friday, he’d be meeting directly with Gavin Johnson to work on his personal marketing strategy. These meetings were always the most enjoyable part of his job. He loved being able to create a big picture for someone.
Pulling into a hotel parking lot had never felt like such an accomplishment. He grabbed the garment bag and suitcase out of the back of the SUV, then headed for the front desk. Glancing at his watch, he was surprised to see the time was 5:30.
Once he was checked in, he moved like a zombie toward the elevator. He gave a silent thank you to the elevator gods when one of the doors immediately slid open. Pressing the button for the eighth floor, he waited until the elevator slid to a stop then made his way toward his room.
He had unpacked and ordered a turkey and swiss sandwich from room service. Sprawling out on the bed with the bottle of water from the minibar, he watched television until he heard a knock on the door.
Ten minutes and one sandwich later, Jim shucked off his jeans and shirt and slid under the covers. Flipping channels, he finally landed on TSN. He watched the tail end of Locker Room Report. He managed to make it through opening face-off of the Nets vs. Bears before he dropped off to sleep.
Roughly four hours later he was jarred awake by the sound of something crashing in the hallway outside his door. Rubbing a hand over his face, he realized the room was completely dark except for the television. Fumbling for his phone on the nightstand, he focused on the screen.
Shit, he thought. He was never going to be able to sleep tonight. It was almost 10:30 now. Seeing he had an e-mail in his personal account, he clicked on it. He rolled his eyes when he saw it was from his mother. Opening the e-mail, he scanned it briefly and then sighed.
His parents were planning a visit in June. He was expected to take time off. His mother had this way of being insulting and inspiring guilt in the same sentence. His father had a vacation coming. Since Jim had moved away and didn’t do anything important like doctoring people, then taking off time should be easy.
He’d been listening to her bitch about his life choices for as long as he’d been making them. He was living on his own, and had been running a very successful business in one of the most competitive industries in the world for almost a decade. He was a self-made millionaire for god’s sake. At some point, she’d have to stop hammering on him about not being a doctor.
Setting the phone down with disgust, he got out of bed and moved the vertical blinds aside. It was snowing heavily outside. He’d been thinking about going out for barbecue but the half foot of snow on the ground changed his mind. Instead he perused the room service menu and called downstairs.
After he had ordered, he realized that it would be late enough now to call Elle. He picked up his phone and scrolled through his contacts. Finding her name, he dialed.
After three rings, she answered, “Hey, you.”
He could hear the smile in her voice and felt an answering grin move across his own face. “Hey, gorgeous. How was your day?”
As if on cue, she yawned and said, “Good, but I’m exhausted. And a little tipsy.”
“Oh, really?” Jim asked, intrigued now.
