Wednesday was my appointment with the guy from Oakhill Agency. I hadn’t been to the gym in days, and that was starting to get to me. This time, though, there was no helping it, for Mark Phillips only had the morning of Wednesday free on his agenda, so I was forced to skip practice.
We’d be meeting at a local coffee shop, not too far from my place. I arrived there ten minutes early, parked my bike, padlocked the front wheel, and went inside to wait for the man.
He walked into the place at 9 o’clock, sharp. Punctuality seemed to be a big deal in the business world.
“Miss Belladona?” he asked, coming to my table. Mark Phillips was a young guy, probably not older than thirty, wearing a neat business suit and an expensive wristwatch. There was not a loose strand of hair on his head.
I got up from my chair to shake his hand. “Hi, Mark,” I told him. I hated being too formal around people, even if it’s a business meeting. “How have you been?”
“Doing well,” he told me. We both sat down and Mark called the waiter. He ordered an espresso, decaf. I have no idea what possesses people to drink decaf, since it completely beats the purpose of coffee, but I wasn’t going to judge. “So… let’s get down to business, shall we? You will have to excuse me for being curt, but I have a meeting after this, and I need to make this short.”
I nodded, letting him know I didn’t mind.
“How well do you know our company, miss Belladonna?”
I pondered about that for a moment. It wasn’t too long ago that they last reached me for a marketing piece, so did know one or two things. Oakhill Agency operated in the business of financial consulting for big companies. They did everything from assessing a company’s financial health to helping CEOs protect themselves from corporate espionage. I told Mark that, and my answered seemed to please him.
“That’s very true,” he said. “Now, you see, normally we outsource all our marketing material, which is why we had your contact, as well as from a few other freelancers. But we’ve been running into a problem, lately. We want to start creating campaigns targeted at specific clients. Pieces we can send them, or use in presentations and meetings. The major problem with this approach is that we do not disclose our list of clients to the public, and outsourcing these campaigns poses a security threat. Oh, thank you,” he told the waiter, who brought his coffee. Then he resumed briefing me: “For that reason, we’ve come to realize that we need to hire an in-house designer. Judging from the quality of your work, I was hoping that this person could be you, Ms. Belladonna.”
He stopped talking, and sipped his coffee, slowly. I blinked, twice, before I realized what he was offering me.
“So, you,” I cleared my throat, “you want to hire me? I mean, full-time?”
Mark Phillips nodded, slowly.
“Wow,” I said, and sat back on my chair to think.
“We’ll need you to sign a confidentiality term, and we want you to work exclusively for us, if you accept. You might have to be away for extended periods, too, for we will need to have you close at hand when meeting a few specific clients. Our company is aware of how much this may impact your life, and so we’re willing to offer you a wage that matches the requirements and responsibilities of the job. I believe we could start with six a month.”
“Six?” I asked him, incredulous. “You mean, like, six thousand?”
“Plus benefits.”
I raised my eyebrows at him. Six thousand a month was a lot of money for any job. I’d be making as much as a few physicians out there.
Then realization hit me.
I’d have to give up gymnastics.
I sighed.
“I’m interested,” I told Mark, who was sipping his coffee once more. “But… I can’t really give you an answer right now. I’ll have to think carefully about this, to see if this is really what I want to do. Could you give me some time to decide?”
“We’re in no rush,” he told me, “but I’d appreciate it if you could give me an answer as soon as possible. I’ll be holding off on reaching out to other designers until then, of course. At least try to contact us until the end of the month.”
I closed my eyes, and took a deep breath, before opening them again to look at Mark.
“All right,” I said.
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