Page 25 of Negotiation Tactics
“Doing okay and growing bigger,” the woman says, stroking her big belly with pride. “Not long left now.”
She’s due in two months or so and I would love to have this all wrapped up before then.
“Holding up,” Simon follows up, pulling my attention to himself.
He looks even more tired than the last time I saw him, with huge bags under his eyes that are probably the result of the second job he picked up recently. Like me, he has a parent that needs special care, and that’s on top of his three kids.
“So, uh, any news?” he asks, getting right down to business.
I bite on the inside of my cheek and tightly grasp the armrest of the chair. Shame spears through me for not doing more, for not trying harder, but regret won’t change the fact that my initial proposal was blatantly rejected.
“They turned down my initial proposal, so I’ve gone back and made a few adjustments.” I produce the documents out of the folder and slide them over to the two. “I’ll resubmit it this week.”
As they read through the changed demands, which in all fairness aren’t really changed just reworded differently, I flirt with the idea of calling Alistair right after this meeting. But is that a good idea? It would be better if Mariam had a look over the proposal first, to make sure I didn’t miss anything and that my chances of getting turned down again aren’t so high.
When they are done reading, Izzy’s smile deflates and Simon’s expression turns hard. I’ve left some ambiguity on purpose, hoping it will get me an audience. The core of our demands has remained unchanged, though.
“I… I’ve heard that it’s not unusual to get turned down initially. I am sure you will convince them on your second try,” Izzy says with forced enthusiasm in her voice.
It pains me to hear it, and I feel even worse about my failed attempt. It’s not her fault, it’s technically not mine either, but I should’ve foreseen it and done something, so I at least met with someone from the Devon Holidays’ commission on union matters.
“Of course. I’ll do my best to win this.” I consider telling them about my lunch with Alistair, but decide to omit that information, so I won’t get their hopes up justyet. Or make them believe that the future CEO gives a shit about the employees.
Simon places his bag on the table and takes out the extra signatures and testimonials they have collected. “How is Amy Lee doing?”
It warms my heart when people ask about my mom. It serves to show how widely respected she truly is. “She’s doing better. She’s even made some friends who kick her ass at chess.”
He smiles, but it seems off. Like something is weighing on him. “Is everything okay with your dad?”
The man had a heart attack too, but unlike mom’s relatively quick recovery, he’s still not doing great. “For the most part. But… He needs some new procedure, and that’s bumped up the bill a bit.” His tired eyes fill with emotion and his voice grows quiet as he adds, “I mean, we are okay for this month… next one too, even if the pay goes down. I’ve got some savings set aside and with the Union Support we should be okay. But I’ve been looking for better-paid jobs, and it’s not been good. My skills are not exactly in high demand.”
A stab-like sensation spreads outwards from my heart. “I’ll sort this out as quickly as possible, I promise.”
“I know you will, it’s just”—he looks at me with regret in his eyes—“I worry. Maybe you should push a little harder?”
I try not to show on my face how his probably well-meant suggestion is like a thousand knives to my already wounded heart. I am trying, as hard as I can. But I’m not my mom—I can’t pull off the miracles she could. Not yet, but maybe one day…
“I will,” I promise.
They both stand and I see them off to the building’s entrance, since we have nothing more to discuss due to my current lack of progress. I hole up in my office with a cup of hot chocolate, but no matter how hard I try not to think about Simon’s words, they keep replaying in my mind as I go over Mariam’s notes and do final edits on my proposal.
Maybe you should push a little harder.
But how exactly do I do that when those assholes won’t even give me the time of day? I’m already giving this case my all, I have all the necessary experience and qualifications. But what if the bar is just too high? What if I can never pull off the miracles mom did? Maybe I just don’t have it in me.
See, there is a secret I’ve never told anyone but my dad, before he passed away when I was in high school. The truth is that I wanted to be an interior designer. I wanted to help people design their dream homes once dad was done building them. He was an architect, and he’d do all the initial planning and calculations, get the builders. Then I’d take over and make the place feel like a home, maybe even design some of the furniture myself. And the garden… Oh, I used to love designing gardens.
Dad and I daydreamed about working together. We even had a name picked for our company already—Arnold & Josh Architecture and Interior Design. A wave of excitement rushes through me as I reminisce about those times. I started drawing lessons, and while I was so bad at first, eventually I got better. The painting in my office that I like to look at is my best piece, the culmination of months of effort that ended up in vain, because before I even finished high school, dad got sick.
He was gone in less than a year, and I still remember how tight money was. My dream of being an interiordesigner had to be put aside as I started working at the Union to help with the hospital bills. At first, the job at the Union felt like any other job, but I stuck around even after dad passed, and gradually I started to care. About what we do, about making people’s lives better and ensuring they are paid fairly.
With a sigh, I take out Alistair’s card from the pencil holder. Everything is ready, so there is no point in delaying the inevitable. I should call him and get this over with, hopefully with a resolution in my favor.
I pause with my finger on my phone’s fingerprint sensor. I could bypass him altogether, I guess, and submit directly to the commission. But on the off chance he might be willing to help me get them to agree, it’s totally worth it. If the future boss is pressuring you, surely you wouldn’t want to go against him, right?
Yes, that might just work. And thanks to Jazz’s resourcefulness, I also have a bit of dirt on him. Other than the fact that he’s into spanking unruly brats like me, of course. This alone is rather the sensation—because the media just loves digging into the private life of billionaire bad boys—but it can never hurt to be prepared.
Anyway, to execute any of my plans, first I need to call the man.
