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One
Mallory
“In the interest of full disclosure, Ms. Mitchell, I do want to reiterate the responsibilities and expectations of the position, one final time.”
Smile, Mallory, smile. Do not yawn at the Marketing and Communications Director, no matter how tired you are from the red-eye to London or the fact that it’s gray and gloomy and a soft rain drizzles down the office windows. It’s London, of course it’s raining, should have expected that.
Smile, damn it.
“Thank you, Mrs. Alix,” I start.
“Ms. It’s Ms. Alix, no Mrs.,” she interrupts, peering at me over the frames of her oval tortoiseshell eyeglasses.
Of course, it’s Ms. and not Mrs. I should have known that, too. Not that Sandra Alix is an unattractive woman, she’s just… cold. Like this room. Or the frosty cocktail I am going to imbibe in as soon as I finally get this job.
I will get this job.
“My apologies, Ms. Alix. I appreciate you being so thorough and I assure you I am confident in my ability to deliver the results you require.” I look Sandra square on, straighten my spine, and make a mental note to stop tapping my foot lest she know how much I want this job. She could tell me that standing on my head and spitting nickels out of my mouth was a key performance indicator and I would convince her that I’ll spit dimes.
“Yes, well,” Sandra leans back in her squeaking office chair and I feel like I’m a piece of fruit being sized up at the market, “it’s imperative to Celeritas that we succeed this time in bringing the right person aboard.”
“I understand,” I nod. I understand fully that my predecessors were either shit-canned within days or ran screaming from this job. I do my homework. I’m not stupid. I just want this job that badly. And after flying here a second time for my final interview, they’re going to give it to me.
“Do you? Do you understand Ms. Mitchell?” Sandra sneers.
I see what’s happening here. This is the portion of the interview where they try to scare the naive little American girl and force her to retreat to the safety of New York.
Not happening.
“Yes, Ms. Alix. I am good at what I do. I have done my due diligence. I have familiarized myself with the challenges of the client. I have read all the news stories, seen the social media incidents, and I have developed a multi-point strategy to reform the brand to meet Celeritas Racing’s expectations.”
Take that, you shrew. Like I’m intimated to work with a difficult, if not obscenely good looking athlete. Well, I’m not. Seen one musclebound dick in the locker room, you’ve seen them all. This one just comes with a Scottish accent and drives a car versus throws a ball, color me unimpressed.
“Yes,” she starts, “I have no doubt you have talent or we would not be here. You have been successful in managing the images of troubled athletes in the past, we know that. You’ve also had a misstep, however, and I’d like assurance that will not happen again.”
I knew Sandra Stick Up Her Ass would bring that up. Even though we’re in Europe and I was hoping my sins of America would not follow me here to haunt me. But I’m still prepared. Because I’m always prepared.
“You have my word, Ms. Alix. I learned a valuable lesson with the client you’re referring to and Lennox Gibbes will not be let out from my sights. The situation will be under control at all times.”
“You’re going to control Lennox Gibbes?” She leans forward and chuckles. “And how do you propose to do that?”
“I will put him on a leash if necessary,” I mash my teeth and announce boldly.
Time for games is over, lady, give me the job. I’m tired, I’ve been here twice and through rounds of Skype interviews, I’m well aware that Lennox Gibbes — the ‘Paddock Playboy’ — is another skeezeball athlete running around sticking his dick in anything that moves and embarrassing the company.
And I. Don’t. Care.
“Oh,” Sandra starts, actually proving that she does, in fact, have the facial muscles required to break a smile, “I like you.”
“I will not let you down.”
Seal the deal, seal the deal.
“Formula 1 is quite a bit different from what you’re used to, Ms. Mitchell, I suspect you’ll have quite a learning curve ahead of you.”
“I look forward to meeting that goal, as well.”
It’s in the bag, right? She said I will have a learning curve, not I could have a learning curve. Damn it, spit it out, you wanker! I’ve been practicing British slang and have always wanted to call someone a wanker.
“Right, then. Let’s get down to brass tacks. There will be extensive NDA’s, you understand.” Sandra starts shuffling papers on her desk and this is it, it’s happening. The job is mine. I don’t care if the tacks she’s offering are brass, gold, or made of tinfoil. This is my chance.
“Yes, of course.” Working with athletes, NDA’s live in my back pocket at all times. They’re all the same.
Every single one of them who can hit a ball or kick something into the end zone is the same type of manwhore who thinks he’s god’s gift to women. On some mission to knock up half of the Eastern seaboard and disgrace their team and their sponsors then they act surprised when their contract is cut and their newfound riches evaporate.
Oversized man-children, all of them. Not interested.
“On the matter of compensation,” Sandra pulls a sheet of paper from her stack and slides it across her meticulous, empty glass desk toward me.
Holy shit. This is double the salary range initially offered. This is… this can’t be right.
“I’m sorry, is this figure correct?” Please le
t it be correct.
“This job is more than just Publicity Management, Ms. Mitchell. If you review this sheet,” she slides more sheets of neatly typed paperwork at me, “you’ll see there are additional duties of new sponsor recruitment and partner engagement.”
I study the sheet, so many zeros behind so many dollar signs. “I see.”
Oh boy, do I see. Requirements to achieve new corporate sponsors for the driver with minimum financial investments and benchmarks, expectations of investor events, product launch parties, this is a lot.
“You’re not going in cold, don’t worry.” Sandra tries to breeze into this like it’s a simple task to acquire all the zeros staring at me on these pages. “Celeritas has all the connections. All you need to do is ensure that Mr. Gibbes is a property worthy of the investors’ endorsements and backing. Create the public image our business partners want to see from a world champion. Guarantee that Mr. Gibbes represents them, and Celeritas Racing, well. Get him to the required events on time and keep him from making a jackass of himself.” Sandra purses her lips and bites out the final sentence and I know this has been a thorn in her side for some time. She’s frustrated.
