Forbidden Surrender(2)

“Have you eaten breakfast yet, Kristen?” His response didn’t include prying his eyes away from his device. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence and I didn’t take offense to it as I usually would have. If Richard could be boiled down to one word, it would be “business.” It was both his strength and flaw. In the six months I’d worked under him, the only way I was able to get his undivided attention was by saying something relevant to his career advancement. In this, he was like most of the people who worked at the firm.

“I had an orange juice and a granola bar. I could go for some coffee though.”

“Let’s get going then. We can stop for a cup.” He gathered his briefcase and I followed him as he left the hotel.

As we stepped out from beneath the overhang of the valet area, the view of the ocean in the distance and a cool breeze helped calm my nerves. It was the middle of June and the weather was amazing. We continued a leisurely stroll through the heart of downtown Cape Town. We had only flown in the previous day and had been busy with prep work so I hadn’t had time to soak in my surroundings. Tall corporate buildings piercing the sky, honking cars, an eclectic mix of people commuting to work, a McDonald’s on seemingly every corner—in a lot of ways, it reminded me of Manhattan. Still, the mix of bright colors, unfamiliar languages, and relaxed demeanors gave this place its own charm.

Along the way, we paused for a cup of coffee and Richard took the opportunity to review our strategy.

“When we get inside the building, I want you to be all smiles, Kristen. I want to see your teeth at all times. I will be doing most of the talking, but you play an important role as well. Clients may have more money than some countries, but first and foremost, they’re people. People are emotional. Men, in particular, are weak to feminine allure. You soften them up, and I mold them.”

Sounds like my role could be replaced by a cardboard cut out with boobs. Great. Richard’s back-handed compliment irritated me but I wasn’t in a position to rock the boat. Although there were plenty of women in the finance world, the upper echelons were men’s clubs with their own rules. I’d hope to see that change one day, but unfortunately office politics were never my strong suit. The hours I put into gathering research documents on Vincent Sorenson and making persuasive graphs were enough for me. I really wanted to do well at my job, so I’d have to trust in Richard’s experience.

“Right. An emotion-driven approach.” I used his own words to show I understood him.

He smiled. “I call it the Buddy System. In my experience, Vincent’s a Type B. Hobbyist, passionate for recreational activities, doesn’t really know how to run a company but got extremely lucky. A hands-off CEO who’s unburdened by details but good at delegating responsibility to his VPs. The guy loves to jerk off and surf.”

I had my doubts about his assessment, but I kept them to myself. Vincent had started off as an avid surfer and built a cheap waterproof camera that allowed him to film his accomplishments. It seemed the only thing novel about his product was the attachment that fixed the device to his surfboard. People began asking him to build them one and through word-of-mouth it took off. Seven years later, his company SandWorks had expanded into various businesses related to extreme sports—bungee jumping, skydiving, mountain climbing, you name it. But based on all the internet pictures of the guy with his shirt off and surfboard in hand, you’d think he was a full-time beach bum.

A bum with tattoos and chiseled abs.

Richard continued as we crossed the street. “These guys are fairly predictable. All the other wealth management firms vying for his money look exactly the same on paper. They’re going to talk to him about alpha ratios, dividends, hedge funds, and it’s all going to go over his head. We want our approach to stand out. Demonstrating your interest in what he’s passionate about is going to win you half the battle. Watch, I bet he’ll be in a t-shirt, shorts, and sandals when we meet him.”

My sensitivity to incorrect initial assumptions kicked in but I wasn’t going to argue with Richard. Our strategy was set. Fortunately, Richard’s confidence helped quell the gnawing feeling in my stomach that we were still unprepared. It was like the test anxiety I would get all throughout college except now failure meant losing millions of dollars instead of a few GPA points.

When we reached our destination, I faintly recognized the towering structure from our research. “Does Vincent own this building?”

“No. The company just rents out a few offices on the twenty-third floor for small operations in the area. He mainly comes here to surf.”