“Pleasure to meet you,” Lizzie lied, then took her spot at the front of the room, her presentation already cued up on the screen. “Thank you all for taking the time to meet with metoday. As you know, I’ve been analyzing and exploring your current workflows and supply chain for a little while now, and I’m excited to show you my solutions. But first, let me review the agenda, my goals, and the findings.”
Lizzie suddenly felt the urge to throw out the whole presentation. The first two slides outlined the strength of her company. Then there were a couple of slides about the value of partnering with her company. She even had an entire slide just defining the term ‘partnership’. Why had she created a presentation like this? Why hadn’t it sounded as thin and superficial when she had practiced with her boss? She watched as Mr. Pemberley zoned out more and more, paying less and less attention.
She was considering jumping ahead to the slides that presented her solution by the sixth slide. Most of the people had glazed-over looks, and Mr. Pemberley was full-on scrolling on his phone. Only Charles still seemed to be listening.
She was wrapping up the talking point when Mr. Pemberley slammed his phone down. “That’s it.” The people at the table sat up straight and turned to him. “That’s your third time using ‘synergy.’ I’m out.”
Lizzie froze—slide 12 still glowing behind her like a crime scene. Charles spoke out in her defense. “Will, maybe we want to give her a chance to finish?”
“Charles, I appreciate the time taken, but this…” He gestured toward Lizzie and her presentation. “There’s nothing there to tempt me.”
Lizzie felt her chances of closing this sale—all the hours she’d put into this, the jobs at her company, an account of this size would bring—slipping away with Mr. Pemberley as he started for the door.
Charles looked at her apologetically and said, “I’m sorry, Lizzie…” Before he could say more, Lizzie grabbed her bag and followed the CEO out of the room.
“If you don’t make the changes I suggest, you’re going to losemillions” Lizzie had basically yelled the words at Mr. Pemberley’s back as he was walking away and already a few feet ahead.
Will turned around to face her, one eyebrow arched. “What?”
Lizzie assumed his question was rhetorical, so she decided to explain instead of repeating herself. “You have repetitive tasks, redundancies in ordering, and your warehousing system is leaving you a huge obstacle to improving your cash cycle. I’d start with that. In 90 days, I can implement the changes needed to save millions in a year. Or you can keep paying a warehouse manager to play Tetris with pallets.”
Only when Lizzie stopped to take a breath did she notice that the other people from the conference room had come out into the hall and were standing around, unsure whether to interfere; watching Mr. Pemberley, waiting for instructions.
Mr. Pemberley had a quizzical look on his face—his interest piqued, but his pride stopped him from asking to hear more. Charles took the silence to mean that Mr. Pemberley was displeased and said, “Come on, Lizzie. I’ll walk you out.”
Lizzie felt dejected. She’d failed. She’d have to go back and tell her boss and her Abuela, but worse was the fact that she felt she’d failed herself. “It’s your money, Mr. Pemberley,” Lizzie said as she turned to leave with Charles. “You canwasteit as you see fit.”
Charles was all apologies as he walked her out, explaining that the CEO wasn’t the best with new people and thanking her for all the effort and time she took in putting this together.
Lizzie barely heard him.
She was already drafting the Slack to her boss:
Subject: Pemberley =DOA
He killed it at slide 12.
But I just quoted him millions in savings in the hallway.
Ball’s in his court.
Pray for me.
Lizzie groaned; Chances are, Abuela’s already making a celebratoryArroz Imperial.
Chapter 2- Dabbling in Chaos
Outside the Pemberley Offices, she stood at the doors for a moment. She’d parked at a nearby garage, but she felt hesitant to get back to it. Where would she go instead?
Although September, and already technically fall, it still felt like Summer in Miami. The humidity was thick, and Lizzie was becoming aware that her blouse was sticking to her, probably more due to the heat than the disastrous pitch.
Just then, a man around her age—tailored and manicured with sharp features and golden hair—came out of the building after her.
Lizzie stepped to the side to let him pass, but instead of passing, he stopped to talk to her. “Did you just come from in here?” he asked, gesturing to the doors of Pemberley Pharmaceuticals.
“Uh, yeah,” she said, unsure what he was after. She flung her bag over her shoulder and prepared to walk to her car.
“You don’t work here, do you?”
