Page 11 of Two Kinds of Stranger (Eddie Flynn #9)
Logan
Drip . . .
Drip . . .
Drip . . .
The watercooler in the reception area needed a new seal. The steady drip from the faucet into the tray made Logan clench his teeth, and the scars on his back began to feel hot and itchy.
He closed his eyes, breathed in and exhaled. Tried to black out the monotonous
Drip . . .
Drip . . .
Drip . . .
‘They’re ready for you now,’ said the blond assistant with the ten-thousand-dollar smile.
At first, Logan didn’t move.
He sat on the post-modern couch, back as straight as the mast on a ship, chin up, right leg crossed over the left, palms on his thighs, heart rate at fifty-one beats per minute.
When a suitable delay had passed, Logan gradually angled his gaze to the blond assistant. Then nodded and smiled. He uncrossed his legs, stood, but he took his sweet time about it.
His gestures and movements were slow and precise. Unhurried.
Powerful.
Logan had sat on a thousand extravagantly priced and uncomfortable couches in a thousand designer reception rooms, and had a thousand blond assistants tell him that they were ready for him. He’d been in those receptions when other guys got called ahead of him.
They’re ready for you now.
He’d watched those guys bolt off the couches as if they’d just heard a starting pistol. Invariably, they were nervous, eager to please the people they met. Their sweat stank of desperation. And people with true power could smell it on them.
No matter where Logan found himself, no matter what situation, he always understood the power dynamic and that meant he could take control. Through his body language, through his speech, or lack of it, through his eye contact, his demeanor, his gestures, his dress – Logan was in charge.
Today he wore a tight cashmere rollneck sweater with a navy suit over the top.
Black shoes, polished. The suit was bespoke – cut in Hong Kong.
The black designer glasses held clear lenses.
He had 20:20 vision, but he also knew that in these kinds of meetings those glasses gave him an extra twenty IQ points.
No briefcase. No pen.
His phone buzzed in his jacket three times on the way to the conference room.
It took nerve not to take the device in his hand and at least check it.
He knew it would distract him from the job in hand.
The phone notification was for later.
When he could have time to enjoy it.
The blond assistant let him into a wide conference room – with panoramic views of Manhattan and the park. An oval-shaped conference table was lined with five guys in business suits on one side, and a single chair on the other side for Logan.
The assistant closed the door behind her as she left. Logan stood behind the chair. His hands lightly clasped in front of him.
‘Logan, you know everyone here, I think,’ said Josh, Vice President of Marketing. ‘But I don’t believe you’ve met our CEO.’
The man who took up the seat at the center of the table was older than the other four, losing his hair at the temples. Tanned, bulky, leaning back in his chair. Pale suit. Blue shirt open at the collar. The only one with no tie.
‘Mr. Hartfield, of course,’ said Logan, leading with an open hand.
Hartfield didn’t get up. He stretched out a soft, meaty paw across the table and Logan took it gently, didn’t squeeze. But Hartfield crushed Logan’s hand, or at least tried to. That was a powerplay that never worked. Nothing betrayed weakness like an overly firm handshake.
‘You’re the man I’m paying twenty-five thousand dollars to, just so that you can tell me what I already know,’ said Hartfield.
‘Let’s hope not,’ said Logan.
‘Okay,’ said Hartfield, ‘let’s get this show on the road. You’ve got a presentation to show us?’
Logan casually flicked his eyes to the wall and the large screen there.
‘No Powerpoint presentations today, Mr. Hartfield. Do you mind if I sit?’
Slightly puzzled, Hartfield nodded, leaned over the desk and studied Logan as he pulled out the chair with one hand, undid his blazer with the other and then sat down. Slow, deliberate movement. It gave him a certain kind of class.
‘We’ve had six marketing companies carry out extensive market research studies.
They’ve all come in here, one after the other, and given us detailed presentations.
You understand this is a pitch to lead our next major campaign?
Are you seriously telling me you don’t have anything to show us? ’ said Hartfield.
‘I thought we could talk, like grown-ups. Now, those marketing experts all came in here and said how much they love your restaurants. They showed you some colorful graphs and bar charts based on the consumer research you asked them to conduct, essentially justifying how they spent the twenty-five grand. They all concluded your sales are down because of the economy, – so you should bring out new burgers, some vegan options, and lower your prices.’
Hartfield’s left eye twitched. He said, ‘They all came up with the same strategy because they all got the same answers from the consumer research. Thanks to those companies, and their extensive Q & A’s with over ten thousand consumers, we have a strategy. You’re telling me that data is worthless?’
‘The advertising legend, David Ogilvy, once said that the problem with asking questions of members of the public is that people don’t think how they feel, they don’t say what they think and don’t do what they say,’ said Logan.
‘I didn’t speak to a single consumer. Didn’t spend hours on creating digital bar charts and smiley faces on a graph.
Your fee paid for my time. I spent that time visiting five of your fast-food outlets.
And, by the way, lowering prices is not a strategy – it’s a tactic. There’s a difference.’
‘So I paid twenty-five thousand for you to eat at my restaurants? Is that it? I only ask out of politeness, because I think I’m going to want it back.’
Logan smiled, looked to the man sitting to the right of Hartfield. His name was Todd Summers, President of Marketing.
‘Todd here isn’t going to like what I have to say, because it involves some investment. Marketing men hate having to spend. I’m afraid some outlay is required, over and above your usual ad spend.’
‘I have to spend money to sell my burgers cheaper?’ asked Hartfield.
‘Who said anything about cutting your prices?’ said Logan. ‘If you adopt my strategy, your prices should go up.’
Hartfield leaned forward, said, ‘Up?’
‘Why do people eat in fast-food restaurants?’ asked Logan.
‘Because they want quality food, fast,’ said Hartfield.
‘No, they want something that is reliably okay , and they want it quickly. But there are other fast-food outlets that dominate that end of the market – McDonald’s, Burger King, KFC, Chick-fil-A, Popeyes and half a dozen others.
You have a large company with a lot of restaurants, but you’re not McDonald’s.
Their ad spend over a single day exceeds your total marketing budget for the last two years.
They are one of the dominant global brands.
You simply can’t compete. But you have an advantage.
Your food is better. I think that is your strength, and in order for people to appreciate that, your prices have to go up . ’
‘You’re telling us that people will appreciate the same Hartfield Cheeseburger Deluxe if it costs more?’ asked Todd, a derisory tone cutting his voice.
‘Yes,’ said Logan, ‘and if you don’t understand that you shouldn’t be in marketing.
It’s human behavior. People believe a more expensive bottle of wine tastes better than a cheap bottle.
Price determines their view and enjoyment of wine before and during the drinking.
And it will actually taste better on the palate.
In wine terms, McDonald’s is a cheap liquor-store Chardonnay, and you’re champagne in a screw-top bottle.
In other words, you need a new bottle with a cork. You must reposition your brand.’
‘But this is a family burger restaurant . . . ’ said Hartfield.
‘Of course it is, but in the future it will be a higher-end family burger restaurant. Put your prices up twenty-eight percent, refurb your older stores – more ambient, luxurious lighting. Make it feel like a restaurant instead of an airport lounge and write off the cost for tax purposes. Invest in additional cleaning staff. Four of the restaurants I visited had dirty floors and tables. Your cleaning staff are just as important as your cooks and servers. Half of the experience in a restaurant is the place itself, the other half is the food. Both are equally important. Doesn’t matter how good your food is if you have to eat it while sitting next to a pile of garbage on the table beside you.
The fact is it just won’t taste as good. ’
Hartfield blinked rapidly, as if his brain was suddenly bombarded with brand-new information.
‘When the prices go up, don’t try to hide it.
Embrace it. The new ad campaign I will design for you is in two parts.
For the initial relaunch it’s Hartfields, You Pay for Quality .
Hardly original, but it works. When the Belgian beer company Stella Artois launched in the United Kingdom they couldn’t match the prices of regular beers.
Their ad campaign had the slogan reassuringly expensive .
They sold a lot of beer. You’re going to sell a lot of hamburgers. ’
The room was ominously silent. The other department heads were all focused on Hartfield.
They were waiting for his reaction. None of them really mattered in this room, and Logan had focused on Hartfield.
As he had laid out his plan, he’d kept a close eye on Hartfield’s expression.
At first, he hadn’t bought it. Then, slowly, the idea had taken hold.
‘It’s risky,’ he said.