The custom motorcycle shop stood before her, her own personal Mount Doom. One of five stores in Ohio, Axle’s in Osborn was the first store, the highest-grossing store, and the store where the man himself continued to work.
She’d tracked the company’s sales and orders for years, but Axle Zoller’s second-in-command, Harry Truman, insisted on sticking with List for their motorcycle parts and supplies. She often wondered if he did it just to spite her. She’d worked hard to schmooze Harry, but made the mistake of addressing him as “Mr. President.” Turned out the man had no sense of humor. Seemed a silly reason to pay more for lower-quality products, but no matter. Harry Truman had recently been impeached.
With President Harry Truman out of the picture, Sadie knew she had to swoop in before Axle replaced him. She was confident she could charm Axle into signing with Midwest Motorcycle Supplies.
Sadie peered into the side mirror of her car and checked her reflection. Her blonde hair hung in loose waves from where she’d slept on it wet, and her freckles were out in droves thanks to a weekend visit to the pool. Deep magenta lipstick accented her wide mouth, and a thick layer of black mascara coated her lashes. She adjusted her wardrobe, a black pencil skirt paired with a Harley-Davidson polo shirt.
She strode to the shop, her heels almost sinking into the soft black asphalt baking in the ninety-eight-degree day. Her thoughts returned to her goal, sending her adrenal glands into silly spins. No one at MMS had knocked Perry Bradford off his number one pedestal since he started six years ago. Landing Axle’s would shove her over his numbers by thousands of dollars.
Do or die time.
Inside the store, chilly air wafted the smell of fresh leather into her nostrils. Various splashy signage and displays showcased List parts and swag, along with the unmistakable orange and black of Harley-Davidson.
Axle spotted her from his position behind the special order counter, signaling he’d be with her in a minute. She waved back, heading to a particularly impressive shelf stocked with List’s bold black and white boxes. Of course the major brands were all represented: Harley, Suzuki, Kawasaki. Sadie didn’t dream that MMS parts would take the place of the big guys. What she wanted was the chunk of pie belonging to the off brands. MMS and List were both respected brands, but beneath their glossy exterior, Sadie knew List’s parts were substandard.
Axle’s deep baritone echoed across the store a few minutes later. “Come on back, Sadie.”
Determination lengthening her stride, Sadie stood tall and proud in her studded black heels, lifting her to almost five foot six. Axle angled down a long corridor and led her to a cramped office, its shelves sagging under the weight of hardcover books on everything from bike repair to Catcher in the Rye.
He hulked over his desk, long gray braid trailing down his back, tree-trunk legs testing the task chair’s weight limit. He was also a former boxer, which one would guess given the way his massive chest nearly burst the seams of his shirt.
Smoothing his thick, walrus-like moustache, Axle folded meaty hands in front of him on the desk and addressed Sadie with a quick lift of his eyebrows.
Sadie smiled, her confidence soaring. Axle liked her. She’d cultivated a careful professional relationship with him for the past three years, just waiting for the day Truman left. Axle endured her persistence, never once asking her to leave him alone. A good sign.
“Let me stop you there.” Axle’s flat gray eyes gave no hint as to what he was about to say. “You’re going to pitch this to my new second-in-command.” He gave her a gruff smile…or at least she thought he did. His moustache twitched on one side. “I’ll go get him.”
“But—” was all Sadie got out before Axle was out of his office. He moved fast for a big guy. She adjusted her skirt and mentally reviewed her sales pitch. The one she’d be giving to a newcomer. Whom she knew nothing about.
She’d need to be professional, of course. And not as familiar as she would have been with Axle. If the guy was a recent college graduate or CEO type, she’d have a lot of glossing over to do to explain her less-than-professional attire. She grimaced down at the silver studs on her feet. Why hadn’t she worn sensible pumps?
Taking a breath, she considered the more likely scenario: that Axle had hired someone like himself. Someone with a penchant for hogs, an admiration for irreverent T-shirt sayings, and a strong head for business. Axle wasn’t stupid. Far from it. She’d learned his IQ hovered around genius level though she couldn’t dredge up the figure. Sadie’s talent with numbers extended only to the ones with dollar signs before them.