29. Gia Terranova

29

Gia Terranova

NICOLE LAMB

Monday morning, Nicole stood outside Gia Terranova’s office, waiting for Gia as she rolled in carrying two four-cup-holders stacked with venti-size lattes and a long, pink doughnut box perched on top.

“I need to talk to you right now,” Nicole said.

“No, you need to get my office door for me right now,” Gia said, the over-tall stack of breakfast swaying like she was spinning plates on sticks. “Damn, I hate performance review season when your direct reports get to review you, too. Gone are the days when managers terrorized everyone else with performance reviews. The whole world is turned on its head.”

Nicole took Gia’s badge off the top of the doughnut box and swiped her door.

The lock buzzed and turned green, and Nicole flattened herself out of the way.

Gia completed her circus act and set the coffees and doughnuts on her desk. “What is so all-fire important that it elicits this much emotion on a Monday morning?”

Nicole stared Gia straight into her mahogany brown eyes. “Kingston Moore is an industrial spy. I don’t know if he’s directly working for one of our competitors like Titleist or planning to sell our prototypes and future designs to the highest bidder.”

Gia leaned back with her hands against the desk and tilted her head sideways. “You must be joking.”

Nicole had thought she’d sounded crazy, too. “Look, there was this Ryde driver who was telling me about how Otto is stealing their customers by hacking their website, and it got me to thinking.”

“Look, honey, I’m sure your designs are phenomenal, but other companies aren’t trying to steal them.”

“I don’t know why he’s trying to do it, but something very fishy is happening with that guy.”

“I’ll agree, but he’s not working for someone else.”

“What do you mean?” Nicole asked her.

“Before Kingston Moore came on the scene, I was the absolute queen of sales because I am phenomenal at it,” Gia said with a deadpan expression. “Our only limitation for how much money this company can make is its manufacturing. If you got me ten times as much product, I could move that volume.”

Oops, Nicole had started a rant. Everyone knew not to start one of Gia’s rants.

“I hire the salespeople. I fire the salespeople. I give the bonuses. I dock pay. I decide the trade show schedule. I decide which country clubs we send reps to for personalized events.”

Yep, a rant. Nicole listened and nodded.

“I am a fucking monster in this industry. I am a legend. The day I say I want a change of scenery will be the day twenty other luxury brand golf club manufacturers will be down that front door and beg on their knees to hire me.”

Nicole sidled into one of the chairs in front of Gia’s desk because she didn’t want to be on her feet for however long this would last.

“And yet, one day I get an email— a fucking email —from Joe Flanagan that tells me this Kingston Moore guy will be showing up for work tomorrow and he’s on my team, and then the company gets sold to some rich VC assholes who also tell me that Kingston Moore will be reporting to me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. What the hell is going on with this company? What is the world coming to?”

Nicole nodded and waited, but it seemed like Gia had run out of steam.

That was quick. Gia must have had a big weekend.

Nicole asked, “But he is just a sales guy, right?”

“Yeah, his title is rookie sales representative, he’s paid like a rookie sales representative, and he’s going to trade shows to work the booth like a rookie sales representative, starting next month. It’s like he’s got someone protecting him. You know how important connections are in this business.”

“Okay, but there’s still something weird going on with that guy.”

Gia squinted at Nicole.” Did you sleep with him?”

“What! Why? Why would you ask me that?”

“Because in that sales meeting on Wednesday, you guys were eye-fucking each other like dogs in heat. Good for you. You keep nailing that beast. It’s good for the circulation.”

No, Nicole wouldn’t.