Page 72 of The Hang Up
Miriam showed you how to do this. Keep going.
The thought of Miriam hit him like a shot of adrenaline, so Jason spoke again, buoyed by the encouraging glances he saw from a few members of the executive team.
“Take Susan Fletcher in product development,” he said, letting his gaze travel around the room from executive to executive, starched suit to stiff blouse. “Did you know that in addition to helping us manufacture bicycle parts for the last fourteen years, Susan also volunteers with Pacific Northwest Trail Development to help build mountain bike trails around the region? Or how about Ted Salport? He’s the manager in our customer service department, but in his free time, he works with the ski patrol team at Mount Hood, looking out for the folks who go hurling themselves off mountaintops using our gear. You want to talk about living our brand? That’s it right there.”
In one corner of the room, the marketing director set down his own fork and cleared his throat. “It’s actually a pretty good PR opportunity,” Pete murmured, almost as though he didn’t expect anyone to hear.
But Jason heard, and he was damn glad to have someone else in his corner. “That’s right,” he said, making Pete blink with surprise. “That’s it exactly. Urban Trax should be rewarding employees, not terminating them. They’re out there on the front line being ambassadors for our products. Weneedthem, probably more than they need us.”
Jack Wainswright cleared his throat and pushed aside his salad. “That’s all well and good, Jason, but how are we going to afford it?”
“You could start by cutting my pay.”
A ripple of gasps went around the room like the soundtrack to some weird horror movie. He hadn’t realized he was going to say it until the words were out of his mouth, but now that they were, he saw the solution.
“As a matter of fact, I propose we cut the pay of every member of the executive team.” He turned to the HR director seated beside him, a severe-looking brunette who ran ultramarathons in her free time. “Kelly, how much did Urban Trax give out in performance bonuses for administrators last quarter?”
“I can find out.” She grabbed her laptop from the counter behind them and pushed aside her plate. Tapping a few buttons on her keyboard, she pulled up a spreadsheet. Her brow furrowed, but she looked determined. Maybe even a little hopeful.
As she turned the monitor to face him, Jason leaned down to look at the figures. “Holy shit,” he said. “Are you kidding me? You want to talk about trimming the fat, here’s where you start.”
Rex frowned. “Jason, let’s be realistic here. To run a major international company, you need a strong executive team that’s compensated commensurate with market value.”
“And you also need loyal employees who know someone has their back,” Jason retorted. “We need people who out there living our corporate values instead of cramming their faces with gourmet meals.”
Jack Wainswright shifted a little in his seat, and he looked embarrassed as he glanced down at the table. Hell, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to piss off the host who’d fed him some damn fine meals in the last couple of weeks, but it was true. Something needed to be said.
“Not that this isn’t a nice treat, Jack,” Jason added, finishing off his last bite of salad in illustration. “But a brown-bag lunch or a can of beans never killed anyone.”
“You make a good point, son.”
The execs on the other side of Kelly had started to murmur quietly among themselves, glancing at figures on her laptop screen and jotting numbers on their notepads.
They looked determined. They looked hopeful. They looked gritty. They looked like motherfucking Urban Trax employees ought to look.
Jason let his gaze travel around the room, making eye contact with everyone before he spoke again. “Urban Trax is about passion. Commitment. Dedication. Safety. We owe that to our customers, and we owe that to our employees.”
The words hung there above the table for a moment. No one said anything. No one was eating anymore, but most of them looked thoughtful. Rex Rutherford wasn’t making eye contact, but Jack Wainswright was. So were Donna Savage and Saul Frost and Bob Dunn and Pete Marshall and Jenny North and a whole bunch of other execs Jason had gotten to know over these last few weeks.
They were all starting to smile.
Jason set down his salad fork and reached for his dinner fork, really fucking grateful to know the difference. Not just in silverware, either. He knew the difference between owning a business and being a leader. Miriam had taught him that.
Among other things.
“I’ve said my piece,” he said, looking across the table to meet Jack Wainswright’s eye. “Now it’s up to you. Who’s ready to vote?”
* * *
“Jason, wait up!”
He turned to see Pete Marshall chasing him down the hall. The young marketing director was breathless and a little frazzled, but grinning like he’d just scored the game-winning touchdown.
Jason could relate.
“Nice work in there,” Pete said as he straightened his tie. “I still can’t believe you got them all to give up their bonuses.”
“I can’t, either,” Jason said, pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to admit that. “But it was the right thing to do.”
