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I nod at the degree displayed nearby. “Ah yes. I’m sure Yale really hindered your options in the beginning. I’m honestly impressed by how far you’ve climbed.”
Nick grinds his jaw.
I raise my eyebrows. “Would it be too forward to call you an inspiration?”
Nick stands. It’s sudden and I instantly want to step backward. Somehow I manage to hold my ground. He really is huge, and my heels aren’t helping nearly as much as I wish they would.
“Sarcasm doesn’t look good on you, Ms. Davis,” he says in a deep, growly tone.
I allow myself a small smile. “I guess we have different tastes,” I reply. “Because I think it looks fantastic.”
“What happened to seeing the best in everyone?”
“I only said I try to.”
Our eyes are locked, in a standoff yet again. When he’d stood, he’d sent that intoxicating smell washing over me and the intensity of it is making me a little dizzy. Not a good thing when teetering on five-inch heels, but I manage to keep my stability.
It’s no wonder that Nick had practically rendered me speechless on the train. A man like him looks out of place somewhere so normal, even if said place is a luxury train car. Only here, in this penthouse office with Manhattan spreading out in all directions, does Nick look like he’s where he belongs.
I can only guess at what’s racing through his mind. I hope that he’s not deciding whether or not to call security to drag me out of here.
Again, he makes the first move, but this time he doesn’t speak. Instead he pushes his chair back and walks all the way around the side of that titanic desk until he’s standing directly in front of me.
In an instant, I’m back on the train, the weightiness of his presence pressing on me, the scent of him invading my nostrils with every inhale.
He fixes me in that steel trap of a stare and says again, slowly, “Do you have a pitch for me?”
I tilt my chin up and say, in the same tone, “You made me leave it in the lobby.”
His jaw tightens and his gaze drops; I feel it travel my body. Then he steps backward, sinking so that he’s sitting on the desk, and crosses one ankle over his knee.
I exhale and I feel a bead of sweat drip down my back. Jesus Christ.
“That’s not a valid excuse,” he says. “You’re not the first one I’ve disarmed at the door.”
“Is that what you call it? I’d call it unprofessional.”
“And you’d be wrong. It’s a simple strategy. If a person can’t tell me why I should hire them off the cuff, then they’re not going to do a very good job. Believe me. I’ve tested the theory. Take away the crutch of a presentation and you get to see the real substance behind the flash and glitter.”
He crosses his thick arms. “So tell me, Ms. Davis, is there substance here?” He cocks his head and once again allows his eyes to travel up and down my body. “Or just flash and glitter?”
Substance? My hot and flustered brain flashes with equal parts arousal and annoyance. I can fucking give him some substance. I may not have my laser pointer, graphs, or mock-ups, but I can spout facts all the livelong day.
“Okay, Mr. Madison,” I say, crossing my own arms. “I’ll bite. You’ve had a very illustrious career building office space and apartment buildings. I’ll give you that. But you stand to lose upwards of a billion dollars on a cruise liner that, quite frankly, nobody wants to go on. Your marketing up until this point has been a disaster because there isn’t a single thing about the Seafarer that lifts it out of the pack.”
I pause, “Here would be where I’d be pulling up schematics of the ship, and a list of what you’re offering. But since you’d rather use your imagination, I’ll spell it out for you.” I list off on my fingers. “Seven pools with slides and hot tubs. A buffet with All-American fare. A theater showing Marvel movies and Disney animation. Comedians doing what I can only assume will be the same tired set night after night. Do you see the problem here?”
Nick’s face is expressionless.
“What exactly is drawing anyone to this ship? How are you competing with the big established names?” I put my hands on my hips. “You know what kind of people go on those types of cruises? People who don’t like to plan vacations. They want to be ferried around the highlights of the Caribbean, drink in hand, and doing as little as possible until they have to go back to their soul-sucking jobs and hellish bosses. Those types of people aren’t shopping around for a new cruise liner. They book the same ship year in and year out. And why shouldn’t they? They know what they like.
“Now I’ll give it to you — you don’t dip your toes into anything. Jumping into the vacation industry with zero experience isn’t something most people would dare to do. Unfortunately, there’s a reason for that. There isn’t any room for growing pains. You need a successful first launch or your ship is dead in the water, no pun intended. If people don’t sign up for it — and as we’ve just established, there’s really no good reason they would — then investors are going to jump the proverbial ship and, by this time next year, the Seafarer is going to be sold for a fraction of her value and be sailing the seas with Mickey Mouse tattooed on her ass as a part of the Disney fleet. Now is that a pretty ‘substantial’ depiction of the problem you have in front of you?”
Nick has barely twitched a muscle as I spout off a slightly more antagonistic version of my original introduction. I hold my breath as I wait for his verdict. Going too hard will end with him tossing me out of the building. But I have a feeling that a guy like Nick Madison appreciates directness.
My prediction isn’t wrong. Nick’s eyes finally narrow at my dour assessment, but he doesn’t get angry. Probably because I’m not saying anything that his financial advisers haven’t been telling him for months.
At last, he says, “And how would your ad campaign save this venture, Ms. Davis?”
