Page 14 of Negotiation Tactics
During the meeting, Lily handles herself well, leading the conversation as if she’s done this for years instead of a few months. I skim through the contract and note nothing of concern, so she proceeds to sign it and we shake hands with the people from the waste disposal company before making it back to the offices’ floor with a box of doughnuts from the café across the street. Sweet treats after a successful resolution of a case is something of a tradition around here that I might or might not have started.
“Everyone, congratulate Lily for her great work on the Garb & Agnes case!” I announce once we are all gathered around the long desk in the open-plan section of the floor. It’s nothing at all like the modern, crisp look of Devon’s HQ and I hate myself for comparing the two, but I can’t help it.
Unsurprisingly, the doughnuts get annihilated in record time, though I only have one, leaving enough spacefor the two slices of chocolate cake Mariam brings over an hour later.
“Everything went well with Lily?” she asks, handing me the cardboard box and a fork.
“Mhm, everything was fine,” I mumble around a forkful of indulgently chocolate cake. “This is soooo good.”
She smiles and tilts her head. “I want to pick your brain about something actually,” she informs me, sounding a little regretful as if she shouldn’t be asking me things while I stuff my face with the cake she made.
“Pick away. I’d agree to anything you ask me right now because I’m having a moment of epiphany with your cake.”
Snorting, she says, “That case with the textile factory… Montgomery Tex, that’s a subsidiary of McGreg. They are coming over today and I was wondering if you fancied sitting in. They’ve been giving me some trouble.”
I nod slowly, meeting her eyes. “Of course, what time?”
“In an hour. I’ve booked the main meeting room on the first floor.” She smiles fondly. “Make sure you are out of your food coma by then.”
“Uh-huh, no promises.”
Fortunately, I get the sugar crash under control before I drag my ass to the meeting. Mariam is already there, but it takes the Montgomery reps fifteen minutes past the agreed time to arrive. There’s two of them, a clean-shaven man in his forties with an expensive looking blue suit and a Rolex, and a younger one with a similar getup in brown, who’s sporting a bleached wolf cut wanna-be. Both exude importance and self-centeredness, their narrowed, disapproving eyes flicking over the dingy interior of the conference room.
“Mr. Barnes, Mr. Hendrix,” Mariam greets them with a smile, but they don’t even shake her offered hand, instead plopping into the two chairs across from us. “This is Joshua Anderson, the Head of the Union,” she introduces me and despite their scowls, I offer them the opposite.
I didn’t like them the moment they walked in, but I like them even less after they open their mouths. The deal Mariam is trying to negotiate is for better health benefits for the employees at the factory, presenting the latest statistics which clearly show that what Montgomery Tex provides is below even the average package.
“While I do understand, Mrs. Lebany,” the blond addresses Mariam, his deep voice impatient. It reminds me a little of Alistair’s as much as I try not to notice it, though it lacks that richness of cadence, as if it’s just a sad excuse of a rip-off. “We, at least, provide insurance, which is not necessarily the case across the sector.”
All of us here in the room know that while yes, technically he’s right, the insurance allows access only to certain health institutions, none of which is within the Portland Metropolitan area. Which sort of defeats the purpose. Not to mention, their policy also doesn’t cover emergencies.
“The package your company offers is inadequate at best, and useless at worst,” Mariam counters, then points out the exact clauses that need to be changed.
The two men aren’t fazed, looking just as disinterested as they were when they walked in. “It’s still insurance that many other employers don’t offer,” Shaved Guy argues. “We have budget targets to meet, costs to cover.”
It’s the same excuse every time, money being more important than the people who make it for you. It irks me, especially because it wouldn’t even make that much of adifference if corporations were a little bit more generous toward their workers. Fairer. Why is it such a big issue to ask for a percentage to be taken off the CEO & Board’s salaries and redistributed among the employees? It’s not like those at the top would even feel it if they got one less million to their five.
We argue for a while, and I join in as well, supporting Mariam as she battles with the two sleazy men. We do eventually reach an agreement that we’ll meet again in a few weeks after both sides have had time to put more thought into this, and while it’s not an outright rejection, I can’t help but be concerned about whether it might turn into one by the time our second meeting takes place. What happened at Devon’s HQ yesterday is still fresh in my mind and as we send them off, I imagine the blond one sitting across from me next time with a self-satisfied grin on his face as he rejects the Union’s proposal.
“I’m sorry,” Mariam says when we return to our floor, crossing her arms. “I’ll get those assholes to agree next time.” There’s passion behind her statement, her eyes filling with determination. “Just like I’m sure you will make the Devon Holidays commission listen to you.”
Sigh. I wish it was this easy or that I felt at least half as confident as I did before I met my last hookup in that posh conference room. But I can’t let it get to me, I mustn’t. I am the last thing that stands between the people we represent and corporate injustice, and I will do everything in my power to win.
But first, it’s time for lunch. And if I happen to start ranting about my case, well, at last my mom can help me brainstorm. I just need to remember not to mention that the man I’m going up against is the same one that screwed my brains out just a month ago.
6
Alistair
Whelp.Thenegotiationswiththe Union sure went horribly if they are still on my mind so much after a day has passed. I expected they wouldn’t be easy sailing, but holy shit, who would’ve thought my opponent would be the spitfire with the green eyes that I can’t stop thinking about?
Talk about luck.
I end the call I was only half-listening to and exit my office, heading to the floor below via the elevator. I don’t think I handled the meeting particularly badly, but he still called me an asshole and a coward. Joshua Anderson. The grin that follows is impossible to stop. No one has called me out like that, ever. He’s got balls, I’ll give him that.
Memories of that night come rushing in, hot and inappropriate. Fuck. I still can’t believe it, that the man who was supposed to be just a one-night stand among many is the current Head of the Labor Union which has my dad’s company in its crosshairs. This kind of coincidence doesn’t happen in real life.
On autopilot, I make it to my dad’s temporary office. It looks a lot like mine, features the same amazing view too, but it sports less monitors and empty shelves since it’s not a permanent fixture in the headquarters.
