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Obviously, she knew Stan and Dylan, who flanked her on either side.
To Stan's left was Nelson Harte, III, chief financial officer—a go-getter, third generation Harvard Business School grad, financial genius. After that came Alfred Rowe, VP of manufacturing—the former president of Distillation Technologies Inc., a company acquired by Carson twelve years ago. Next there was Sandra Cooper, VP of sales—forty years old, the youngest company VP with the exception of Dylan, polished and savvy as they come, which was a sure-fire reason for her meteoric rise.
Directly to Sandra's left was John Baker, VP of information technology—a rare combination of technogenius, creative dynamo, and attention-to-detail fanatic. Next came Steve Hollings, VP of strategic planning—innovative, enterprising, a real roll-up-your-sleeves-and-get-it-done kind of guy. Beside him was Rita Whiting, VP of marketing—the brains behind the C'est Moi marketing campaign, sharp as a tack and exuding the energy of a thirty-year-old, despite being well into her fifties. After Rita, came Claude Phelps, the VP of research & development—hyper and eccentric, the mad scientist type, one of Carson's original staff members. Then, Roland Ferguson, the VP of human resources—who'd left the successful recruiting firm he'd started up to come work for Carson.
Finally, there was Dylan—officially titled VP & general counsel, although he'd never changed the plaque on his door to include that pomp and circumstance—and Sabrina herself, the legal president of Ruisseau Fragrance Corporation as of twenty minutes ago when she'd signed the papers Dylan had prepared, Carson had signed, and Stan had witnessed—first for Carson, then for her. She had the title, the authority—and the anonymity, until she chose otherwise. For the time being, her input would be conveyed via Stan, who'd voice her recommendations and cast her proxy votes. Her official role, as far as Ruisseau's entire staff was concerned, would be that of Carson's newly hired management consultant.
A daunting balancing act, to say the least.
Sabrina finished her perusal, having made all the individual connections, and sipped at her coffee. The tension in the room was palpable. She couldn't help but feel an immense sense of empathy. All the VPs were clearly unglued, fiddling with pens, crossing and uncrossing their legs, and looking generally freaked-out as they waited for Stan to address whatever he'd called them here for. They were exhausted from overwork, unnerved by Carson's shooting, and drained from the police interrogations they'd been through.
And now, their COO had called an unscheduled, mandatory meeting. So on top of everything else, they were edgy as hell, unsure what was coming next, and casting uneasy, curious glances at her—the unknown intruder—trying to figure out who the hell she was and what she was doing here.
Stan didn't keep them guessing for long.
"Good morning, everyone, and thanks for being here on such short notice," he began. "I apologize for the late start. I came from Mount Sinai. The traffic was miserable." He folded his hands on the table, looking pretty green around the gills himself. The poor man had to open the meeting by breaking the worst kind of news imaginable to a group already reeling from a murder attempt on their CEO.
"Let me start by putting at least one concern to rest," he wisely prefaced things by saying. "There's no upsetting announcement about Carson's health. He's stable. I just spent a half hour with him. He was awake, talking, maybe even a little stronger than yesterday. That having been said, he was terribly upset. So am I. There's no easy way to break this to you. So I'll just say it. Last night, Russ Clark was stabbed to death outside his apartment."
A collective gasp ran through the room.
"I don't have any details, other than the fact that Russ's money and watch were taken, and that Detectives Whitman and Barton are investigating to determine if there's any connection between this and Carson's assault." Stan nibbed an unsteady hand across his forehead, then cleared his throat to regain his composure. "Ruisseau will be holding a small service in Russ's honor on Monday evening. A company-wide memo will go out later today with the time and place. In addition, Carson has arranged for a YouthOp fund to be set up in Russ's honor. Contributions of any size are welcome. Again, specifics will be in the memo."
Stan gazed around the table, his own expression as bleak as those that looked back at him. "I don't have to tell you how devastated Carson is. You know how he feels about his employees. He asked me to remind you how dedicated Russ was, how hard-working, and how thorough. He would have made one hell of an investigative reporter. And he would have been furious if we let his murder bring things at Ruisseau to a grinding halt. I know it's hard to think about perfume when one of our own's been killed, and our CEO's in intensive care. But we have to put our minds and our energies into doing just that—for Russ's sake. And for Carson's. He's counting on us. I'm counting on you."
Again, he cleared his throat. "On that note, I'm going to continue with the main—and positive—objective of this meeting." He turned toward Sabrina, gave her an encouraging smile. "I'd like to introduce Sabrina Radcliffe. She's the president and founder of the Center for Creative Thinking and Leadership in Auburn, New Hampshire. I'm sure many of you have heard of it, since its success stories are numerous, its write-ups are glowing, and, as a result, its revenues have skyrocketed in the short year it's been in existence. Smart, successful companies send their management teams there for training. We're even luckier. The president herself has come to us. She doesn't do that often, since she's inundated with work. But, in our case, she's making an exception. As you know, Carson can be very persuasive."
A unanimous chuckle went through the room, as much from relief as from anything else. It was hardly a secret that Carson was a steamroller when he wanted something. But sharing an inside joke felt incredibly good, incredibly normal, at a time when everyone's nerves were raw and everything seemed out-of-control.
The tension in the room thawed a bit.
"Bottom line?" Stan concluded. "Carson is the heart and soul of Ruisseau. While he's recuperating, he wants us to stay on track. We've got tremendous momentum going, especially with the upcoming release of C'est Moi for men. We've got to build on our success and keep it going, make it stronger than ever. Sabrina's here to help us do that. She'll be at Ruisseau for an indefinite period of time, and we're very lucky to have her. She'll be reporting directly to me. She'll also be meeting with each of you on an individual basis and working with each of your departments to maximize its potential. I've told Sabrina what great team initiative we have, how we pull together under pressure, and how she can expect full cooperation from each and every one of you. So please join me in welcoming Sabrina to Ruisseau."
Stan came to his feet, initiating the round of applause that ensued. Sabrina followed his lead, smiling as she rose to meet his handshake. "Thank you, Stan."
"The floor's yours," he murmured, his words drowned out by the applause. "Go get 'em."
"I'll do my best," she assured him, her voice equally quiet.
She turned to face the group, noting the variety of expressions on the faces looking back at her—from pleased to relieved to wary.
All perfectly normal reactions.
"My thanks to all of you," Sabrina began as the applause subsided. "I appreciate the warm welcome." Her gaze flitted from person to person, making sure to include everyone at the table. "I'm very excited to be here. Ruisseau's success stories reach far and wide—even to the rural outskirts of New Hampshire." She got a few return smiles.
Time to get past the dark cloud precipitating her arrival. It was the only way to get things started on the right foot. To sidestep the issue would mean erecting a permanent wall between her and the group, and she could forget maximum efficiency.
"I was shocked and upset by what happened to Carson Brooks, and I'm even more sickened by the murder of Russ Clark," she said, grabbing the proverbial bull by the horns. "I'm used to stepping in when companies need help. Sometimes it's because they're in trouble—whether they're experiencing growing pains, adjusting to a recent reorganization, or requiring new strategic direction in order to jump to that next level. Sometimes it's because they're thriving, and their CEO wants to go that extra mile to make sure things stay that way. Your situation's different. The reasons for my being here transcend business. Your CEO was shot. That's personal, emotional, and professional, thanks to the kind of organization Carson Brooks has created. The man's a genius. Yet, he not only cares about his company, he cares about his people. That's why I'm here."
Sabrina's shoulders lifted in an honest but rueful shrug. "Believe me, it's not easy to step in at a time like this. It's even harder to launch a new product and continue expanding Ruisseau's reach in the luxury goods market on the heels of news like the kind Stan just delivered. But I've met with Carson, and that's exactly what he wants us to do. I understand his vision for Ruisseau. I believe I can help you attain it by keeping the momentum going until Carson is back at the helm where he belongs. But I need you to work with me. In fact, to echo Stan's words, I'm counting on you—all of you."
There were a couple of "I'm-on-board" smiles, several open, supportive expressions, an on-the-fence nod or two, and a few still-wary gazes.
Fair enough.
"The job title 'management consultant' is not my favorite," S
abrina continued. "Sometimes I think it's an out-and-out misnomer, since to many people it suggests I'm the one doing the managing. I'm not. I'm doing the consulting. You're doing the managing. You know this company. You know your people and your products. Without your skills, your insights, and your ability to execute, my job is pointless. So let's work together to keep Carson's dream surging ahead until he's well enough to take over himself."
