Saida & Autumn 6: Buckle Down

“They weren’t going to take them at that price.” Jonry spread his hands apart, trying to fix Saida with a patronizing let me ’splain to you expression as they walked. It didn’t make him look authoritative, just constipated. “I know how much we’re eatin’ on the installation costs, but trust me, it’ll work out.”

She suppressed a sigh. As much as she liked the theory of these “walking one-on-ones,” it was an unconscionably hot day, approaching 94 degrees, with what the weather claimed was 40% humidity but felt more like 400%. Wanting nothing more than to stop and wring out her tail made this intolerable conversation somehow even less tolerable. “And how much are we ‘eating’ on installation?”

“Just under five million.” He managed to say that not only without sounding sheepish, but with an edge of disdain, as if she should have already known the answer.

Unfortunately for the swaggering gray tabby, she did, in fact, already know the answer. “If that’s correct, we won’t break even for fourteen months.”

Okay, but—”

“But that’s not correct, because you assumed all of the client’s eighteen remote offices have our standard cost structure. Only ten of them do. The four on the other side of Stravell cost us about thirty percent more. The six in other countries range from two to four times as much when you add import duties, infrastructure improvements, security updates, and in two cases, customary bribes. And the contract you gave them doesn’t pass on the costs of the extra security we’ll be required to run at the locations in Lantalvo because our government has designated them ‘high risk’ areas. Our breakeven point is three years.”

Jonry’s ears had steadily lowered as she spoke. “But I wouldn’t have gotten the contract.”

They turned a corner, heading back toward their office past the new war memorial. This city had come through the lightning-bombing of the previous decade with little more than scratches, but these austere, cheerless “memory parks” had become perversely fashionable displays of patriotism. “Jonry, I know you’re a great salesman, but you need to stop treating teleportation beacons like HVACs. You can’t sell the beacons like you’re trying to undercut the competition.”

His tail lashed. “Do you know how much cheaper the competition is? I do my research, little lady, and let me—”

Her voice rose into what she’d overheard the staff describing as the “Saida Screech,” but she couldn’t help it. “We have no fucking competition!”

He stopped mid-stride, eyes widening.

“Every single other company on the market selling teleporter beacons is just rebranding Melovi units, and they’re cheap because they’re cheap. The bigger the payload, the shorter their range. None of their units can send something heavier than a paperweight cross-country and they’ll have to recharge ten minutes after each transfer.”

“I know—”

“Only one of their models is certified to send people. At a max of a hundred miles. This company wants to send staff between international offices. If they don’t use us, they’re using airlines. We don’t compete on price because we don’t have to.”

“So you would have just walked away?” He sounded genuinely affronted by the idea.

“I’d have given them a final offer that was within the discount guidelines I’ve already given you, and if they said no, yes, I’d have walked the hell away. If they needed us, they’d be back.” They’d reached the warehouse-like office building, walking past the understated but expensive marble sign with the Talirend Dynamics logotype carved into it. She’d had to push Mradhi for over a year to replace the sheet metal one, to make some attempt at giving the offices an upscale look. It had improved the sales by about twelve percent within a year. She’d tried to get him to move the sales and executive office to a downtown skyscraper, but he’d balked at the cost, no matter how much data she had showing the sales to status-conscious millionaires would cover it in under a year. Convincing him wasn’t her job now, anyway. She tried not to grit her teeth.

Jonry’s tail was between his legs now, but he sounded more resentful than chastened. “Point taken. Ma’am.”

“What other prospects are you working on?”

He walked through the door ahead of her, letting go just in time to make sure she had to catch it to walk through herself. Terrific. The only thing worse than false, patronizing chivalry was a macho sulk. At least the blast of blessed air conditioning lessened her irritation.

“Got a few. Harrison Media Group is looking at an interoffice system, and there’s a couple movie moguls who want to set up JetNets.”

She nodded. “Those sound promising.” JetNet was their trademark for a personal system, what the excessively rich would set up between their offices and their various homes. They weren’t much cheaper than the commercial systems, but people making that much didn’t care. Technically, she had a JetNet, although if it had been on the books it would have cost twice her salary and then some.

“Thanks. So.” He shuffled back and forth on his paws, keeping his eyes on her but turning the rest of his body back toward his cubicle. “Anything else for me?”

“No. Is there anything you need from me?”

He’d already started to head away. “Nah, we’re good,” he called, without looking back.

“Great.” Saida headed back toward her own cubicle, forcing herself not to look at Raiben’s office as she passed by. She had the biggest, nicest cubicle of anyone in the company, not just the newly combined sales and marketing division. It was barely a step down from an office.

But it was a step down from an office. Specifically, that office. The one she’d been in six weeks ago.

Dropping into her chair, she slumped back, staring dolefully at the computer. As “mad science” as their business had sounded to Autumn, the consumer tech around Mensura was at least a decade ahead of where Stravell was. Her PC wasn’t as powerful as the phone she carried on her weekend visits to the campus. She wasn’t sure Mradhi had ever completely given up on the idea of finding a way to commercialize a smuggling operation between the worlds, despite his reluctant agreement to both her and Arilin’s objections.

She skimmed her email, ignoring most of it until she hit a missive from Raiben, sent just at the exec level. She scanned over it, eyes narrowing.

Tail lashing, she pushed back from the desk and headed toward the CEO’s office, doing her best not to make it an angry march.

Her brother was six years older than she was, but didn’t look it. If he put effort into it, he’d pass for a fashion model—something he always seemed to be unaware of, although his new wife surely wasn’t. Since the marriage he’d been dressing more sharply, button-down shirts rather than polos, slacks rather than jeans, colors that complimented his light tan fur—although Saida was still pretty sure he was buying off the rack. In a way his disinterest in “the good life” was a saving grace, an inoculation against the stereotypical excesses one might expect from a multi-millionaire in his early thirties. He’d spent too much on his car, and too much on his home theater, but even the house he and his wife had recently moved into wasn’t too ostentatious. Too big for just two people, but she expected they’d have at least one child within the next couple of years.

He saw her and held up a finger, swiveling around in his chair as he continued talking with someone on the phone. Saida crossed her arms.

It only took him a few seconds to disengage with a typically curt, “Call back later.” Then he spun around again to face her. “You’re here to complain about Raiben’s plan to move to commissions.”

She sighed, tail lashing, then turned to close the door behind her. “I’m here to complain about him not even running it by me.”

Mradhi frowned. “He said he’d clear it with you. I’ll speak to him.”

“So he cleared it with you.”

“I’m the CEO.”

“And I’m the Director of Sales. This should be my decision!”

“We’ve been talking about bringing on a Sales and Marketing VP for a year. You knew he’d make—”

“We’re not selling air conditioners, Mradhi. Or cars.”

“Earlier this morning you were moaning about Jonry all but giving away beacons to get the service contract. Do you think he’d have done that if he were working on a commission basis?”

Saida’s tail lashed. “He says he wants to put me back in the field.”

“He just said he wants you more hands-on with the biggest contracts.”

“So that’s in the field. Instead of getting a promotion, I’m getting a demotion.”

Mradhi leaned forward. “Saida, we’ve already talked about why I think you’re an excellent manager and why neither of us was convinced you’d make an excellent VP yet. Are you reconsidering that?”

Her ears lowered. “No.” She sighed. “Maybe.”

“I’m not. I still think you’re an excellent manager, but you’re distracted. I don’t expect you to live for your job, but I expect you to focus more on the company than on your weekends playing giantess.” Mradhi turned back to his computer.

Her ears went completely flat, and she hurried out of her brother’s office. She didn’t stop at her desk, instead heading out of the building, back into the broiling sun.

Dammit. She couldn’t tell which hurt more: the possibility that she could have had the VP job if she hadn’t sold herself short, or the possibility that Mradhi was right.

She’d risen high and fast—higher and faster than she likely deserved. She had a knack for planning, a head for numbers, but she’d never been that good a salesman. Was she a good manager? Did she get the pushback she did—never from Mradhi, to his credit, but nearly everyone else—because she was a woman, or because she just wasn’t that good? Her trips to Mensura helped her put all those doubts aside.

Or they had. Since the curse she’d been too spooked to keep exploring off-campus, and after a mortifying encounter a few months ago—another temporary death from being swallowed alive, all the more horrifying from the way the curse made her own body betray her, reacting to the act like it was the best sex ever—her enthusiasm for the campus had cooled.

Until meeting Autumn.

She covered her face. Did it even make sense to call the girl again? It’d been a magical evening—literally—but talk about a long-distance relationship. And, for Arvya’s sake, she’d all but promised to tell the rabbit about her curse. Letting more people know about it was the last thing she should do. She’d gotten the uneasy feeling there were rumors about her among the more predatorily inclined campus giants.

And sales were waiting. She knew just which big contracts Raiben would want her to be “hands-on” with. Maybe she should buckle down, behave like the high-power executive she was rather than the college dropout she felt like.

But maybe she should do that tomorrow. Right now, she needed a good happy hour.