The Billionaire's Shrubbery, page 5
Georgia laughs. “Do you think he noticed?”
“Oh, he noticed! He clapped his hands in joy because I’d proved his assumption right.”
We sit in silence for many minutes. “We’ll be fine, Georgia. We will. And anyway, after taxes and expenses and everything, a million is really like half that much, and that still means having a mortgage, if we decide to buy something, so it’s not like we’ll be swimming in pools of champagne. But maybe we’ll at least be able to afford a place with a pool. And AC. And an actual full kitchen with a fridge that’s big enough to hold a bottle of bubbly.”
“I’m scared,” Georgia admits.
“Me too. But I’ve got you, and you’ve got me, and together …”
“Hmm,” she mumbles.
“And together?” I repeat.
Georgia shakes her head.
“Georgia Muthafuckin Beach … And together?”
She glares at me but says, “And together …”
In unison, we finish the mantra we’ve been using since we legally changed our last name about a year after Mom died, so if Dad ever did come looking for us, we’d be harder to find. Fuck him, that’s what we said.
“Beach sisters are all that and a muthafuckin bag of sweet-and-spicy chips!” Corny, but the old sentiment does the job.
“Damn right we are.” I stand and wrap myself around my big sister. “We won’t let success or money tear us apart. Deal?”
“Deal.”
7. Will
SLEEP IS SECONDARY TO SUCCESS
Horse and I spend a productive week in Paris.
In some respects, we didn’t do anything we couldn’t have done back home in Vancouver, but in other ways, I don’t believe we would’ve come up with what we did while sitting in the hallowed halls of the family business. There is a weight, invisible yet oppressive, in this building that Dad built. It feels like he and Granddad are still here, casting their imposing shadows over any new or fresh ideas. I always feel stifled in their ghostly presence.
It doesn’t seem to affect Aiden or Brian. Horse admits he feels it a little, but not to the degree I do.
“You only feel it so strongly because you’re spawn of the Devil. The doctor should’ve called in a priest when you were born, what with that pentagram birthmark on your ass cheek.”
Only Horse could, or would, ever say that to me without being on the receiving end of my wrath. Benefit of being an identical twin. There have been more times than I can count when I’ve wished his leg had been the first one the OB-GYN grabbed hold of. Then he’d be William Power the Fourth, and I’d just be another asshole billionaire Power brother who gets to choose my career path based on what I’m good at and what I enjoy.
Sure, I am a rock star with the motivational speechifying. Do I love it? Not anymore, if I ever did. But retire at forty-two? That will never fly, so I need a pivot. A giant fucking pivot. That’s what Horse and I strategized in the penthouse suite of Le Caprice in the heart of the City of Light, the center of ideas during the Age of Enlightenment. And damn, did I need some enlightenment.
It’s good to be home. To have insomnia in my own bed and walk around my own penthouse at three in the morning, instead of up and down hotel hallways. I spend the weekend locked in my suite, trying to avoid family since they’re the only people with access to my space—but they all seem to feel like I need to know I’ve been missed, am appreciated, yada yada.
On Monday morning, I take a quick trip down to the lobby to say hello to the security staff. It’s a small gesture that, according to research my brother Brian believes, improves the odds of having them actually care about my safety. Not that I’ve ever worried about external threats to my life.
“Mr. Power, great to have you back.” Aksita stands and comes around the front of the security desk to shake my hand.
“Glad you’re still here. Any gossip I should know about? Shit my brothers won’t tell me?” I gently punch his arm.
“You mean, like the brouhaha that took place when Mr. Aiden accidentally,” he makes air quotes, “rolled the stairs away from the giant nest while Mr. Brian was showing it to a woman he may or may not be seeing? Nope. I can’t think of anything worth reporting.”
“That doesn’t sound at all like Aiden,” I say with an eye roll.
“Quite right, sir. Good to have you home.”
“Glad to be back. Thanks for all you do.”
Since it’s too confusing having four Mr. Powers in the building, staff call my brothers by their first names. I am the only Mr. Power, which is weird since Horse is the CEO, the head honcho, the guy who deserves to be called mister. But since I am the public figure and my role demands that level of esteem, Horse is Mr. Colt to staff, Horse to me.
And although we’re identical twins, we do everything we can to look nothing alike. From the way we dress—I always wear a black suit, and Horse wears whatever the hell he feels like, as long as it isn’t a black suit—to our hair. I look like a billionaire—hair meticulously maintained, cut every two weeks, and a beard I trim daily to make it look like two days’ growth. Horse? He looks more like a ski bum with his wavy, jet-black, shoulder-length hair and a beard that swallows the lower half of his face and neck.
My first meeting of the day is to personally welcome all the new Power Broker Program members who received a gold business card at one of my recent events. I handed out fifty in total. The cost to the company in staff coaching time is significant—approximately one hundred hours per client at one hundred dollars an hour of salary for my team—half a million dollars.
But Brian figured out that every success costs us ten grand in real money but generates over $80,000 in the three years that follow their participation in the program from leveraging their successes and their word-of-mouth marketing. There is no investment that gives us better returns or that provides as much control over who we have promoting our brand.
With our headquarters in Vancouver, BC, the majority of coaching is done via video conference, and this morning’s welcome will be exactly that: me alone in my office with a giant wall of faces from all over the world looking back at me. Each client will have his or her mentor on as well.
Given time zones, about half our clients will be at this morning’s meeting and the other half at the end of the day, so nobody will have to drag themselves out of bed at two a.m. to participate. Some might have to work late or start early, but that’s the cost of doing business. Sleep is secondary to success.
I’m at my desk when Savi arrives. “Good morning, Will.” She greets me with her always cheerful smile.
“Did you miss me?” I ask, looking up from my laptop.
“Nope. I set my alarm to go off and yell orders at me at random times during the day while I was on my holiday.”
I look at my keyboard and mumble, “Gotta keep that middle finger in shape.” I then look up in time to see her expression of shock return to a smile.
“Everything’s set up and ready to go for the top of the hour.”
“You’re the best.”
My desktop has only one document open, a spreadsheet containing all I need to know for this meeting, to make every participant feel like I am personally invested in their business. The first column lists names written phonetically. The second, their business name. Third, what the business sells or offers. The fourth has the most content—one sentence that describes their key business target for the next quarter. And finally, I have one question to ask each person, something to encourage their meaningful engagement.
My team provides me with all this info—truth is, I know nothing about any of these entrepreneurs. But this quarterly touch-base with the Will Power translates into big money.
To keep things easy, the tech team moves the participant I’m meant to talk to into the video frame directly to my right on the screen. It allows me to keep the appearance of eye contact since they’re directly below my camera. They are pulled up in the same order as my cheat sheet, which covers all the faces in the row below the one person I’m talking with.
Another of Aiden’s brilliant ideas, this system makes me look personally invested in every single mentee’s success and has made our family business stand head and shoulders above every other motivational coaching outfit on the market, bar none.
My preparation is simple: scan the list and make edits as I see fit so the words sound like me. I skip the first three columns—no need to memorize names—and go right to the targets and questions.
Hire staff … optimize online presence … reduce overhead … diversify offerings … blah blah blah. Nothing jumps out as interesting or challenging, so I minimize the window and open my email program to send Horse a note:
Free for lunch, boss?
The group Power Broker call is humming along. Scheduled to last ninety minutes, we are right where we’re supposed to be, with fifteen minutes and four participants remaining. As I read the next name on the list, the words are out of my mouth before my brain registers what I’m saying. I pull my eyes away from the camera to look directly at the face to my right. Red hair pulled back in a tight bun. The name on the bottom of the screen matches the name on my spreadsheet.
Holy shit.
I stumble, repeating her name, trying to regain my footing.
“Virginia Beach.”
“As I live and breathe, Mr. Power.” Her smile fills my screen.
Get your shit together, Power. How did she get here?
This makes no sense. But I can’t figure it out now. I cannot pull my eyes away to look at my cheat sheet. Not that I need to. I know who she is. What she does.
“Plant whisperer,” I say. But ball buster is what I think.
“Yes, sir, one of the many areas my business will be focused on in the coming year as I scale up.”
My thoughts spin. Why is she here? I slide my eyes to my cheat sheet and read the target that has been prepared for me:
“You have an ambitious goal of reducing greenhouse gas emissions from your business by thirty percent.”
Virginia’s expression changes to one of confusion as she looks away from her camera to her right. A voice offscreen says, “Just go with it.” She looks back and smiles. “Yes, quite ambitious, but with Mr. Liu’s guidance, I’m confident I’ll reach it.”
Shit. I realize my mistake when I look back at the spreadsheet. I’ve read the next person’s target, and Virginia handled my error like a pro. And since the question John prepared for her was too easy, too boring, I wing it.
“Ms. Beach, I’m having trouble keeping a plant in my office healthy. It’s called Angel Wings. Any idea what I might be doing wrong?”
“Without actually seeing the plant, sir, I can’t say for sure, but if I was to wager a guess, based on what I know about you from your Power Hour podcast and the seminar I attended? I’d say you’re not leaving enough oxygen in the room for it to breathe.”
She is so earnest in her delivery. My chest tightens and I’m certain I scowl. And then she smiles again. Bites her bottom lip and wrinkles her forehead. “Sorry. I’m just kidding. I really would have to see it to have anything of value to offer.”
My anger melts back and I force a smile. “Then consider this an open invitation to whisper sweet nothings to my unhappy plants, Ms. Beach. Up next we have Robert Ma—”
I click the Leave Meeting button as I’m saying the next entrepreneur’s name and storm from my office to Savi’s desk.
“Contact Robert Mari’s mentor and tell him I’m having internet connectivity issues. Reschedule the last three participants. And put a copy of Virginia Beach’s business overview from John Liu’s files on my desk.”
I don’t wait for her reply. I stride to the elevators and get into the wrong one. Force of habit since I rarely visit staff floors. When the doors reopen, Savannah is looking at me with a goddamn smirk, pointing to the right.
“Liu’s floor?” I demand.
“Twenty-six.”
As the doors close, I hear her yell, “You’re welcome.”
Why the fuck is Virginia Rainforest Beach in our program?
I don’t slow down to acknowledge John’s assistant Amanda on my way to his office, rap twice, then push open the door, only to barrel smack into a smiling, freckled face topped with fiery red hair.
My arm shoots out and I catch her before she tumbles backward, but the momentum pulls Virginia tight against me into a stiff, one-armed hug. I release her almost immediately, but not before my body registers the transfer of an energy that goes straight to my core and whispers, “Relaaaaax.”
I take a calming breath as I stare down at her. She’s holding her ground, staring right back at me with an authentic and confident smile.
“How?” It’s the most complete sentence I can pull together.
8. Virginia
WILLY WONKA FOR ENTREPRENEURS
I knew that participating in the call would be a gamble, but I also figured Will Power would likely have no memory of our brief encounter and how he’d humiliated me onstage. And really, there was no credible way for me to avoid the group meet-and-greet without telling Mr. Liu the full truth, which I didn’t want to do since I’ve learned so much from him in the two meetings we’ve had so far.
I stand my ground, arms akimbo, projecting the energy that I belong here as Mr. Power stares down at me, and I look up at him, not quite defiant but in the same stare family. I’ve practiced the look for hours with Georgia, the one that says, “That’s right! I’m here, and there’s nothing you can do about it!”
“How?” he asks.
I wait for him to complete the question, but silence hangs between us.
Does he mean, “How do you do?” Seems a little formal, given how frantic he was when he burst into the office.
Or maybe “How are you doing? It’s so good to see you again.” Ha! That makes me smile. Not bloody likely.
“How are you enjoying the program? Is John mentoring you well?” I like that one and am about to answer, but Mr. Liu comes around from behind his desk, hand outstretched.
“Welcome home, Mr. Power. Exceptional talent in the program this year. Well chosen.” Mr. Liu drops Mr. Power’s hand and moves his to my shoulder, patting in a fatherly way. “And this young filly? Your talent identifying dark horses never ceases to amaze me.”
Mr. Liu extends his arms, palms up and open, in a silent invitation for him to speak.
Mr. Power’s eyes move between Mr. Liu and me three times. I hold my smile; Mr. Liu drops his hands. Then finally, finally, Mr. Power snaps to life, grabs my elbow, and pulls me beside him.
“Thank you, John. I’d like a private word with the surprising and talented Ms. Beach.”
This is it. My inevitable, undignified escort from the building. In my mind, I’d pictured the security guard at the front desk as the person called on to humiliate me. Never did I imagine I’d have to endure a repeat performance of that day onstage. Will he lock me in the giant nest that hangs in the lobby and have people point and laugh until I have a lawyer in shining armor arrive to rescue me?
“Thank you for everything, Mr. Liu,” I call over my shoulder before the door closes behind me. I stumble to keep up with Mr. Power’s long strides, his hand still firmly around my arm. “Bye, Amanda. Nice meeting you. Thanks for being you,” I call in the direction of her desk.
“Stop yelling,” Mr. Power growls.
“I can see myself out, thank you very much.” I twist my elbow free and wave my building access pass so he can see it.
He grunts. “That pass does not give access to where I’m taking you.”
I stop dead in my tracks. “I didn’t do anything illegal,” I say, no louder than a whisper, not wanting Amanda to overhear. “You can’t arrest me.” I hope. “I mean, you did give me a golden ticket, even if you didn’t intend to. And what kind of entrepreneur would I be if I didn’t seize every opportunity? Those are your words. I simply followed your coaching. Can’t arrest me for that.” Boom!
“Stop. Talking. Get in the elevator. I’m taking you to my office. Your Guest Pass doesn’t give you access to my floor.” He closes his eyes and sighs. When he opens them again, he tries to smile, but it looks pained. “I’m not having you arrested. I just want to talk.”
The ride to his floor, whatever floor it is—the stupid elevator doesn’t have normal buttons, so unless you know the code, you aren’t going anywhere—is quick. And silent. And smells nice. He smells nice. A fresh, floral scent. Unexpected. I tilt my chin up and sniff the air near his neck.
“What are you doing?” he asks, stepping away from me.
“I like your cologne. I’m trying to get a better smell. I assume you put it on with the intention of people smelling it.”
“Are you always so direct? It’s off-putting. Dial it back.”
The elevator doors slide open, and Mr. Power motions for me to leave before him. I step into a brightly lit foyer on what appears to be one of the building’s top floors by the fact that not a single other building blocks my view of the North Shore mountains.
I clear my throat so he’s sure to hear me and deepen my voice. “If what you’re doing makes people uncomfortable, keep doing it. It means they’re paying attention. That’s the first step of success: getting people’s attention.”
Mr. Power spins on his heel. “Are you quoting me to me—as a challenge? Is that supposed to be my voice?”
I smile because the look on his face makes me want to laugh out loud, but that might be a bit rude.
He shakes his head, but his lip tips up enough for me to notice. “The Tragedy of Lord William. I believe that’s the cologne I put on this morning.”
“I like it,” I say, stating the obvious after being caught inhaling as deep as my lungs would allow.
“It’s my favorite too,” a woman’s voice says. I hadn’t noticed her sitting behind a desk to the side of an office door twice the size of Mr. Liu’s.
Compensating for something? I think.
