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The edge of her mouth quirks up briefly. “It’s usually me being this pushy.”
“Guess it’s my turn.” I stick my hands in my pockets, fingers twitchy wanting to comfort her.
“There’s just this thing with my dad—”
The elevator stops, doors opening on the fiftieth floor, Richard Brigham standing there waiting to be let on. Great.
His gaze flicks between the two of us carefully. “Mister Bishop. Miss Shepherd.” He cautiously steps into the car, turning around to face front. Emma and I exchange a glance behind his back, mutually agreeing to put the conversation on hold till later.
As we enter the conference room on the fortieth floor, a few of the other chiefs send nervous glances my way, and I don’t blame them. We usually hold chief meetings monthly, and here I am holding two within a week of each other. There shouldn’t be a reason to meet again so soon unless something is seriously up.
Emma makes a beeline toward the breakfast buffet she set up earlier, but I can’t follow her. All eyes are on me.
I pause at the head of the boardroom table, still feeling slightly surreal that this is my place now rather than Dad’s. Of the few meetings I attended here in the office when I was in town, this spot was always his, no questions asked. The feared leader of the company. His way or the highway.
But I don’t want to be the same way.
I choose not to sit where I’m supposed to, heading instead to a seat halfway down the table between the Chief of Operations and Production. There, that’s more my speed.
Eyes widen, but I ignore them, waiting as the last couple of people file into the room, everyone avoiding Dad’s old spot. Maybe we should just have the chair removed.
I clear my throat, calling attention to myself. “I want to thank you all for taking time out of your schedules to meet today. I know it’s hard to constantly drop what you’re working on to go sit in a meeting.”
I glance around, noting the familiar faces. Some of these people have been with the company since I was a kid.
“How many of you like meetings?” I ask, posing the question to the room at large.
Furtive glances and even more confused looks abound, not that I’m too surprised. No one raises their hand until Dave asks, “Meetings about what?”
I shrug. “Anything. Take your pick.”
“Well, uh…” He looks around, but nobody steps in to save him. “When it’s about something important and we make decisions during it. That’s always good.”
“Yes, exactly. Productive meetings make sense. But how many of you have been in a required meeting where you were wondering why you’re even there to begin with? You know, like this one.”
Some of the tension in the room relaxes after the Chief of Communications chuckles and I smile at her. Pretty sure Dad didn’t poke fun at himself often.
“Some of you expressed concern about changing things from the way my father did them, but we can’t stay static forever. And I’ve decided that the meeting issue is the hill I’m willing to die on. I’m not able to lead effectively when I’m swamped with meetings daily. So unless you have real news to report or something important to discuss, we’ll no longer meet just for the sake of meeting. We’ll shift the individual weekly check-ins to quarterly and I won’t be sitting in on all departmental meetings. Invite me if I need to be involved, but otherwise I’m giving you autonomy to make decisions yourselves. You’re chiefs for a reason and I trust you all.”
The room is silent after my little speech, and my gaze automatically cuts to Emma, over in the corner by the bagels and muffins. She smiles widely, whatever sadness lurking around her earlier now gone, and gives me a subtle thumbs up. A lightness fills me imagining my free calendar and the time I’ll have to catch up on all the things I still need to learn.
Our Chief Production Officer cautiously raises his hand and asks, “So does this mean we don’t have to have the weekly required meetings with our staff either if it’s unnecessary?”
“Correct.”
Excited murmurs abound around the table and I hear a muttered, “Thank God,” from the Chief of Operations.
Wait, so was everyone else feeling the same way and too afraid to go against the status quo? “I want you all to know you can always come to me if you believe there should be a change in our workflows. I promise I won’t bite your head off.”
“It’s, uh, not quite the dynamic we’re used to,” Dave admits, several others nodding their heads in agreement.
“No,” I agree. “It’s not. But I’m not the same man my dad was.”
And I think I’ve finally come to terms with not worrying about filling his shoes exactly as he wore them. I wear my own shoes.
We go over a few more logistical questions the chiefs have and I adjourn the meeting, not wanting to waste more time. Dave waylays me afterward to ask about getting the AI from Montague Media or creating it ourselves, but my attention keeps shifting to Richard as he heads over to the buffet table and speaks to Emma.
What is he saying to her? He’s not trying to get her to make him coffee again, is he? Or worse, hitting on her? I mean, he was obviously interested in her before. And who wouldn’t be? She’s gorgeous and smart and… is she smiling at him?