Tyler rubbed his eyes with his thumb and two fingers. “Dad, I’ve got to tell you, I’m not happy with the idea of a stranger taking over our company. Xavier and Van won’t be, either.”
“Then don’t let it happen.” Foster brooked no argument. “Step away from your computer. Prove you can run this business and lead its people.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” Frustration tightened the muscles in Tyler’s neck and shoulders even as he strained to keep it from his voice.
“We’re releasing your latest computer game in July.”
“Right.” Tyler nodded. “‘Osiris’s Journey.’ We’re dropping it simultaneously online and through brick-and-mortar stores the weekend after Independence Day.”
“You’re going to hire a marketing consultant and be the point person for our product launch. You’ll have to work with our accountants to manage the budget, our sales team to come up with the list of key accounts, and our IT team for testing and talking points.”
“I’m vice president of a department.” Tyler struggled to mask his horror. “I can’t tie up my time on a product launch.” Not to mention the fact he didn’t want to interact with that many people.
“Learn to delegate.” Foster lifted a business card from his desk. “And I want you to interview The Beharie Agency.”
“I’ve never heard of them.” Tyler took the card from his father.
“It’s an up-and-coming firm. I know the family and I have it on good authority that the agency is creative, professional and customer focused.”
“I’ll give them a call.” Tyler rose to leave.
“I want you to succeed, son.” Foster’s words stopped him. “But if you don’t have loyalty from the people in the company, the company won’t succeed.”
Tyler nodded, then exited his father’s office. He felt the weight of Foster’s words—as well as incredible pressure. He had less than four months to gain the loyalty of Anderson Adventures’ seventy employees—not including himself, and his father, aunt, cousin and college classmate.
What if I fail?
Then the forty-three-year-old company founded by his father and uncle would be turned over to a stranger. He couldn’t let that happen.
Tyler glanced at the business card in his hand: Iris Beharie, President, The Beharie Agency.
Can you help me with the most important product launch of my life?
* * *
Tuesday morning, Iris Beharie pushed through the glass doors leading to the fifth-floor reception area of Anderson Adventures. She scanned the room, half expecting to be pounced on by a television crew, telling her she’d been punked. How would a multimillion-dollar company know about her little firm and why would they invite her to submit a bid for their product launch? If they didn’t have their own in-house marketing and public relations department, then surely they had a much larger marketing consultant company on retainer.
The friendly woman at the modern and modular front reception desk who’d buzzed her in regarded her with a curious smile. “Good morning. May I help you?”
Iris surreptitiously wiped her sweaty palm on the skirt of her cream business suit. She stepped forward. “Good morning. I’m Iris Beharie. I have a nine o’clock appointment with Tyler Anderson.”
With her pretty, wholesome looks; neat, blond bob; and twinkling, cornflower-blue eyes, the receptionist reminded Iris of an older Doris Day. Her nameplate read Sherry Parks.
“Just a moment.” Sherry picked up the telephone receiver and selected a few buttons. “Ty, Iris Beharie is here to see you.” Pause. “All right.” She stood as she replaced the phone, then gestured toward the crimson leather guest chairs beside her desk. “He’ll be with you in a few minutes. Please make yourself comfortable. May I take your coat?”
“Thank you.” Iris handed over her periwinkle wool coat. She kept her briefcase with her.
Sherry walked to a section of the cherrywood wall and slid it open to reveal a closet. The receptionist hung Iris’s coat, then slid the door closed again. “Would you like some coffee?”
“I’d love some, if it isn’t any trouble.”
Sherry waved a dismissive hand. “It’s no trouble at all. Cream and sugar?”
“Just cream. Thank you.”
Sherry’s brisk pace carried her past other administrative desks and into a back room.
Iris turned toward the crimson guest chairs. The two-inch heels of her cream pumps were silent on the thick silver-and-black carpet. Despite its cool glass-and-metal decor, the reception area gave the impression of warmth and welcome. It also was well-maintained. Her eyes skimmed the covers of the industry magazines neatly spread across the tempered glass Caravan desk in the far corner.