Part 1
Anne’s week had begun in a way she hadn’t expected; there were few days in her life that left a lingering sense of anticipation in her stomach, and her unexpected elevator conversation with Damien had done just that. Ascending to the 50th floor on the following Tuesday morning, she inevitably kept returning to the conversation in her head. She kept reliving the embarrassment of realizing that it was the CEO she was unknowingly complaining to, and stared at the corner of that same elevator of their interaction, almost as if she could see the ghost of him leaning against the wall. All day she expected to hear her Outlook ping with a new email notification announcing the arrival of an email from him, and all day that sound triggered her fight or flight response. It never came.
Tuesday became Wednesday, and Wednesday became Thursday, and each one passed without any communication from Damien. Anne’s initial excitement and anxiety began to wane, replaced by a sense of doubt. It was starting to seem like their interaction was more one of a fleeting moment of politeness and corporate small talk to pass the time, and less one of genuine curiosity in a new marketing plan. She found herself checking her inbox more and more frequently in an absentminded manner, hoping she would find a friendly solicitation or some kind of sign that their elevator conversation had left a lasting impression on him the same as it had her. Each day, her inbox remained stubbornly barren of an email from the king of the company. The undercurrent of uncertainty was horribly persistent, irritatingly so, but Anne pushed it aside.
Despite her doubts, Anne immersed herself in her work, pouring herself into each strategy, campaign, and piece of internal communication. Like she had told Damien, her job was to keep the team in sync and up to speed with each other, making sure there was consistency and frequency in every facet of their brand. The marketing team was a talented and diverse group of colleagues, each bringing a unique blend of skills and ideas to the table. Regardless of the oppressive ceiling at which their brand strategies were capped, every scrum meeting and brainstorming session was different, full of creativity and quality ideas from all angles of her team. The graphic designers, data-driven analysts, copywriters, social media team, and even some front-end members of development filled the department with a vibrant energy. It was a place where ideas flowed freely but were often shot down; each team member striving to make their mark as best as they could even in an environment where they knew that most of their best ideas would never make it to fruition.
The marketing department was a healthy mix of camaraderie and competition. Anne cherished the close-knit and often ridiculously liberal relationships the team shared with each other, often with jokes and comments that if they got back to HR, would certainly get the entire team put on a watchlist. But in such an environment where belly laughter was abundant, team morale was overall positive, and recognition was hard-earned but well-earned, she didn’t mind the quirky and inappropriate lot. She enjoyed being part of them. She was still learning to navigate these dynamics delicately as a relatively new member of a firmly-established team, but they had welcomed her immediately with warmth, kindness, encouragement, and pointed jokes. She too, wanted to make her mark personally and professionally. Still, in her own quieter moments between meetings and brainstorming sessions where, from her office, she could hear her team shouting ideas at each other, her thoughts returned to Damien.
At 2:42pm on Friday afternoon, her conversation with Damien now working its way into the distant past, Anne’s senior designer sat in the chair across the desk from her, explaining the thought process behind some decisions on a direct mail piece they were working on and some changes to make. Her computer chirped the announcement of a new email in her inbox.
From: Damien Wilson <damienwilson@hges.com>
To: Anne Neuman <aneuman@hges.com>
Subject: Continuing Our Discussion
Her heart skipped a beat in excitement, unable to keep from smiling as she read the message preview.
Sorry for the delay in reaching out. You were right about my day not being over on Monday and to be honest, I’m not sure my day ever ended. I am eager…
Anne heard her designer continuing to talk, but her voice became background noise as Anne double clicked on the email to read it in its entirety.
...to get more of your perspective (preferably not via rant in an elevator) and while I'm hesitant, I am cautiously optimistic and open to hearing what you have to say in detail. Your insight could prove valuable, and it seems you really have a bone to pick with “safe” marketing.
Look forward to hearing from you. :)
-Damien
Beneath his sign off, was the typical corporate hullabaloo email signature. Their logo which heavily needed that redesign, “Damien Wilson, CEO,” his email and office phone, cell phone, the HuGES domestic corporate address, and closing the signature with the “2023 Fortune Magazine’s 40 Under 40.”
What caught Anne’s attention the most was the little “:)”. Something so innocuous and consistent with their status as millennials, yet it was simultaneously so out of place from both the environment and the perception of the man she had met in the elevator. She was happy to learn that her lingering doubts of him were unfounded.
“Anne, did you hear me?” said Evie, her designer.
“No, sorry, I was reading an email.”
“I can see that. You were staring at the screen with a weird smile. What’s up?”
“Just learned that there might be a big project down the pipeline for all of us.”
“Any details you can share?”
“Not yet. Don’t want to get anybody’s hopes up.”
“Alright,” Evie said slowly, a look of suspicion crossing her round face. “Now what about the mailer?”
“Get me a draft with some of the changes you mentioned wanting to try, and let’s have that by Monday EOD if at all possible.”
Evie stood, taking the papers with her. “Sounds good. So, is this potential project good?”
Anne smiled. “It certainly could be.” With renewed enthusiasm, Anne hit the reply button.
From: Anne Neuman <aneuman@hges.com>
To: Damien Wilson <damienwilson@hges.com>
Subject: RE: Continuing Our Discussion
I have a pretty good grasp of the things I think you’d like to see in the proposal…it's not my first rodeo, but if there’s anything you’d like me to specifically focus on, do let me know. But it will take a while for me to gather the info, get the team up to speed, and have quality content for you to let marinate.
Glad to hear from you. And here I thought you had forgotten about me.
-Anne
Within a minute, Damien’s reply was in her inbox.
From: Damien Wilson <damienwilson@hges.com>
To: Anne Neuman <aneuman@hges.com>
Subject: RE: Continuing Our Discussion
Never. What kind of man do you take me for?
–See quoted message-
Immediately, another message popped in.
From: Damien Wilson <damienwilson@hges.com>
To: Anne Neuman <aneuman@hges.com>
Subject: RE: Continuing Our Discussion
Get in touch Monday, or I’ll touch base with you, and we’ll talk about what I want to see. Don’t work on it today. Enjoy your weekend.
Damien
–See quoted message-
The Monday after Damien’s Friday afternoon email rolled around, and it rolled in much slower than Anne would have liked. For three nights now, she had laid awake in her bed, staring at the ceiling trying to wrap her brain around how big and public of an undertaking she had basically committed to doing, a little ball of nervous ants wriggling around in her stomach. There was no backing out now, even if she wanted to. The CEO, one of the most powerful people in the company, if not the most powerful single person in the company, had her firmly locked in his sights because she had let her thoughts run wild to a stranger in the elevator. If Damien gave the green light, she had no choice but to start the biggest project she had managed so far, if not the biggest one she would ever oversee in her professional career.
Even for a mid-spring morning, it was unseasonably hot and humid, and the air was sticky and heavy; the transition of the underground parking garage to the access elevators did little in the way of keeping the oppressive air at bay. Pressing her ID dongle to the sensor that allowed her access to the HuGES floors, Anne felt instant respite as the doors to the elevator closed. The elevator ascended, carrying Anne straight up above the atrium and its massive glass sculptures suspended from the high ceilings. The elevator climbed, momentarily blinding Anne with the morning light streaming from a sun already high over the rolling landscape of Rensselaer County to the east, but as soon as the automatic tinting activated on the windows she removed her sunglasses.
I should have kept my mouth shut, she thought to herself grimly, taking a swig from her cup of coffee, the plastic cup sweating only slightly more than she had been on the walk in. The coffee tasted the same as she felt this morning: slightly bitter. The quicker they rise, the harder they fall.
The elevator bounced a little as it came to a halt on the 50th floor, opening the doors to a world a lot busier than she had left it 72 hours ago. Barely after 9am, and the phones were already ringing, and the sound of colleagues catching up with each other after a weekend away from each other was loud. But at least it was cool and dry.
The DMD, or Domestic Marketing Department, was sectioned off from the rest of the floor, having their own set of labeled doors, break room, bathrooms, and office spaces. The marketing break room and conference room were the only ones with a large bay of shared windows overlooking the city; the rest of the marketing department was in an open floor plan. Large desks facing each other were staggered, each one strewn with papers, little personal effects, potted plants, laptops, and double monitor setups.
As soon as the double doors marketing opened, the familiar sounds and smells of morning in marketing hit her. Coffee and—
“Ugh! Who burned the toast again?” Anne said with a laugh, waving her hand dramatically over her face as she strolled past the rest of the team on her way to her modest office. Madison, the social media content manager, pointed over at Izzie, the traditional media buyer who was halfway to eating the charred toast in question. Izzie gave Madison a dirty look.
“You just told me you brought last night’s—what’d you say it was?—chipotle lemon salmon for lunch. You have no leg to stand on!” Izzie pointed out, igniting fits of laughter from nearly everyone in the room.
Anne dropped her bag into the chair opposite her desk and leaned out of the office. “Ten minutes. Conference room. Scrum meeting.”
“Aye aye, captain,” responded someone, though she wasn’t quite sure who.
Anne woke her computer from its sleep, typing in her password and quickly glancing through the emails that had accumulated over the weekend. Mostly it was cold emails from outside parties asking which software they used and if they’d be willing to have “just a 20 minute phone call to discuss the opportunities for growth using our software!” There was even one asking if they needed a private jet charter service. Anne did not even bother to read more than the first line or two before sending it directly to the trash. There were a few emails about professional development workshops and training that management could (and should) take. There was one reminder email about a company softball team game for the following Friday, one asking for sign ups for a 5K race in the fall that had gotten pushed out from her own department, and a few other miscellaneous pieces of junk. But there was nothing from Damien, and for some reason that made her heart sink a little. She supposed it was because, for whatever reason, she expected him to also be lying awake at night thinking about the rebrand suggestion. She imagined him tapping out an email to her in the middle of the night, dictating an idea he had had while his thoughts were running. She also imagined that he probably didn’t ever stop working, and so to find her inbox devoid of a Damien email at barely 9am on a Monday morning was something of a disappointment.
Anne took a seat at the head of a long conference table, surrounded by her dedicated marketing team. The window shades were pulled down halfway, so as not to blind the marketing team who very much needed their eyes so they could deliver the visuals for HuGES. The white board affixed to the wall opposite the windows had the scars of previous brainstorming sessions and collaborations, stains of old dry erase markers that were unable to be scrubbed away. It was a place of creativity and brainstorming, and Anne thrived in this environment.
Evie took a seat on her left, and her other graphic designer Carrie took the one on her right. Her thirteen other subordinate colleagues filled in the empty seats.
Anne took another sip from her iced coffee, the condensate already pooling at the base of the cup. “Here’s the deal,” she began, “I was thinking it over the other night, and Amanda and Mike’s customer surveys have us dragging behind in our customer-service department especially when we’re looking at Tesla and Exxon. We really need to show locals that we’re a customer-service driven company. I want to start with a local campaign to test the waters, and if we find it’s working we can order more.”
“More what?”
“Oh. Sorry. Billboards—contract pending. I want to take out a digital one on I-90, the right outside on 787, and I want one on I-87 down by Kingston. Haven’t looked at specific spots yet, since I’d need to see what spaces are free. But yeah, those are my thoughts.”
“Okay, so customer service is our focus here,” Evie said thoughtfully, “do we want to approach from a bone dry, octogenarian-targeted way because we know that’s what they’ll approve?”
“Ooooooor, are we going to waste time that could be spent on other projects that might actually stand a semblance of a chance of creative autonomy,” finished Carrie.
Anne smirked a little at a kind of deja vu that passed through her, hearing them have the same discussion that she had had with Damien in the elevator.
“Why are you smiling?” said Evie. “Is this the big project you mentioned?”
“Big project?” asked Ollie.
“No, no,” Anne said dismissively. “Like you said, we don’t want to waste time on things I don’t know will materialize. So let’s talk billboards.”
Anne was genuinely looking forward to the potential this rebrand proposal could have on the company. But Anne felt for the designers because she too didn’t want to get disappointed by having yet another creative idea being shot down. It was defeating. She had only been here about a month, and already had regrets about taking the job in that way. But maybe her being so green would now work to her advantage, since she had the CEO’s ear. On one hand, he was a Millennial, and in her experience that made him more amenable to growing and changing.
Then again, the man was a CEO and lived in an entirely different world than everyone else not only at his company, but the rest of the world. His one and only objective was the bottom line, and doing anything to disrupt that bottom line’s trajectory was a risk that wouldn’t be favored kindly.
He had asked her what her thoughts were, however. So he was clearly proactive and curious about what went on in the company outside of the executive offices. On the other hand, she’d had one real conversation with the man. One. She knew nothing about what kind of man he was, and so his title of CEO realistically was shaped only by the one interaction and the larger sample size of the kind of people other CEOs were.
The team dove right into the challenge and before long the white board was covered in scribbles of ideas, tag lines, ambitious and likely-to-be-shot-down design approaches. Anne stepped back to absorb the wall of text in front of her, the din of her colleagues’ chatter at her back.
“I have my opinion,” said Anne finally, turning back around to face the team, “of the first direction I want to take based on what we’ve got up here. I’m open to being challenged, however. Nothing is set in stone. Here’s my thoughts: I would like to explore two approaches to start. Like I said, if Cameron finds that these modes are working, then we’ll work on implementing some more angles and then start expanding into a wider area—New York City, as usual.”
Cameron, the data analyst, jotted something in his notepad.
“I’d like to start with customer testimonials. Get those out in billboard form, then we’ll do some social media graphics, and an e-blast maybe. Haven’t quite decided on that just yet. Amanda or Michael and Cameron, you three can pull all of the feedback and customer testimonials from the past 90 days. Just pull the info. I want something fresh.”
“Pretty significant?” asked Amanda, one of the market researchers.
“Yes, if you can find about two hundred or three hundred. You don’t have to look through them at all—that won’t be under your purview. Just narrow it down to things that are 3-star ratings and above and put them in a Word doc for handoff.”
Anne gestured to Evie. “So Evie and company, please immediately start mocking up designs for both social and billboard content.”
Evie sat back in her chair. “I can’t mock up this stuff until I get it narrowed down to a bunch of reviews to even create layouts, at least for billboards especially, which are very limited in space. The reviews would have to be really short and sweet. We’re more flexible when it comes to social media, but even then, people aren’t going to read a bunch of long testimonials. But at least for social media, it’s a lot easier to create a template in different colors and whatnot and just drop the testimonials in there once we figure out what they are. Billboards are case-by-case.”
“You’re right,” Anne conceded.
“Also, what’s the priority here? I’ve got that direct mailer to finish up and some of the landing page graphics for the solar panel leasing page.”
Anne tapped her pen against her lips. “Okay, let Ollie and Carrie finish up the mailer and get into the landing page, and then when those things get done and approved, they can move onto the social media templates. Instead, Evie, I want you to shift your focus to and get together with Dan and Sarah once they get the list of testimonials, and take a sieve to them. Find the creme de la creme. Let’s get it down to fifty. Then start mocking up billboards with a few of them that you think would work just so we have something to look at and workshop later.”
“Once we’ve got that shit nailed down,” said Dan, the content creator, “I can start making some blogs about real life case studies, if either Amanda or Michael can get some of those for me after the fact too.”
“Perfect!” Anne exclaimed. “Izzie, if you wouldn’t mind reaching out to our reps and get not only the billboard specs, but start negotiating some rates for the space. If none of the static boards I mentioned are available for lease, see what else you can scrounge up in the area that might work as a substitute. I want high visibility spaces. I’m willing to go into western Mass if need be and out to Syracuse, but I’d like to avoid it. I can’t imagine it will be a problem to get an ad in rotation for the digital board out front, but just in case, look into that.”
“What was the second idea?” Dan asked. “You only mentioned one.”
“We’ll start with tackling the one and then move onto the second one. This first one is way more involved so I don’t want to start thinking about the debatably less complex one until we have the basics of the customer testimonials gelled. The second approach is the 24/7 customer support angle.”
“Cool.”
“Okay guys. Let’s hop to it.”
The team left the meeting room somewhat energized and ready to tackle the well of ideas she knew was floating around in their heads. She wanted them to feel inspired and empowered, and ultimately land on an ad campaign they could be proud of; she wanted them to have a campaign they could place in their portfolios of success. While she was still new to the team, she knew that they were creative and had the capabilities of making something impactful.
After the meeting, Anne returned to the quiet of her office, shutting the door to keep the conversation out. She pulled out her own calendar of things to tackle throughout the week. Mid week she had a lunch meeting, the first of what she was sure would be many, with one of the managers of the domestic planning department, and another meeting with the Evie equivalent of international marketing. Mostly her week consisted of just going through the KPIs of the past month, from where the other marketing manager left off, and then moving onto the current month’s predictions while managing her team’s customer service project. Each month needed a new campaign, a new project, and a new set of KPIs to present to the President of Marketing, so he could pass it along up the chain, presumably eventually winding up in Damien’s hands. For every cool project she divvied up, there were a hundred more equally important but menial ones that needed to get done.
She clicked on Damien’s email again, reading it again and again.
From: Damien Wilson <damienwilson@hges.com>
To: Anne Neuman <aneuman@hges.com>
Subject: RE: Continuing Our Discussion
Get in touch Monday, or I’ll touch base with you, and we’ll talk about what I want to see. Don’t work on it today. Enjoy your weekend.
Damien
–See quoted message-
She double clicked on it to reply, but stopped. She watched the cursor blink rhythmically, lying in wait for her to start typing, but suddenly she was in her own head. She couldn’t message him first. He was the one in charge; he held all the cards, and if he wanted to actually pursue even the concept of a rebrand he had to be the one to serve her the ball. On one hand, his email did say that she should get in touch Monday and maybe this was a test—maybe he was testing her resolve and initiative. On the other hand, if she messaged first and he wasn’t actually serious about hearing her out, then she was just the pesky person in marketing with delusions of grandeur. The strange social dynamics of dating flashed into her head at this time, and the analogy amused her a little. “Don’t text him more than once, and if he doesn’t respond then he’s not interested.”
As if it had been manifested by her thoughts, her cell phone screen lit up and buzzed with the arrival of a text message. The number attached to the text was unsaved, which meant two things: it was spam, or it was the guy from Tinder she matched with. “Still on for tonight at 7?” The latter then.
With everything rattling around in her head, Anne had totally forgotten about the date. Though if she was being honest with herself, she was only marginally interested in meeting up with the guy. In chatting with him, he seemed pleasant enough and was easy on the eyes—average attractiveness with kind eyes of his own. She had no reason to cancel and valued keeping her word, and so with nothing else on her itinerary for the day, she sent a quick, “Sure are! See you tonight at 7” before setting the phone down and returning her attention to the email draft, which currently held only one word: “Hi.” She backspaced, watching the cursor blink on an empty page again.
She contemplated her response a little more before taking to the keyboard.
From: Anne Neuman <aneuman@hges.com>
To: Damien Wilson <damienwilson@hges.com>
Subject: RE: Continuing Our Discussion
Hi Damien!
Happy Monday! You told me to reach out, so here I am. We should schedule that phone call or meeting about the rebrand this week, if at all possible! I’m sure you have a thousand other things to do, so I TOTALLY understand if you’re not able to! That said, the sooner the better because the team and I are about to dive into something immersive and I’d like to hash out what you are expecting of the proposal before we dive head first into that other undertaking and become swamped. Thanks!
Lmk
-Anne (from DMD)
Although she wasn’t sure why she did such a thing, she took a deep breath before she hit send, instantly wishing she could undo the action. A little too late did she notice her wordiness, text abbreviation, and at least one too many exclamation points.
Oh great, she thought, I’m just oozing refined professionalism. Really setting myself up for success with that one.
At least with that one unnecessarily nerve-eating task out of the way, she placed the company of earbuds into her ears to play music, and set to the stack of papers and proposals and analytics on her desk. With the exception of a few times one of her team members popped into her office seeking an answer on something or an opinion on something, her day remained mostly uninterrupted. Hours of marking up papers, copying, pasting, and retyping occupied her day. Multi-colored Post-its were plastered all over the place like a colorful paper mosaic. So when her desk phone rang at a little after 2:45, startling her, she popped an earbud out and answered it without taking her eyes off of the paper she was making notations on.
“Hudson Gateway Energy, this is Anne from the Domestic Marketing Department speaking.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting your lunch, ‘Anne from Domestic Marketing Department.” A distantly familiar baritone, so distant it was almost forgotten at this point. The tone was so casual and insouciant.
“It’s long past lunch, and I was just thinking about you. Hi there, Damien.”
Had she been just thinking about him?
“In the flesh. Er, through the wire.”
“Anyway, I feel like I’ve been programmed to say, ‘it’s a working lunch’ to the CEO.”
“Just because I work through my lunch doesn’t mean I think my dear employees should. What would that do for company culture? What kind of ship do you think I run here?”
“A solar-powered one, probably.”
“Ah, so she’s a smartass too.”
“Too’ as in addition to my other wonderful qualities, or ‘too’ in the sense that you, also, are a smartass?”
“I’m just a smart ass. Two words.”
“My mistake.”
“Easy one to make. It’s fine. It happens all the time.”
She laughed. “I’m assuming that you’re not calling just to tell me I’m a smartass.”
“Actually I’m calling because I’m selling a solar-powered catamaran. Know anybody I can unload it on?”
"The solar-powered catamaran market is booming these days," she replied with mock seriousness. "But unfortunately, I don't know any potential buyers at the moment. I'll keep my ears open, though."
"Damn, there goes my retirement plan."
“So the proposal?” She could hear the smile in her own voice.
“Yes, I’ve been thinking a lot about it. I think there is a lot of potential there that could prove to be useful. I was doing some brief research and it seems that one should typically try to refresh and rebrand every ten years or so.”
“That’s correct,” she said, “though I’m not sure how open you are to the somewhat extreme approach I want to take.”
“I’m open to everything, and that’s why I’m calling you. I want to specifically lay out what I am expecting and then if there is anything else you feel is worthy of including, then that is up to your discretion.”
She pulled a fresh notepad from her desk, writing “Rebrand” in big letters at the top, encircling it with a large starburst. “Ready when you are.”
“I want to see at least three completely different brand system overhauls. For one, go as extreme as you want. Have at it. Balls-to-the-wall batshit if you want. I also want one approach that takes what we already have and see what you can do without changing it too much. A safe rebrand if you will.”
She knew he was mocking her with that little remark, even if his delivery was drier than the Mohave.
“And one in the middle,” she theorized.
“Bingo. Hoping for that Goldilocks approach, and all that.”
“Right.”
“That said, if you don’t want your name associated with any of it, then it doesn’t belong in front of me. In other words, I don’t want to see anything you and your team aren’t one hundred percent behind. I can’t reinforce this enough. If you don’t like it, then I don’t want to see it. I have far too much shit to do for you to waste my time and resources, or yours for that matter, on something you’re not proud of. And one would hope that collectively you and your team are able to agree on a couple somethings because you’re all presumably competent people with the knowledge and skill needed to see this through.”
Wow, was he actually deferring to her expertise?
“Second,” he began, “I know you said it’s not your first rodeo, but I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you’ve never tackled something this large before, which is fine. I feel like seldom people have. But that’s why I want to cover as many bases as possible, so there are fewer surprises or speed bumps along the way if this is something we choose to pursue.”
“What sort of speed bumps are you anticipating?”
“Hopefully none, because my car has low clearance. I know that’s an unrealistic expectation with the speed at which anything corporate-level moves.”
“What sort of thing is the speed bump in this analogy?”
She thought she heard him shrug. “Here’s what I’m expecting: Logos, obviously, and lovely little taglines to accompany them. I want business systems, email signature templates, I want style guides and most of the stuff that goes in them within reason—fonts, imagery, colors and theory, what have you. You know better than I do what’s in that stuff. I only looked at a couple of examples to take notes. Have you looked at the Pepsi one from 2008?”
“I have. When I get sad, I just think about the gravitational pull of the Pepsi logo and the creation of their extended universe.”
“Absolutely inspired,” Damien fawned in his deadpan delivery, then continued. “I want mock-ups for uniforms, I want to see how things look when put onto the utility trucks. I want to see how a new website would look, but it doesn't need to be functional. I want packaging for our biggest consumer and commercial products, like the photovoltaic systems. I want signage for the front gates of the nuclear plants. I want to see the logo on the nacelles of our wind turbines. I want to see sample layouts for the employee handbook, which needs to be updated anyway so that’ll be on your docket at some point.”
“Stick to one project at a time, Mr. Wilson,” she said, surprising even herself at the way she had essentially just told the CEO to calm down. The way in which he put her at ease about such insubordination was somewhat alarming.
“Oh the disrespect,” he chided, but she could hear his cheeky grin through the phone.
“Sorry.”
“If our logo has a place on it, I want to see a sample of it. I want sample advertising and I don’t care if it’s old stuff you've just re-worked to look like these new options. I also want to see some samples of how it would work in our foreign markets; I want to see French, German, Spanish, and Danish.”
“Danish?”
“I’m fantasizing about making Ørstead sweat a little, indulge me.”
Anne drew a little circle around the “Danish market conquest(?)” she had written on her notepad.
“Someone in International Marketing can get you contacts to help you with translating when it comes down to it. Ask me when the time comes and I’ll arrange it.”
“Alright, anything else?”
“Finally, I want a detailed proposed roll-out and launch timeline, and I want an itemized, detailed estimated cost of the rebrand. I want all of this wrapped up nice and tight with a little bow, ending with a nice spiral-bound pitch deck so that you and your team can sell me and the board on this.”
“And what is our timeline for creating all of this?” Anne looked at the intimidating three sheets of notes she had already taken, feeling a familiar sense of overwhelming anxiety that she used to get looking over all of the syllabi on the first day of university classes.
“While it’s not exactly a top priority,” he said quickly, “if at all possible, I would like to see them by the beginning of Q4; that gives you just about four months. I want you to keep a log of man hours spent on this, and while I don’t need to know every detail, I’d like you to keep me updated as you go. Let’s go with a weekly report on progress. Me and me alone. Top floor, in-person meetings.”
“What about my boss?”
“That’s why I want you to come directly to me for as long as possible. If and when Charlie finds out, he is not going to be happy. He’s going to push back on you and me. Of course I have executive power over such things, but I also recognize the politics here and how it throws a bit of a wrench into the order of bureaucratic operations to circumvent him all together. So while I can protect you from any major form of retribution if he decides to start throwing a fit, I can’t control the actual optics of this undertaking. You need to prepare yourself for that.”
“What do you mean?” Anne asked.
“You’re going over his head directly to the top,” Damien said, matter-of-fact, “and you’re new to the company. Those are two things working against you. If I were in his shoes and I was the monkey in the middle, I also wouldn’t be too happy.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking of such politics from a very deep wealth of experience.”
“If it were a dance, I’d be good enough to be on Dancing with the Stars. It’s like 90% of my job duties.”
“So whatever the opposite of two left feet is in the corporate world, you’ve got it.”
“Mhm. Over the years, I've faced my fair share of challenges in learning to navigate this landscape. But I also didn’t get to the top by being nice either. It’s power struggles, it’s ego clashing, and it’s a delicate balance of ambition and collaboration.”
“What I’m hearing is that it’s a lot of compromise.”
“In a super dumbed-down way, yeah. It’s really more about understanding different perspectives and finding different ways to align yourself with them. Ultimately you all want the same thing, and that thing is success. Finding that precise point of the end goal is key, and finding the path to get to that point is even more crucial.”
Anne nodded thoughtfully, appreciating Damien's advice. "That makes a lot of sense," she said. "And that’s the end goal for me, er, us. We, and by that I mean the marketing team and I, and you too hopefully, want this rebranding effort to succeed, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make it happen and happen smoothly."
Damien and Anne carried on their conversation in a surprisingly casual and productive manner, slaloming between small bits of corporate chatter and personal anecdotes, but as their call came to an end nearly two hours after picking up the phone, she felt that she had established a genuine rapport with him. She didn’t feel the intimidation she probably should have for a man of his status within the company. She even already felt comfortable taking jabs at him, and appreciated his willingness to engage in candid conversations in such a way. Thinking back to what he said about facing resistance from the person a step above her, it was that concept which made her feel a tad nervous, not facing ramifications for making fun of the CEO to his face.
The call with Damien left Anne with mixed emotions. On one hand, she felt a surge of excitement and determination to tackle the new challenge he had presented regarding marketing tactics. On the other hand, his directness and the weight of his expectations reminded her of the significant responsibility she now carried. She supposed that her strong desire to do a project like this came from her career of feeling stagnant as a professional.
It was just the kind of challenge she didn’t know she had needed until she had opened her mouth in an elevator.