I wait for someone to point out that I've been covering a long-term sick leave in an entirely different division of the company for the past year, and that this mess has nothing to do with me. But no one says a word.
I didn't try to onboard Fraser Falls. I didn't even know about the account until two weeks ago, when I returned to my job in PR and my six accounts were handed back to me. It only came up when I remarked on how hideous the Evie doll was; that's the extent of my knowledge on the situation.
The small business program was born out of a corporate social responsibility working group. During my annual review, I was told that if I wanted to climb the ladder, I needed to implement something with a positive impact on the business. My intention was to make our image as a monopoly more palatable by helping select independent companies with significant potential to scale.
Creating a more competitive market and improving our reputation were the obvious wins, but given Davenport started as a small independent business fifty years ago, I pitched the idea that it spoke to our core values and history.
It was signed off on immediately. I helped onboard six different businesses across the US—who have been thriving, might I add—before I unexpectedly moved to cover a more senior position in Distribution. That was another choice designed to give me the experience needed for a promotion.
I don't know how they messed up with Fraser Falls so badly. My dad is still staring at me like I'm somehow going to magically conjure the perfect answer. How about I just turn back time and stop you from ripping off a small town relying on the income from their star product?
I drag a hand through my hair; auburn waves tangle around my fingers.
"We need to make a meaningful apology to the town. Through investment or publicity, or both. We need to take the image of us robbing someone's grandma and replace it with something easier to swallow. A sorry company looks better than one that steals money from the pockets of hardworking Americans."
"Apologizing makes it look like we did something wrong." The voice is like nails on a chalkboard.
It takes everything in me not to flinch.
Mindful of the room full of people, I do my best not to scowl at Daryl Littler. He looks every inch the smug asshole he was twelve months ago, the last time I had the displeasure of seeing him.
"I disagree that it's the right call," he says.
Being on a different floor works miracles when it comes to avoiding people you hate.
I remind myself that in eight short weeks, Daryl will be retiring, and I center myself. At first, I don't know why he's here in a marketing and publicity crisis meeting, but I quickly realize his team worked on the Evie doll.
Daryl is the Director of Innovation, and his department is supposed to focus on introducing innovative technologies to our brand. When your core audience moves on quickly and generally has a short attention span, it's vital to always be one step ahead. So far, all he's done is replace real human creativity with artificial intelligence and cut corners. My dad thinks he's brilliant because he runs the most cost-effective department, but in reality, he's the opposite of everything the company is supposed to be about.
Aside from the fact that he's morally bankrupt in every way a person can be, I've never heard him give his team credit for anything. The ideas that he doesn't steal from small towns are taken from his own staff, and I think it'd be impossible for me to hate him more than I do.
Knowing his retirement was imminent, I've focused all my effort on doing enough to take over when he's gone. Everyone knows I'm gunning for his job. My passion is in the creative side of the business, not bouncing from problem to problem like I do now, but I still haven't managed to convince my dad to let me replace Daryl. I'm fairly certain he's going to give it to my brother, but that feels like a worry for another day.
I shoot Daryl a tight smile. "I appreciate your input, but pretending we've done nothing wrong isn't an effective recovery strategy. Someone needs to reach out to Ms. Girard to talk to her about her grievance directly and what we can do to make it disappear. In the meantime, we need to provide the brick-and-mortar teams an approved statement in case they're confronted in stores."
Roger is nodding as I talk, which gives me a tiny amount of relief. He's my boss's boss, and she's currently on vacation in Cancún, making me the most senior member of my team until she's back Friday.
"I agree," Roger says. "Clara, you reach out to Ms. Girard to establish her mindset now that she's getting the attention she wanted. There will be something we can give her or do for her that fixes this problem. Sahara, you…"
I tune out while Roger dishes out tasks to the people in the room. Potential press release options, social media responses, in-store answers. A whole day's work for a room full of people because Daryl was too lazy to green-light an original idea.
I genuinely cannot wait for him to go.