the room, my dad swept his gaze over the animated group before it landed on me. He stared hard at me with immense pride. I gave him a slight nod. Were it not for him, I wouldn’t have had such a passion for business at a young age, when even the wildest ideas seemed possible.
Ben waved his fistful of envelopes at our group. “Time for the fun part.”
He handed me the stack. I called out the names, and as each person came forward, they shook my hand in appreciation. Then Ben read off the sheet of paper he’d brought, rattling off random information about costs and profit. Not that he needed to.
This wasn’t a shareholders’ meeting. The employees didn’t own a slice of the company. We shared the profits with them as inducement to performance. And as Jillian had so eloquently phrased it, they worked their asses off in return. Because when each customer was happy, they showed it with their wallets, which fattened ours, and enabled us to give liberally to those in need.
After everyone left, including my dad, who slipped out the front door before we handed out the last check, I made my way back to Ben’s office.
In the calm silence, I fired off a group email to my three sisters and Hannah about the bar’s anniversary event, formally enlisting the help of Invitation Only. Since Kiki was the artistic one who’d actually been the drive behind Loading Zone’s industrial-grunge vibe, I asked her to create and send out the invitations. I outlined all the details we’d just discussed at the bar’s employee meeting and suggested to Hannah to use them as inspiration for the cake.
After I sent it, I smiled, wondering what Hannah was doing. Probably icing a batch of cupcakes. I imagined her with colored flecks of frosting on her arms and that ruffled apron over her tiny T-shirt and short shorts. I took a deep breath, clearing my head. If I didn’t concentrate on something other than Hannah, I’d never get anything else done. I’d race over to her shop, kidnap her away from work, and we’d dive back into her bed. And then neither would she.
I scanned through the several dozen emails in my inbox that had come in since Friday and began replying to them from the top down. A handful were late congratulations to me on my recent graduation from the Wharton MBA program. A couple were from Kristen related to early event bookings in the fall. And the alcohol distributor we used for both the bar and for scheduled Invitation Only events had sent us order confirmations.
Then I reached an email that had been sent four hours ago from another key vendor regarding a high school graduation party scheduled for next week.
“What the fuck?”
Confused as hell, I read it through again. It talked about the forfeiting of our substantial deposit. I grabbed my phone. I sure as shit wasn’t about to email a reply on such an urgent matter.
He picked up on the third ring. “John. I just read your email and have no idea what you’re talking about. We didn’t cancel.”
A sigh on the other end. “I thought it was strange. You’ve never canceled before.”
“Well, I know I didn’t call you. And I was the one that placed the order. What made you think we’d canceled?”
“One of your sisters called first thing this morning.”
I shook my head. No way in hell. Unless one of them had an aneurism, we didn’t operate on our own. Group decisions were made. Tasks were delegated and carried out. End of story.
“Which sister?”
“I’m not sure. Kristen I think.”
I put him on speaker while I fired off a text to Kristen.
URGENT! Did you cancel tent and furniture rental for next week?
Focusing on damage control, I pinched the bridge of my nose and prayed things hadn’t gotten royally fucked up. “John, is the order still available?”
Kristen’s text alerted through.
No! That’s what my voicemail was about.
John replied, “Yeah, I haven’t done anything yet.”
I exhaled sharply, remembering Kristen’s
Ben waved his fistful of envelopes at our group. “Time for the fun part.”
He handed me the stack. I called out the names, and as each person came forward, they shook my hand in appreciation. Then Ben read off the sheet of paper he’d brought, rattling off random information about costs and profit. Not that he needed to.
This wasn’t a shareholders’ meeting. The employees didn’t own a slice of the company. We shared the profits with them as inducement to performance. And as Jillian had so eloquently phrased it, they worked their asses off in return. Because when each customer was happy, they showed it with their wallets, which fattened ours, and enabled us to give liberally to those in need.
After everyone left, including my dad, who slipped out the front door before we handed out the last check, I made my way back to Ben’s office.
In the calm silence, I fired off a group email to my three sisters and Hannah about the bar’s anniversary event, formally enlisting the help of Invitation Only. Since Kiki was the artistic one who’d actually been the drive behind Loading Zone’s industrial-grunge vibe, I asked her to create and send out the invitations. I outlined all the details we’d just discussed at the bar’s employee meeting and suggested to Hannah to use them as inspiration for the cake.
After I sent it, I smiled, wondering what Hannah was doing. Probably icing a batch of cupcakes. I imagined her with colored flecks of frosting on her arms and that ruffled apron over her tiny T-shirt and short shorts. I took a deep breath, clearing my head. If I didn’t concentrate on something other than Hannah, I’d never get anything else done. I’d race over to her shop, kidnap her away from work, and we’d dive back into her bed. And then neither would she.
I scanned through the several dozen emails in my inbox that had come in since Friday and began replying to them from the top down. A handful were late congratulations to me on my recent graduation from the Wharton MBA program. A couple were from Kristen related to early event bookings in the fall. And the alcohol distributor we used for both the bar and for scheduled Invitation Only events had sent us order confirmations.
Then I reached an email that had been sent four hours ago from another key vendor regarding a high school graduation party scheduled for next week.
“What the fuck?”
Confused as hell, I read it through again. It talked about the forfeiting of our substantial deposit. I grabbed my phone. I sure as shit wasn’t about to email a reply on such an urgent matter.
He picked up on the third ring. “John. I just read your email and have no idea what you’re talking about. We didn’t cancel.”
A sigh on the other end. “I thought it was strange. You’ve never canceled before.”
“Well, I know I didn’t call you. And I was the one that placed the order. What made you think we’d canceled?”
“One of your sisters called first thing this morning.”
I shook my head. No way in hell. Unless one of them had an aneurism, we didn’t operate on our own. Group decisions were made. Tasks were delegated and carried out. End of story.
“Which sister?”
“I’m not sure. Kristen I think.”
I put him on speaker while I fired off a text to Kristen.
URGENT! Did you cancel tent and furniture rental for next week?
Focusing on damage control, I pinched the bridge of my nose and prayed things hadn’t gotten royally fucked up. “John, is the order still available?”
Kristen’s text alerted through.
No! That’s what my voicemail was about.
John replied, “Yeah, I haven’t done anything yet.”
I exhaled sharply, remembering Kristen’s
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