Chase

The meeting with Mr. O'Donnell hadn't even started and I already thought it was going to destroy Alan Patrick, Mr. Persistent itching. His guy was next to me, and he "discreetly" slipped his hand inside his underwear, straightened the Alan Junior and withdrew, bringing it up to his nose. I frowned in disgust and he looked at me with a shrug.

I had to change my suit before I came because my clumsy secretary spilled coffee on me. But then, mr. Sheppard called me into his office right after I told Adele to go wash her coat.

Mr. Sheppard had booked at Perfetto, an Italian restaurant near the agency building. Since no one there could have known about our involvement and the campaigns we worked on outside the agency, we didn't tell our secretaries anything. Campaigns, presentations, and everything else that goes into competing for the CMO position takes a lot of time and dedication, so Conrad would know how responsible and committed we are.

"Very well," Mr. Sheppard appeared, walked through the door, and looked our way, holding a black folder. Mr. O'Donnell appeared shortly thereafter, and Alan stood up, offering a gigantic smile (I saw even the rotten teeth). - Let's start.

I stood up, elegantly, as a smug businessman knows how to get up, and stepped forward, straightening my suit. Alan took a step back, smoothing his bloodred jacket.

Where does he buy these bizarre clothes?

— Mr. O'Donnell! I called, understanding the hand. 'I've heard a lot about you, sir. He looked at me and squeezed my hand. His palm was sweaty, and it took all my willpower not to grimace. — Welcome to Shaffer & Sheppard.

Alan took the hand for him, the man shook his hand. I had to hold back a smile.

"Since we're all here," Conrad said, coming around the table and sitting in the chair at the far end. "Let's start at once, without wasting time." He checked his watch, raising an eyebrow.

The meeting with Mr. O'Donnell had been delayed for almost a month, but apparently the man was desperate. His company was failing, and he believed that a good dose of creativity could solve the problem.

He sat at the table, in the chair opposite mine. He wore a black suit jacket, with a black tie, and a sticky handkerchief sticking out of his pocket. He looked to be in his late seventies; bald, paunchy, and with glaring eyes, the kind you only find in cartoons. Their deep-bottle glasses made it triple the size of their eyeballs, so they were always on the lookout. Alan covered his mouth, pretending to cough so neither of them would notice the dry smile he let out, but when he looked at me, I noticed the corners of his eyes crinkling, indicating he was finding it amusing.

"As you both know, Mr. O'Donnell wants his brand to completely reinvent itself, from the logo to the slogan," Conrad said, opening the folder he placed on the table. He took from there some images I did for the TwikyPikles campaign, Mr. O'Donnell. — Reinvention, innovation, creativity and simplicity. he said, handing the papers back to the man.

Alan shifted in his chair, adjusting his tie.

Across the restaurant, I saw someone hurry, a blue and yellow figure. I shrugged. I turned my attention to Mr. O'Donnell, who carefully leafed through each page of the presentation.

We used to present ideas in a less crowded and more cozy place, so that it would capture the client's full attention, but Mr. O'Donnell insisted that he go to this restaurant. The waiter came over and I took the menu. I glanced at the available dishes, but shrugged my shoulders and decreed that I didn't want anything. Alan imitated me and remained silent. Throughout the presentation, Mr. O'Donnell said yes, hesitated, agreed and said no. An hour later, my fingers drummed restlessly on the tabletop.

Conrad tucked the presentation papers into the folder. Mr. O'Donnell was silent for a few minutes and asked for the bill. I was looking forward to it. My heart was pounding in my chest, but knowing I could probably lose to Alan made me angry.

I brought Mr. O'Donnell. I deserved the chance. After more whispers in Mr. Sheppard, they both turned to us and said which performance they liked best. Mr. O'Donnell liked mine, and between hunches and snippets, we came to an agreement; already mr. Sheppard, who always shared opinions with customers, liked Alan's ideas.

We never opened our mouths. Mr. Sheppard would handle everything. Alan and I had equal rights, but I still felt wronged somehow, because I couldn't express how good my ideas were.

They decided, then, that my presentation had won.

— Thank you, Mr. O'Donnell," I said, reaching out and receiving a strong, firm handshake. — I hope to respond to your expectations and that we can work together.

Alan rolled his eyes from my side and then yawned.

I smiled and nudged him with my elbow. He yelled a resounding "ouch" and scowled at me.

Conrad and Mr. O'Donnell got up, so did Alan and I. We said goodbye and I saw the man walk away, dragging himself on his short, thick legs. Mr. Sheppard blinked.

"Congratulations, Chase," he said. "You missed the round.

I widened my eyes.

I did not understand.

He turned around, nodded, and Alan clapped me on the back.

The smile on my face closed.

I ran to mr. Sheppard, who was in a hurry.

— Mr. Sheppard… I don't understand. He didn't look at me, and I continued walking beside him. — I won the account.

"Never mind the bill, Chase. The customer matters. Influential people exude influence. It didn't matter how much the account could offer us, it mattered what the customer could offer us. He stopped and faced me, putting his hand on my shoulder. "You have to know who the right customer is, because if not, he might be the wrong one for you.

I stood there, staring at him. He walked away and disappeared. Alan came up to me, stopped beside me and smiled.

"I think I won this time.

I looked at him and gave him the middle finger.