Page 53 of Negotiation Tactics
“I want to speak to Alistair,” I demand, blowing air out of my nose.
“I’m afraid Mr. Devon is in meetings all day and isn’t available. He has also personally appointed me to handle this case, so as such, he will have no further involvement.”
I gawk at Mr. Wallis again, not able to keep up with how quickly things are going from bad to worse. This is… I messed up. Big time. Somewhere, somehow, I let myself be played for a fool and worst of all, I didn’t even see it coming. I was so convinced I knew who I was dealing with, that I have seen what’s truly inside Alistair, that we could make this work for both sides…
Fuck! What do I do now? What do I tell the people who are counting on me? I’ve failed them and I don’t even know how it happened! My head is a mess, my heart, too.
And then it clicks, how distant Alistair has been these past couple of days. He strung me on until he was sure he had me, until I genuinely began considering that maybe there is a future for us. He used me, manipulated me, to scratch an itch or to prove that he is an asshole who would excel at running his daddy’s empire the way a heartless billionaire would. And I fell for it. God, I fell for it so badly. I’m so fucking ashamed of myself, of telling him things I’ve never told anyone, of sharing a part of myself I’ve never shared with anyone, of trusting the wrong man.
“Why would he do that…” I mutter to myself, my question hollow just like my soul. I knew the rules of this game, I was willing to play it, to do whatever it took so I could win. And yet… I let myself fall for Alistair Devon’s charming smile, I let him convince me he was different just because I so profoundly wanted to believe there was good in someone who could rock my world so effortlessly.
“A CEO does what’s best for the company,” Mr. Wallis answers, mistaking my rhetoric question for one aimed at him. “The world of business is a ruthless one, I’m sure you are well aware.” He comes up to his feet and tucks his chair under the table. “Because of the freeze on pay cuts Mr. Devon initially enforced and the fact that we arealready halfway through this month, salary changes won’t take effect for another three weeks.”
I shove my devastation to the side for a moment, needing to have my head in the game for this. To salvage what I can because this just turned into a disaster of epic proportions that I don’t know how to resolve. The extra weeks I got out of the lucky timing of this shitshow is a fleeting consolation, the losers’ prize because I am already convinced that no matter what I try, Devon Holidays and I will never see eye to eye. We will be stuck in this limbo of negotiations for as long as they can milk it, and that will only hurt the employees.
The lump in my throat grows, so I struggle to find what to say. “This decision is final?”
“Yes. If the Union agrees to our counterproposal, those who choose to relocate will retain their current compensation. They will also be given a relocation allowance to cover the move. Those that do not wish to relocate and are unhappy with the salary adjustments can serve a month’s notice and will receive a check for $2000. No further discussions on this topic will follow until the midpoint of the next financial year, which is when we are willing to revisit this. If the union refuses this temporary solution, however,andencourages strike action, we will be letting go of any employee who chooses to participate. You can, of course, take this matter to the court, but given Devon Holidays’ generous terms, we think that would be a waste of union funds and both our times.”
My jaw clenches and the muscles along my neck grow taut. I want to scream at the unfairness of this. I’m stuck choosing between two bad options, neither of which is remotely acceptable. I can take this case to court like Mr. Wallis is saying, but he is right—the compensationwhich Devon Holidays is offering, however laughable, has them covered. I could try to argue the need for pay cuts altogether, but I doubt that will go anywhere, considering they have financial specialists that can spin things any way they want to justify them.
“Please, let us know the union’s decision by the end of next week,” he informs me, holding the door open.
I take that as my cue that we are done negotiating. I gather the documents and follow him out of the room, thanking him for his time in a strained but somewhat successfully neutral tone. Then I just watch him as he enters the elevator, and once the doors are shut, I sprint for the restrooms. Heaving, I splash my face with cold water, trying to calm myself down.
“Fuck!” I bang my fists against the porcelain sink and meet my livid gaze in the mirror. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
I hate him. I can’t believe I allowed myself to be fooled like this. I take a few slow inhales and exhales and try to look at this rationally. From the start, this was one of those cases I wished I never had to deal with in my life, so I knew it would be a challenge. I knew it would be slow and painful and irritating, but I didn’t think it was unwinnable. So how come I ended up here with no choice but to bend over, screw the people I am fighting for and try again in six months?!
I gnaw on my bottom lip, shivering as anger rages inside me again. I’ve been complacent. Distracted. I believed in the wrong person, trusted a man I should have never trusted, allowed attraction and feelings to blind me to the game he’s been playing.
“Fuck!”
A man walks into the restroom and gives me an awkward nod in greeting, pausing my imminent descent into rage.
For a moment, I wonder if it would’ve made any difference if Alistair Devon hadn’t been the one to walk into that conference room for that first meeting, whether dealing strictly with the commission would’ve changed the outcome of this. Maybe it would have or maybe it wouldn’t have—it doesn’t matter. What’s important is that he lied. That he pretended he cared, that he made me see him as someone he isn’t just because he wanted to fuck me.
The man comes out of the stall and washes his hands quickly, leaving like his ass is on fire. Mine sure as hell feels that way… in fact, the entirety of me does. I need to do something, to fix this somehow, but no matter how hard I think, I can’t come up with a way out of the massive mess.
I wait a few minutes to calm down, then slip out of the bathroom once I’ve collected myself enough. I need to get out of here. I need to get away from this place and go home and hit something or get drunk or call Jaz and shout and let him convince me we can become vigilantes and take on one corporation after the other until we destroy all of them.
I turn the corner and head for the elevator just as the door of the nearest conference room opens and Alistair walks out. I stop dead in my tracks and he freezes, too. There he is, my enemy, the man who used me and then tossed me aside like I and the people I represent mean nothing to his greedy brain. We glare at each other as the rest of the people trickle out, then he turns away from me like I’m a nobody who’s not even worth an explanation.
I lose it.
“Alistair!” I yell and dart over, grabbing him by the arm as bloodlust consumes me. “What the fuck is going on?” I shove the folder against his chest. He doesn’t take it, or maybe doesn’t manage to react in time, and it falls to the floor, paper scattering around.
“Josh—Mr. Anderson,” he says calmly, his expression unreadable. He straightens his tie that I displaced and shakes me off. “Calm down, you are making a scene.”
The authoritative way in which he says it makes my heart beat that tiny bit faster. I hate him. And I hate that despite hating him, I still find him impossibly attractive.
Gritting teeth, I barely manage to lower my voice. “What’s the meaning of this? Why did you reject my proposal?”
Something crosses his face, but it’s not the kind of emotion I expect. There’s no remorse, no regret, nothing to suggest he feels bad about any of this. Instead, what I find there is indifference, like none of this matters to him anymore, me included.
It’s ironic. I was the one trying to get the upper hand, to find dirt on him and I am also the one that dropped those efforts because I chose to believe he was different. Because I felt he was different.Oh god, how could I have been so off, so far away from the truth? Why?
“I believe Mr. Wallis explained Devon Holidays’ response to the union’s demands, Mr. Anderson. We are willing to offer a generous relocation package to those who want to retain their jobs and current salaries. To those that don’t, we are giving a compensation package,” he drones on like a robot, as if I am dumb and need to have that part repeated. “I suggest the union accepts our terms. We can revisit this again after our midyear earnings report.”
