Her sharp smile up at him was a warm caress, an acknowledgment that they were both talking about the same thing. “Sports are warfare. We pick our tribes and scream in triumph or howl in defeat for our chosen champions. Of course, we look to weapons for inspiration for the tools.”
“That’s quite a sociological view, Ms. Lamb.”
The prim press of her lips was a sly agreement, but she turned away and hung the scimitar back on the wall.
“Are you working on any other sword-inspired golf club designs?”
Her glance at the upper corner of the room was an unintended flash of information for Kingston.
She said, “Maybe. We’ll have to see how they pan out. We should probably finish the tour.”
“Yes,” Kingston said, ridiculously rapt at her discussion of swords. “By all means, lead on.”
She walked past him and out of her office.
He spun on his heel and stepped to follow her, but she’d stopped in his path.
He jumped back, saying, “Oops!” He’d almost plowed her over.
“So,” Nicole said, wiggling with nerves. “There’s a meeting after work, just an impromptu gathering to talk about how that VC company bought Sidewinder and what we all think about it. It’s nothing official, but it’s food and drinks at a bar and grill down the street called The Meeting Ran Late. I guess you’re an employee now.” She twisted one leg, digging her toe into the industrial floor tile. “So, if you want to show up, some people will be there at six o’clock.”
Meet Nicole Lamb at a bar for drinks and discussion?
Absolutely.
“Six o’clock? Yeah, I think I can make it,” he said.
4
The Meeting Ran Late
NICOLE LAMB
At six-ten, Nicole stood on a curved-back chair and clinked a spoon against her thick pint glass, yelling, “Okay! Hey! Can I have your attention, please?”
Fifty or so of Sidewinder Golf’s employees had taken over the back room of the bar. Wait staff roved between the tables, delivering appetizer baskets and burgers to people spouting, “This is bullshit!” and “So that’s how Joe Flanagan wants to do it, huh? Just an email out of the dark, no notice?” and “I’ve already got my resume out to three different companies,” and “I’ve got a party this weekend where I’m going to network like a bat out of Hell.”
The new guy, Kingston Moore, had found a seat over with the rest of the salespeople he’d met that afternoon after she’d finished the tour. Gia Terranova was hanging on his shoulder, holding her beer out for him to tap in response to whatever she’d toasted.
Whatever.
Nicole clinked the spoon harder against her pint glass. “Hey! One moment of your time please!”
Everyone simmered down and turned, shuffling their chair legs on the cement floor.
Nicole had planned ahead of time with her lab people and some admin friends to commandeer the big, round table in the middle of the room. Thus, she was now, spatially speaking, the center of attention.
Even Kingston Moore had turned away from Gia and the other sales crew and was watching her, his gaze as sharp and unyielding as when she’d been putting on a show with the swords.
“Thank you for coming tonight,” she called out, uncomfortable as heckers with taking over the room. Everyone else was dithering about whatthey,in the singular sense ofthey,were going to do as an individual.
And since no one else had stepped up, Nicole would take over and lead.
She continued, “As we all found out in a darned email this morning, a venture capital firm named Last Chance, Inc. bought Sidewinder Golf for an undisclosed sum and considerations, whatever the heck that means.”
The jeers and cheers felt supportive, so she went on. “In the words of Benjamin Franklin, ‘If we don’t hang together, we will surely hang separately.”
Laughter.
